Igneous - 1. Igneous

Gilbert scowled as he read the two text messages that had arrived within seconds of each other:

Jenna: Heading out w hottie. Get ride from Eric

Eric: Hooking up. Laterz beyotches!

He struggled as he stuffed his phone into his front pocket. Fuckers. It was really shitty of them to drag him out, then abandon him. He knew going out was a mistake, but they hadn’t exactly given him a choice. His new ‘friends’ didn’t understand that their idea of a good time wasn’t the same as his. Gilbert huffed out his breath and leaned on the railing. The sea of dancing bodies below reminded him of a snake pit as men undulated and wove together, practically having sex in front of everyone.

Whatever happened to decorum? he thought, then snorted. He sounded like his crotchety old grandpa.

The pulsing beat of the ‘music’ felt like a physical assault. He felt ridiculous in the skin-tight jeans and mesh shirt Jenna had insisted he wear. Why had he let them talk him into this? And how the hell was he going to get home?

Despite being out of his element, Gilbert found the dance pit oddly mesmerizing. He enjoyed the eye candy, even though he’d probably die if one of them ever approached him. He’d dissolve into an incoherent puddle, then the guy would walk away in disgust.

Gilbert shivered as he felt a sudden chill, even though the club was sweltering. His mom always said that people got chills when someone walked over their grave. What a cheerful thought. Gilbert clutched his arms, suddenly on high alert. He felt like he was being watched. He glanced over the crowd of dancers one more time as he decided it was time to head outside and hail a cab. He felt like he was in imminent danger, prompting his hands to shake and his chest to ache from the strain of holding his breath.

He exhaled in a rush, forgetting to inhale, as he caught the gaze of a man standing in the middle of the dance floor, stock still as the rest of the throng moved around him, practically humping him. His anxiety immediately dissipated, along with the sense of danger, as he stared at the immobile person. The man was beautiful. Most men didn’t like being called beautiful, but there weren’t any other adjectives that came to Gilbert’s mind.

His stare felt like a physical entity—a string that stretched from his mesmerizing eyes right to Gilbert’s cock. He was so enthralled, it never occurred to him to question why he’d been singled out of the crowd of gorgeous men in the club. The man smirked, and Gilbert felt an overwhelming sense of triumph. A whisper in the back of his mind told him he should be put off by the man’s arrogance and smugness, but his nether regions told his brain to shut the fuck up.

Gilbert blinked, and his staring partner was gone. He exhaled, wondering what the hell had just happened. Now that their connection was broken, his anxiety returned in full force, hitting him like a brick wall. He abruptly turned to leave and smacked into the chest of the guy standing behind him. Gilbert’s face flushed crimson, and he muttered an apology as he moved to circumvent the stranger.

The other man had a different idea, and draped his arm around Gilbert’s shoulders and leaned down to whisper, “What’s your hurry?” The man’s voice had a cat-like quality—it vibrated through Gilbert’s body in a pleasant way, relaxing him like a purring cat.

The man smirked as he gently trailed his fingers down Gilbert’s cheek, causing all of Gil’s nerves to over-fire. Gil closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, whimpering when the touch stopped. What the hell? Was he so desperate for physical attention?

Who cares? he thought. The whisper was back, more insistent this time. You are in danger. Run away! Gilbert realized the man standing before him was the same hottie from the dance floor, but how was that possible? There was no way he could have spanned that distance in a matter of seconds. Gilbert dismissed the voice warning him to get away from the stranger; there was something drawing him to the beautiful being—his electric touch, intoxicating scent, trim, muscled physique, and glowing, red eyes. What the fuck? Gil looked into the man’s chocolate brown eyes as the hottie grabbed his hand and said, “Let’s get out of here.” Must have been a trick of the light.

Gil nodded. He’d go anywhere this god of a man led him.

“Anywhere” turned out to be an alley in between two abandoned buildings about a block from the club. Gilbert’s body felt like it was on fire—in the best way possible. The alluring stranger kept his hands on Gil constantly, with feather-light touches in places he never thought of as erotic. Combined with the low thrum of the man’s whispers, and nibbles along his neck and ears, Gilbert found himself incapable of coherent thought. All he wanted was sweet relief from the delicious torture this stranger was inflicting on him.

The man slammed Gilbert’s back against the alley’s wall—none too gently—and ground his body against the smaller man’s. Gil moaned in ecstasy. The whispered voice was suddenly shouting in his head, but he was too far gone to listen to rational thought. The tenor of the voice changed from warning to exasperation.

Stupid humans. He deserves what he gets.

The beautiful man grinding against him paused, pressing his rather abundant need right against Gil’s, causing him to gasp. He placed a hand that morphed into a claw underneath Gil’s chin and raised his head until they were gazing into each other’s eyes. There was no doubting the crimson color of the eyes boring into Gilbert’s very essence.

The being grinned, revealing rows of sharp teeth. What the fuck is happening? Gilbert thought. Panic flooded through the stricken man’s body, but he found himself unable to move. His mind and body warred between terror and pleasure, responding to the creature’s ministrations, causing him to writhe and hump against the now-grotesque thing in a most-unbecoming manner.

The thing pressed its lips against Gil’s mouth. He felt drunk, despite not having consumed any alcohol, and the only thing keeping him upright was the creature’s arms.

Why do these idiots never listen?

A thing with large, gray wings barreled into the creature, causing them to roll away from Gil in a ball of flailing limbs. Gilbert fell to his knees, gasping for breath. He tried to scramble away, but his legs wouldn’t work properly. His heart pounded as he stared at the spectacle unfolding in the alley, certain he was about to meet his end. He was now able to clearly see the thing that had lured him away from the club, and his stomach roiled.

It was the size and shape of a tall man, but that’s where the resemblance to humankind ended. Its skin was ebony with pointed spines protruding from its back. Sharp claws protruded from gnarled hands, its arms held in a defensive posture as it moved stealthily around the winged, lizard-like creature preventing it from having Gil as a snack. The spiny creature glared at its nemesis with crimson eyes.

The lizard-thing used powerful legs to push away from the hissing creature, narrowly missing the extended claws. He hovered above the vile thing, gray wings beating slow—then fast as he dove to attack. The winged creature’s claws hit home, producing a shriek from the recoiling monster. It rolled, then leapt upward toward the angel’s belly with outstretched talons. This time, it made contact, producing a grunt from the winged rescuer.

Gilbert stared in horror, wondering if he was about to meet his end. A blur of swipes, punches, and tackles ended when his winged protector raised a glowing dagger and plunged it into the snarling beast. It screeched in agony as it disintegrated, leaving a pile of black ashes on the dirty alley floor.

The winged beast—Gilbert now saw it looked like a small dragon, about the size of a tall man, with two legs and a pointy tail—collapsed to the ground. Gil blinked. Dragon? Dragons don’t exist! It looked less supernatural now; its features softening as scales turned to flesh, leaving a human male lying prone in a slimy puddle. Gilbert stared at the naked man, wondering if he was losing his mind. Had someone slipped something into his soda? Was he experiencing an elaborate hallucination? Maybe the entire thing had been in his head, and the person moaning in the alleyway wasn’t real. Or maybe he was just some drunk who wandered away from the club and passed out.

Gilbert stood and swayed on his feet for a minute before taking a tentative step toward the fallen man. He needed to touch him to find out if he was real. His eyes looked real enough as they met Gil’s stare. If this is a hallucination, I could get used to this, Gil thought. He had fiery red hair and ice blue eyes that looked like they wanted to shoot daggers into Gil. The man’s face contorted in pain as he clutched his abdomen and curled his knees upward. Gilbert felt a stab of empathy, then guilt for perving on the poor guy, even if he was a hallucination.

“Zug’amath… need shelter… water… sun… danger… find Dunstan….” The man spoke in gasps before losing consciousness.

Gilbert stretched his leg out tentatively and poked the man with his foot, hoping to meet thin air. A pang of alarm coursed through him when his foot met flesh. Gilbert wondered if he should be relieved or concerned. On the one hand, he wasn’t crazy. On the other hand, he now had to figure out what to do with this guy.

He reached into his pocket and fished out his phone, finger poised to dial 911. He felt an obligation to help this man. After all, he had saved him from that disgusting creature, even if it wasn’t real. He jumped and dropped the phone when he felt a strong grip on his leg.

“No… shelter… no police.” The man’s chest heaved with the effort of speaking.

Gilbert reached down and retrieved his phone with shaky hands. He frowned when he saw the black liquid oozing between the man’s fingers as he clamped his other hand tightly to his abdomen. The man let go of Gilbert’s leg and rolled onto his back, covering his face with his arm. He hissed in pain, then returned to his side and glared at Gil.

Gilbert ignored the look and knelt next to the injured man. He placed his shaking hands on the other man’s. “Let me see. I’m a nursing student; I can help.”

“Shelter… now… must… move!”

“I need to see your injuries first. Moving you could make it worse.”

“Listen… stupid… human….”

Stupid human? Gilbert scowled and pried the man’s hands away from his belly. He gasped when he saw the three gaping wounds, the flesh rent from the man’s body, black ichor flowing freely into a puddle on the alley floor. He met the icy stare and saw the truth in the man’s expression. He was dying.

Gilbert removed his shirt and pressed it against the wounds, producing a groan of pain.

“You need an ambulance.” Gilbert raised his phone. He pushed away thoughts of the man’s anatomy—the wounds were deep and wide enough that his entrails should be showing. Instead, he saw only black, gelatinous material. They hadn’t covered this in his emergency medicine class.

“No! Sun… fire… find Dunstan! Museum….” The man trailed off, writhing and moaning.

Gilbert turned toward the alley’s entrance. What the fuck was he going to do? He couldn’t leave him lying in the alleyway to die. And why didn’t the injured man want an ambulance? And what the hell was this guy, anyway? Black blood… no innards… complaining of stupid humans… and turned from a dragon into a human.

Gil knelt down and asked, “Why don’t you want an ambulance? You need help. I don’t know what to do.”

“Danger… more zug’amath… need Dunstan. Go to museum.”

“What are zug’amath? That thing that attacked me?”

“Yes. Get help. Dunstan… police useless… don’t understand garg—”

Gilbert looked around the alley frantically. Encountering more of those… things… was the last thing he wanted to happen. He figured he’d better listen to the dragon/man.

A flash of light drew his attention to his right, and after securing his shirt around the man’s middle as best he could, he walked over and picked up the glowing dagger lying next to a large pile of ashes. The weapon flashed brightly, then dulled, almost causing Gilbert to drop it.

He shoved the implications of the dagger’s existence to the back of his mind while he thought of what to do with the dragon/man. The best thing would be to get him back to his apartment, but there was no way he could drag the man that far. Besides, hauling an unconscious man down the sidewalk wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. He couldn’t leave him here; it wasn’t safe.

Frustration and despair caused Gilbert to frown as he stared at the alley’s entrance. He felt foolish as he watched a car drive by. He had a car. He could drive the man to his apartment. All he needed to do was hide the guy, take a taxi home, then drive back here. And hope the man was still alive when he returned.

*****

Gilbert flopped onto his comfy chair and wiped the sweat away from his forehead. He’d managed to get the man as far as his couch; he’d try moving him to his bedroom later, when his energy was restored. Gilbert rubbed his arms. He’d have to start going to the gym, or something. The man wasn’t much bigger than he was, but boy was he solid!

Thankfully, he’d regained consciousness enough to get into the car and walk into Gil’s apartment with support. He muttered the same things repeatedly—fire, Dunstan, museum. Gilbert had no idea what any of it meant. The man moaned, and Gilbert moved to his side. Sweat beaded the man’s face, and Gilbert placed his hand on his forehead, then hissed and snatched it away. The strange person felt like he was on fire.

Alarm flared through Gilbert. He raised the makeshift bandage covering the wounds. They oozed thick red and black liquid and radiated heat. Maybe the other creature had some sort of poison on its claws or something to cause such a rapid onset of infection. He needed to be cooled down, immediately.

Gilbert ran to the freezer and grabbed a couple of packages of frozen vegetables. He also grabbed a pitcher and filled it with cold water, and a pile of kitchen towels. The wound needed to be cleaned; maybe it would help bring down his fever.

Gil knelt next to the couch and placed one of the cold veggie packages on his patient’s forehead and the rest on his neck. He removed the bandage from his abdomen and poured the water over the wounds. The effect was immediate.

The man’s eyes flew open and he sat up, gasping. He reached for Gilbert, clearly panicked. “No! No water! Get Dunstan!” His chest heaved and he flailed, sending the veggie bags and Gilbert flying. “Need fire!” Steam rose from the wounds, and the man sounded like he was sizzling.

“Calm down!” Gilbert yelled, while realizing this probably wasn’t the best way to calm the frantic man. He approached the couch warily, unsure what to do.

“Dunstan… museum… help….” he gasped out, before writhing and moaning in agony.

Gilbert reached out and touched the man’s forehead. His benefactor now felt ice-cold and shivered uncontrollably. What have I done? He hurried to his bedroom and grabbed all the blankets he could find, then piled them on the freezing, injured man.

Gilbert had the feeling this man wasn’t the type prone to hysterical fits, so his desperation made Gil wonder how truly bad off he was. His medical training clearly wasn’t helping. Was he supposed to call a vet? He snorted. He doubted vets knew how to treat dragonmen any more than he did.

Gilbert yawned. It was almost morning. He’d spent all night dealing with helping the dragonman who saved him. He blinked, hoping he could wish everything away, but it didn’t work. Gil sighed and sat cross-legged on the recliner near the couch. He needed to come up with a plan.

Dunstan. Museum. Fire.

The man had repeated those words several times. Gilbert yawned. He’d figure it out after he rested his eyes.

Gilbert sat bolt upright, awakened by a loud groan. Shit! He hadn’t meant to fall asleep for so long. Gil ran to his patient’s side. His complexion was pale white, but he had stopped shivering. Gilbert lifted the covers and bandages to check the wounds. They now looked green and had a decidedly unpleasant odor. Gil wrinkled his nose as he replaced the bandages and blankets.

Dunstan. Museum. Maybe there was a Dunstan Museum? Gil grabbed his laptop. When all else fails… Google it! he thought. Surprisingly, his search for Dunstan Museum provided a promising lead on his first try. The head of security at the local history museum was named Dunstan Kamen. While hesitant to leave his injured guest, Gilbert didn’t think he had a choice. It was time to pay this Dunstan fellow a visit.

Since it was now late afternoon, Gilbert worried he wouldn’t arrive at the museum before it closed or Dunstan went home. He made it with about an hour to spare. The woman at the ticket area smiled as Gil approached.

“I’m looking for Dunstan Kamen,” he told her.

“Are you applying for a job?” She looked at him dubiously.

“No, but it’s urgent I see him.”

“Well, you’re about an hour too early. Dunstan works the night shift.”

The night shift? Shit, thought Gilbert. He hated leaving the injured man for so long, but what choice did he have? “Can I wait for him here?”

The woman gestured toward a poster on the museum’s wall. “You could check out our highlighted exhibit. We have a world-class collection of gargoyles on display. Some of them are quite impressive.”

Gilbert nodded. It would be better than sitting around, stewing for an hour. “Sure. That sounds great.”

“That’ll be ten dollars.”

Gilbert frowned, but fished out his wallet and handed her a ten dollar bill. She handed him a ticket in return.

“Enjoy!”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and headed through the velvet ropes into the museum proper. He followed the signs to the gargoyle exhibit. While he didn’t know much about the stone creatures, he did think they were neat.

He paced around the exhibit, reading the informational plaques and cards and learning more about gargoyles than he ever thought he would. He gasped when he encountered a worn painting of a dragon incinerating a creature, a crowd of humans huddling in fear behind him. The dragon looked identical to the one he had encountered in the alley, before it turned into the human occupying his bed. The title was “Clan Wyvern”, and it had been painted in Scotland in the mid thirteenth century.

“Ellen said you were looking for me?”

Gilbert jumped and spun around. A black-haired, uniformed man stood staring at him, arms crossed. Gilbert swallowed.

“Um… are you Dunstan?”

The man raised an eyebrow.

Gilbert reached into his bag and pulled out a wrapped bundle. “I need your help. Or rather, a friend of yours does.” He opened his hand towel, revealing the dagger the dragonman had dropped.

Dunstan narrowed his eyes and stepped toward Gilbert. Gil took a step backward, his eyes widening. “Where did you get that?”

“Um… well… um… in an alley… last night.”

“What happened to Hagan?”

“He’s hurt. Whatever he killed scratched him. He’s freezing and his wounds are green and stink. I think he may have been poisoned.”

“Freezing?” Dunstan scowled and grabbed the dagger. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing! I washed out his wounds and he freaked out.”

“Son of a bitch! Where is he?”

“In my apartment.”

Dunstan clamped his hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. “Take me to him.”

Gilbert scowled and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. The frustration radiating off the man in his passenger seat was palpable. He sat, rigid, clenching his jaw. Gilbert glanced at Dunstan. “So what’s a wyvern?”

Dunstan raised an eyebrow and regarded Gilbert with an expression the young man couldn’t read. “You don’t know?”

Gilbert shook his head.

“Tell me exactly what happened in the alley, and then I’ll answer your questions.”

Gilbert relayed everything that happened the previous night, starting with the enthralling man on the dance floor and ending with helping Hagan into his apartment.

Dunstan listened impassively, the only indicator of emotion was an occasional clench of his jaw or fist. Gilbert made a left hand turn, then asked, “So Hagan is a wyvern?”

“So you met a zug’amath, huh?” Dunstan looked at Gilbert, smirking.

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Yes, Hagan is a wyvern—a small, but incredibly powerful, dragon from Scotland.” Dunstan paused. “A zug’amath is what we refer to as a ‘virgin sucker’.”

Horns blared as Gilbert veered the car into another lane, then straightened back into his own lane. “What?”

Dunstan chuckled. “Zug’amaths are demons who feed off the energy of virgins.” He looked Gilbert up and down. “Hey, being a virgin is nothing to be ashamed of. Too many humans jump into bed with each other without giving thought to the consequences.”

“Consequences?” Gilbert raised an eyebrow and put his right blinker on. “Humans?” He eased the car into his parking space. “We’re here.”

Dunstan exited the car before Gilbert had even shut the engine off. He jogged to his front door and opened it. Dunstan entered first and made a beeline toward Gilbert’s couch. Gilbert stared after him, wondering how it was possible for him to move that quickly.

Hagan lay listless, pale, and limp. Dunstan pulled the blankets back and removed the bandages covering Hagan’s abdomen. He let out a low whistle. Hagan’s wounds now reeked of sulphur, and the dark green tinge had spread beyond the three angry claw marks.

Dunstan reached into the leather bag he had grabbed from his office before they left the museum and removed an orb the size of a grapefruit. He looked at Gilbert, his expression grim. “I need to take him up to your roof.” He thrust the orb into Gilbert’s hands. “Hold this.” He scooped Hagan into his arms with an ease that belied his size. “Open the door.”

Gilbert stared, then scurried to open his front door. Dunstan hesitated after he stepped outside, and sniffed the air. “Good. We’re alone.” Dunstan’s shirt tore along his back as a pair of large, gray wings sprouted from his back. His neck and face elongated, and his limbs turned into thick trunks with sharp claws on the end of three toes.

Gilbert’s mouth opened and he almost dropped the orb when Dunstan crouched low, then leapt straight into the air with powerful flaps of his wings. He was on the roof with Hagan in a matter of seconds. The dragon peered over the edge of the rooftop and stepped off, landing lightly on his feet next to Gilbert. The human yelped when the dragon scooped him into his arms and flew him to the roof, setting him next to Hagan.

Dunstan nosed the orb, then pointed to the floor. Gilbert set it down, then backed away. Dunstan sat on his haunches and inhaled deeply, then exhaled a stream of fire directly onto the orb. Gilbert danced in place, wondering if he was about to be burned alive. When the flame dissipated, the orb glowed bright red, and the area around it looked untouched by fire. Dunstan morphed back into human form and knelt next to Hagan. “I’m sorry, my friend. This is going to hurt, but it’s necessary.” He took the orb and thrust it into the middle wound.

Hagan sat upright and screamed in agony, clutching his midsection before collapsing back onto the roof. His complexion was no longer as pale, and his wounds looked black and red instead of green.

Dunstan turned to Gilbert and held out his hand. Gilbert looked at the roof, his face bright red, and shuffled his feet. Dunstan chuckled. “You can look at me, you know.”

Gilbert peered at him, then flushed even redder. “Um… you’re… well… um… naked.”

“You humans are so prudish. Look at me.”

Gilbert met Dunstan’s gaze, trying his damnest not to look lower. Dunstan held out his hand again, and this time Gilbert shook it.

“Thank you. He would have died if you hadn’t gotten me when you did.”

“Why did he get so sick? Did that thing poison him?”

Dunstan sighed. “Dragons are healed with fire. Putting him in cold water extinguished his flame. And without access to direct sunlight, he couldn’t change into stone to heal.”

“Stone?”

Dunstan nodded. “Hagan is a wyvern gargoyle. I’m an Eldur’aife. We protect humans from demons who escape the demon realm, such as the zug’amath that attacked you.”

“Wow. Um… thanks?”

“I’m going to take Hagan home. He’ll be able to transform at dawn and should be fine.” He paused. “Our existence depends on secrecy. Please keep ours.”

Gilbert nodded. “Of course. I’m indebted to Hagan for saving my life.”

Dunstan nodded, then changed into his dragon form. He picked up Hagan and flew away into the night. Gilbert stared after them until he couldn’t see them anymore, then looked at the ground, four stories down. “How the fuck am I supposed to get down?”

*****

“C’mon, Gilly. You haven’t been out with us in over a month!” Jenna pouted and gave Gil her best puppy dog eyes. They worked remarkably well when she wanted to get her way.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “I’m gay, Jen. That look doesn’t work on me.”

Jenna laughed. “Seriously, though. You’ve been working so hard this past month. You need to have some fun, too.”

Gilbert sat up straighter and looked her in the eye. “I’m not into the club scene. It’s not my idea of a good time.”

“Well what is your idea of a good time?”

Gilbert thought for a minute before replying. “Spending time with friends. Hanging out. Playing games. I’m a low-key guy. Always have been.” He gestured between Jenna, himself, and Eric—who was seated on the couch next to him. “This is the perfect evening for me. Enjoying dinner with friends, chatting… even the studying.”

“Aww… that’s so sweet!” Jenna gushed.

Eric narrowed his eyes and turned to face Gil as he chewed on a bite of pizza. “Something happened to you when we went to that club last month, didn’t it. You disappeared for days and then seemed… different. What happened?”

Jenna set her pizza down and practically bounced in her seat. “Did you meet someone?”

Gilbert thought about the flame-haired gargoyle who had occupied his thoughts since Dunstan flew off with him. “No.”

Jenna’s eyes widened. “Oh my god! You did meet someone!”

Gilbert scowled. “I did not! You guys were the ones who abandoned me for pieces of ass.”

Eric grinned. “And it was totally worth it, too.”

“Wow. Thanks. Glad to know I mean so much to you.”

“Aww… I’m sorry, Gilly. I had no idea you were that upset about it.” Eric leaned over and drew him into a side hug.

Gilbert bumped him with his shoulder. “S’ok.” He jumped when he heard the loud knock on his door and frowned. “Who could that be? You guys are the only ones who show up here without calling.” He rose and headed to the door, then opened it tentatively. He gasped when he saw the fiery, red hair and ice-blue eyes of the man standing before him.

Gilbert stared, his mouth hanging open, then turned scarlet when he realized he’d been openly ogling the man without so much as a ‘hello’.

“Can I come in?”

Gilbert couldn’t decide if Hagan looked amused or annoyed. Maybe a mixture of both, he decided. “Oh my god… yeah… of course… please do.” He moved aside and allowed the hot man to enter his apartment. “These are my friends—Jenna and Eric.”

Hagan nodded and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans. He looked like this was the last place on Earth he wanted to be.

Jenna rose and grabbed Eric’s arm. “Hi and bye. Eric and I have that thing at the library we need to go to.”

Eric frowned and dropped his half-eaten slice of pizza into the box on the coffee table. “Oh yeah. That thing. See ya, Gilly.”

“We are so talking later,” Jenna stated as she headed toward the door, dragging Eric along.

“You are such a little liar,” Eric hissed as he passed Gil. “I love it, you vixen.”

Gilbert closed the door behind his friends, then turned to face Hagan. “You look much better than when I saw you last.”

Hagan stared at Gil, causing him to squirm. He walked to a bookshelf next to the couch and picked up a red dragon figurine. He held it up and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s Smaug from The Hobbit. I love Tolkien’s stories,” Gilbert stated.

“Eldur’aife have horns.” Hagan set the collectible down and stood near the couch with his arms crossed.

Well excuse me, Gilbert thought. “Do wyverns eat pizza? There’s some slices left over.”

The look of revulsion on Hagan’s face made Gilbert sorry he asked. “Why are you here?”

“Dunstan told me how you helped me.”

“I was happy to, even though I don’t know anything about wyverns. Next time I know not to pour water on them.” He laughed nervously.

Hagan scowled. “I wasn’t thanking you. You almost killed me.”

Gilbert’s face flushed red. He wished the ground would open up and swallow him. “I was just trying to help.”

“I don’t need that kind of help.”

Gilbert scowled. Was this guy serious? Anger flared within him. Ingrate. “I could have left you in that damn alley, you know. Let those zoog whatevers finish you off.”

“Zug’amath. And I would have been better off facing them than dealing with the ignorance of humans.”

Gilbert gestured toward the door. “You can leave now.”

Hagan exhaled a sudden puff of air. “I need to say something first.”

Gil stood his ground for a moment, then gestured toward the couch and sat in his comfy chair. “Fine.” Hagan glanced at it, then sat down, glaring at Gilbert.

“Why are you here?” Gilbert repeated.

“I’m going to be blunt. I don’t like humans. I’ve protected you guys for so long. You do stupid things like get caught by zug’amaths, despite my warnings. You’re weak and young and arrogant. Humans have no idea about the true nature of the world.”

Gilbert scowled. “You came here to tell me you hate me?”

“Saving humans is my job. And I’ve hated my job for longer than I want to admit.”

“Nice to know. Why are you telling me all this?”

“Dunstan told me what happened. How you extinguished my fire, then found him to help me. I blamed you for almost killing me, but Dun reminded me that heat is bad for humans. You need to cool down to heal, while we need to heat up. You were just trying to help.” Hagan’s pained expression made Gilbert doubt his sincerity.

“Yeah. You saved me. I had to help.”

“Had to?”

“Well, I would have anyway.”

Hagan looked at Gilbert with an unreadable expression. “Dunstan told me I should thank you.”

“You have a strange way of saying it.”

“Why does your face turn red every time you look at me?”

Gilbert’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, like that.”

“Um… well… uh… you’re hot,” Gilbert mumbled.

Hagan frowned. “Of course I’m hot. I’m a wyvern.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Not that kind of hot.”

Hagan thought for a moment. “Oh! You mean you’re sexually attracted to me.”

“Oh my god! No! Yes! No! Well, yes, but humans aren’t so… blunt about it.”

Hagan smirked. “You mean like how you acted around that zug’amath?”

“Supernatural mind control notwithstanding.” Gilbert paused. “So why did you feel the need to come here and tell me all this?”

Hagan shrugged. “Dunstan made me.”

Gilbert scowled. “Nice to know you’re sincere.”

“I have to listen to Dunstan, whether I want to or not.”

“Why?”

“He’s our… leader for lack of a better term.”

“Oh.”

“I remember bits and pieces of you taking care of me. I was… curious about you.”

“Curious?”

“Yeah, curious. Most humans would have freaked out at what you saw.”

“Believe me, I did plenty of freaking.”

Hagan stood. “I know Dunstan swore you to secrecy already, but I wanted to tell you myself. Don’t tell anyone about us. Very few humans know about our existence. The fewer that do, the better.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Besides, who’d believe me if I did?”

“Yeah, well we’ll know if you do.” Hagan headed for the front door, opened it, and paused, looking back at Gilbert. “We’re always watching.” He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

Gil stared at the now-empty space and shivered. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?