Alice's Dragon (The Challenge Series) Read Online Free PDF

would be wicked jealous.”
    Walter nose-butted her finger. In only two days, he’d grown, the intake of blood increasing his size with every sip. Bade said he’d reach the size of a small dog before the end of the week and be bigger than an alligator before the month was out. She couldn’t wait.
    He blew a puff of smoke in her hand. Alice laughed and patted his head before setting him in the bowl of blood.
    “There, you eat and be good. I’m going to go rustle up some grub for Bade. He’s paying me through the nose, I should at least make an effort to feed him on occasion.”
    Alice carefully pushed to her feet. She’d talked herself into no longer wishing for her missing limb. She couldn’t have it back, couldn’t grow a new one, couldn’t steal one from Henry, so it was a lost cause and a drain on her time to think about it. Alice rolled her shoulders, the stump less tender every day as skin grew over the hole. It itched like wool pants in July, but Bade swore it healed better than anything he’d ever encountered.
    She suspected the healing was due to the dragon spit. The stuff smelled vile, but her grandmother had insisted it had healing properties and often rubbed it on Alice’s chest during colds. Her granny had a twisted sense of humor, but the old bat might have known something.
    Alice pulled out a bowl and carried it to the flour barrel. She’d stocked up on provisions before the arm incident. The asses in town were liable to charge her double since they didn’t need her for Rusty. The cutthroat mentality separated the strong Isle of Adeners from the weak. Only the strong survived.
    She added a small amount of salt and water to the flour and grabbed an egg from the basket for minor leavening. If Bade had a problem with flatbread, he could go to the baker and prostitute himself for some yeast. Alice frowned at the white shell. Cracking it could be done with one hand, but separating the shells…she wasn’t so sure.
    She took down a cup and did her best, but ended up fishing out several shards. Once the contents no longer contained crunchy bits, she mixed them with a spoon, but the cup wobbled. She smashed up and down on the yolk until it broke before dumping it into the dry ingredients.
    Sweat dripped down the side of her face. What should have been a simple task took her full concentration. The large bowl shifted every time she tried to stir. Alice leaned against the counter, trying to hold it against the wall with her shoulder. For every turn of the spoon, the container moved three times.
    She stepped back and took in the situation, sure she missed something.
    “This is ridiculous,” she muttered.
    People lost arms all the time. Well, not all the time, but people who lost their arms and lived to tell about it still functioned, or so she assumed. She was going to continue functioning if it killed her.
    Grabbing her largest bowl, she lined it with towels until the bread bowl fit snugly inside. She picked up her spoon and began stirring again. The bowl wanted to wobble, but if she didn’t go too quickly, it didn’t gain enough momentum to counteract the friction of the towel. By the time the dough came together, Walter fussed in a container empty of blood and sweat streamed down her face, but triumph filled her guts. She could do it.
    Alice set the heavy pan covered in small loaves onto the coals just as the door creaked open behind her. She peered over her shoulder and told her stupid heart it had no business racing. The foreigner wasn’t even all that handsome. Worse, he was once again covered in blood.
    He set his catch of squirrels on the table and grinned. The way his smile brightened his face and the room made her recant her earlier judgment about him not being terribly handsome. The cottage warmed with him in it, as if he brought in something it had never possessed before. She’d certainly never experienced anything like him.
    “I trapped enough for Walter and for stew,” he said. “And