Chapter 2

Ayla POV:

Those red-gold dragon pupils swirled with freezing snow and violent fire, and the crushing pressure of his red-gold bloodline slammed me flat against the wall like a giant invisible hand.

Red-gold dragon pupils. He was a nobleman.

I couldn't breathe or move a finger until a pained groan tore from the man's throat.

His tall frame convulsed violently, a trickle of black, poisoned blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, and the suffocating pressure vanished all at once.

Gasping for air, I slid down the wall to the carpet.

The black blood and the erratic frost-and-fire energy meant he was suffering from a fatal neurotoxin flare-up accompanied by acute cardiopulmonary failure.

Before coming here, my grandfather specially supplemented these medical knowledge about dragons for me—the names of the meridians, the meaning of the black blood, the taboos around a royal dragon core.

My first instinct was to run for the door. But the heavy boots outside were already pounding closer, and I had just escaped a pack of wolves—I couldn't outrun them in this state.

I looked back at the man on the bed. A nobleman with red-gold dragon pupils, clearly high-ranking, clearly dying. And clearly the only person in this building whose authority might outweigh Kamden's.

Only I could save him. That was my bargaining chip. But before the negotiation, I have to show him my value.

Instead of running for the door, I tightened my grip on the scalpel, braced myself against the freezing dragon scent lingering in the air, and walked straight toward the black-wood dragon bed.

"Get out..." the man ground out between clenched teeth. His voice was low, hoarse, and carried the absolute authority of a ruler as he tried to raise a hand to summon his dragonfire.

Before a single spark could form, a deep, jagged scar across his abdomen split open.

Fresh red-gold blood soaked through his clothes, his arm dropped limply onto the mattress, and he slipped into semi-consciousness.

I rushed forward, climbed onto the bed without a second thought, and straddled his firm thighs, ripping open his sweat-drenched shirt with both hands.

The dragon core embedded in the center of his chest was glowing a strange, icy blue, while the veins branching out around it burned bright red like magma.

The clashing frost and fire were tearing his heart apart from the inside.

I took a deep breath, interlocked my fingers, and placed the heel of my hand squarely on the lower half of his sternum. Using my body weight, I began standard CPR compressions.

With every hard press downward, the space between us disappeared, and his ragged, scorching breaths hit the hollow of my neck, sending a strange shiver down my spine.

"One, two, three..." I counted under my breath while watching his pupils. His skin felt as cold as a block of ice one second and burning hot the next.

After thirty compressions, I pinched the high bridge of his nose, leaned down, and pressed my mouth directly against his cold, thin lips to force air into his lungs.

The instant our lips touched, a tiny jolt of electricity sparked across my skin and made my heart skip a beat, though the metallic taste of blood in his mouth quickly snapped me back to reality.

After three full cycles of CPR, his broad chest finally heaved. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he coughed up a large mouthful of black blood mixed with tiny shards of ice.

I rolled off his lap onto the floor, wiped my mouth with the back of my torn sleeve, and flicked my wrist to press the tip of my steel scalpel right against a major pressure point beside his carotid artery.

His eyes snapped open again. The red-gold dragon pupils were much clearer now, and his icy gaze dropped to the blade in my hand.

"You have a death wish," he rasped, his voice thick with danger.

I puffed out my cheeks slightly and met his terrifying stare without blinking.

"I'm saving your life. If I don't clear your blocked meridians right now, your heart will explode in three minutes."

He narrowed his eyes, staring at me as if weighing whether I was lying, before letting out a cold snort and relaxing his tense muscles to allow me to continue.

I slid the scalpel back into my sleeve and used both hands to press and knead the key meridian points across his chest and abdomen where the rampaging dragon breath was backed up.

My fingertips brushed over his hard abdominal muscles and the rough edges of that old scar, making his breathing grow noticeably heavier and rougher beneath my palms.

With one final, heavy press below his ribs, the violent clash of frost and fire inside him settled down, and the golden dragon core in his chest returned to a steady, warm glow.

"What kind of witchcraft did you just use?"

His large hand shot out and grabbed my wrist like an iron shackle, the rough calluses on his fingers scraping against my skin.

"It's not witchcraft, it's medicine," I said, yanking my wrist free from his grip and looking him dead in the eye. "You owe me your life now, my lord."

The corner of his mouth curled into a dark, unreadable smirk, but before he could say a word, chaotic footsteps echoed from the hallway outside.

"Search every single room! That little bitch is drugged and hurt, she couldn't have gone far! She has to be hiding on this floor!"

"Listening," I met his icy stare without flinching, "You should be more aware of how serious your condition is, but I'm telling you now that I can cure you. If you want to live, you need to protect me first."

The heavy footsteps stopped right outside the broken frame of the adjoining area, followed by aggressive pounding on the main corridor entrance of this suite.

"Open up! Royal Dragon Guard on official business!"

I glanced back at the man on the bed. He was leaning lazily against the carved headboard now, his red-gold eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched me.

"It looks like you owe me for shelter too, little wildcat," he murmured in a low, gravelly voice.

A deafening boom shook the walls as the guards outside rammed the heavy wooden door, ready to blast it off its hinges.