I don’t know how long.
Because I don’t know what happened while I was in that prison. And I don’t know why I’m out now.
The last clear memory I have is the creak of an old staircase under my feet as I tried to move stealthily through the dragon’s house. The wood shouldn’t have made a noise. I was good at creeping. It was one of the reasons I’d felt hope when I took on the task.
For her.
I thought I could keep her safe.
I thought I could do something meaningful in my life. That I could be important to one other in this world.
But the house knew I was inside. Or the dragon did.
Because after the stairs sounded an alarm, the world around me shifted and burned. I smelled scorching hair, and I heard the ring of metal and my own shout of fearful surprise.
Then I was cold.
Now the chill is gone.
I’m covered in sweat. Weak. Limbs shaking.
I blink, and the night is too bright. My eyes burn in the light of multiple campfires as I try to take in the world around me.
Will I face Dimitri? Will he be in his dragon form, ready to devour my insignificant life? Because I might be fearsome in my beast shape, but I am no dragon.
Or will another monster be in front of me? The one who had set me on the task that left me in that prison. Will he deem my effort unworthy?
Do I dare hope that she will be in front of me? Will she tell me that I saved her?
Or will she tell me that I failed?
When I whip my head upward, wrenching the screaming muscles in my neck, I find none of those I expected.
There’s a woman before me, but not the one that I long to keep safe.
This one is a stranger.
Skin is pale as the moon. Fiery curls cascading around her flushed cheeks, lit by flickering fires of the same shade. Eyes locked on mine and seeming to spark with magic.
Magic.
Is she going to use the magic against me?
Am I in a new danger that I do not even know about?
“Where … what …” The words tear at my unused throat, and I don’t know that they are worth speaking. Will these people tell me anything?
“Hello.” The pale woman stands slowly, her fingers holding a bit of black fabric. When she pulls it over her head, I realize it is a sweatshirt. “My name is Mor. Mor Shelly. You were trapped in a curse, and I just broke it for you.” She holds her hands up in the universal sign of not intending any harm.
I have no response, still struggling to comprehend the situation.
“This is my sister, Ame. These are my two brothers, Anthony and Broderick.” She points to more people who surround her, each of them with hair as flaming as hers. “And that is Jack.” She waves at a wolfish figure, crouched at the side of the smallest woman. “He is part of our family. He is a werewolf, and we are witches.”
She imparts all these pieces of information in a clear, concise tone. Almost as though she knows the more facts I have, the more grounded I will feel in this situation.
I appreciate this effort she makes for me. Her words solidify the world around me as much as my fingers digging into the earth and the grass beneath my knees.
Mor reaches for the ground and grips a blanket, which she extends between us. That’s when I realize nothing covers my naked form. Hurriedly, I take the offering and wrap the soft material around my body. And because I was never able to stop it, a blush of embarrassment creeps over my skin. The fact thatI am embarrassed in this moment is ludicrous. There is so much more that I should be concerned with. And yet my sensitivity to being vulnerable around anyone still rears its head.
