Read Online Phoenix by Finley Aaron - Free Book Online

When I’m nearly caught up to her, I dart through the sky above her and drop suddenly, inserting myself into her path.
    Nia swerves to go around me.
    I swerve the same way.
    She fakes left.
    I have four older siblings who gave up trying that trick years ago. I can see her intention from the glint in her eyes, and catch her as she doubles back the other way, wrapping my arms around her and using my wings to lower us gently to the ground even as she fights to get away. She struggles against me, beating her wings in an attempt to lift us both into the air again, or to pull free of my grasp.
    Once again, my years wrestling with my siblings, both in human and dragon form, pay off to my advantage, and I’m able to pull her out of the sky without hurting her. That last part—the not hurting—is vital to me, not only because I’m a dragon protector and therefore wish no harm upon humans or dragons, but also because I want to win this woman’s affections, and I don’t believe that’s something anyone can be bullied into.
    Nia clearly doesn’t like being overpowered and pulled past the trees in the direction of the ground. She blows a blast of fire in my face. Fortunately I’m in dragon form, so it doesn’t really hurt me, though it’s hot and disorienting and momentarily blinds me, which is probably why we hit the ground a lot harder than I intended—I couldn’t see how close we were to the earth until after my shoulder made contact.
    We roll, a hearty tumble across rocks and sticks, and I think Nia might even be trying to use her claws on me, maybe out of desperation, and I remember another lesson I learned from being the youngest.
    The youngest, you see, is the weakest, at least for the first several years, and also the one most easily pitied by its parents. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, but I’m not going to downplay the truth it taught me. That is: vulnerability is sometimes the best armor.
    It’s a paradox, I know, but when you think it through, it really works. You see, if Nia blasts fire in my face and I respond by blasting fire right back—if she escalates so I escalate and we both get meaner and tougher and fiercer, we could destroy each other.
    That’s not going to save the race of dragons from extinction.
    Besides which, if Nia feels threatened, of course she’s going to defend herself any way she can, which means not necessarily fighting fair.
    So the most effective way to end this fight is for one of us to get vulnerable, and since I’m the biggest and strongest, I can make the biggest difference by dropping my defenses.
    All my defenses.
    We roll to a stop against a tree and I spring back, out of reach of Nia’s claws, and turn human again. Yes, I’m vulnerable. Crazy vulnerable. Barefoot and almost naked kind of vulnerable. Nia could incinerate me in a breath, kill me with a single slash of her talons.
    But she’s a dragon, and dragons are noble creatures. So I trust, not too insanely, that she won’t hurt me—not much, not on purpose. There’s something about vulnerability that elicits caution.
    I’m panting from the effort of fighting her, and I’m staring at her face—my scarlet eyes locked on her flame-colored irises. Should she give any hint that she’s about to take a swipe at me or blow another blast of flames my way, I’ll be ready. I have quick reflexes, and can wrap my fireproof wings around myself more quickly that she can blow fire (fire-blowing takes a second—there’s a bit of prep work that goes on in the back of the throat, and you have to open your mouth wide before you actually blow, so the target always gets a brief warning).
    I’m watching her.
    Poised.
    Prepared.
    Her eyes narrow to slits watching me. She doesn’t nearly trust me. Of course not—she’s used to Eudora, who’s cunning and devious on top of being evil.
    And I think Nia’s upset with me for foiling her escape, or suicide, or whatever you want to call it. But will she let that