Earth’s Craving (Dragon Lost 1)

Earth's Craving (Dragon Lost 1)
Emily Carrington
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Copyright ©2025 Emily Carrington

Tom fled through the forest, staying low to the ground, or as low as a person who stood over six feet could manage without crawling. He needed to keep his feet because --

He flashed back to when the matriarch had cut off his left foot to keep him from escaping again. It had grown back, of course. He was a dragon. Still, it had hurt, and he sometimes woke in the middle of the night with phantom pain reminding him how he’d suffered.

He didn’t have a very good sense of direction, but it was a sunny day, early in the morning, and the sun came up in the east. So, just as long as he kept the sun on his left, he’d assumed he’d be generally heading south. Out of Canada. He’d grown up here but all he knew about the country where he’d been imprisoned was that it was north of the United States.

He was grateful his shedding was over for another six months. His escape would have been impossible while he was struggling through the twice-a-year loss of his scales.

He heard other dragons flying above him and huddled against a tree, hoping the darkness of his skin would blend with the shadows. He wasn’t exactly dressed for a late December winter when the temperatures around Nova Scotia lingered just above freezing most days. He wouldn’t freeze to death… probably. As long as he kept moving, he’d be all right. Just now, though, stillness was required. He shut his eyes, fearing that his anxiety had turned his irises yellow-green. They might be spotted by someone with a searchlight.

He wondered briefly if the female dragons had employed some of their males to help. Most of the males were treated better than he was, although not equal to the females. The large majority would do as they were told because they weren’t required to stand stud all year, just when the females wanted them.

Probably most of the other male dragons were grateful for his existence. He was an anomaly, but one that the females liked. Bigger and stronger than any other dragon he’d ever met, he’d been conditioned since birth. He’d been born larger and the hopes for his future progeny had been high. Hell, they were still high even though only about one third of the dragons he sired were of greater size when they were born. He’d only been at this enslavement stud service for a year and a half, so none of his children were more than a year old.

It was as if, when the dragons and werewolves had split off from their basilisk parentage, they’d been cursed to all stand at the exact same height in either human guise or scaly form. Five feet, ten inches was the height of almost every other dragon he’d heard of when they walked on two feet. With their talons and tails, they stood eight feet tall.

Tom was six-two sometimes, and others, he was ten feet tall. Being larger than most dragons should have been an advantage. Having increased strength could have helped if there weren’t so many damn males and females alike ready to take him down.

The sounds overhead faded and he hesitated, not wanting to leave his hiding place. Yet, what good would it do him to stay here? They’d send out hunters on foot if necessary.

So, biting his lips almost hard enough to draw blood, he crept away from the tree and started running again. He skirted around a meadow and kept going, adrenaline making him thirsty even as it lent his muscles endurance.

The sun had been up for an hour before he judged it safe to stop and drink. He’d been hearing a river nearby for about the last ten minutes and that burbling, overly cheery sound made him long for water.

He broke from the game trail he’d been following and found an offshoot that led in the correct direction. When he came upon the river, he was relieved to see a rocky bank where he could get right down close to the water and drink his fill.

He crawled to the edge of the river, listening hard. He heard nothing except the twittering of birds and the chittering of squirrels. Well, and the rushing of the water, of course. It was a deep stream, not quite the river he’d been envisioning based on the amount of noise it was making. He slipped his hands into the icy cold water.

Hands seized him roughly by his hair.

Without thought, he shifted to his scaly form to lose that grip. His clothes, rags now, fell away as he tried for the sky.

Three dragons, brown and orange, like him, male, like him, each two feet smaller, crashed into him. From below came a howl of triumph and something sharp sliced through his wing’s membrane.

He screamed as he fell.