“Hmm. Not my kind of drama. I’ll be in touch about the dress.” Madeline heaves her workbag over her shoulder and exits through the front door.
“I wanted to tell you.” Xavier holds up his hands in surrender. “But he swore me to silence before I knew who he was.”
“Are you kidding me?” Esme hisses, all sweetness gone.
“Blood oath.” Xavier points to the healed slash on his wrist, where the skin is pink against his normal dark brown. “Swore I wouldn’t interfere with his plans as long as he didn’t harm anyone in Folk Haven. I couldn’t sayanything.” He sits up abruptly. “But now, you know. Figured it out on your own, no thanks to his secretive, brooding ass.” Xavier rises from the couch, looking mighty pleased, even in the face of Esme’s wrath. “Looks like my work here is done. Send me an invite to the mating.” His eyes flick my way, and he offers a sympathetic grimace. “Or the funeral. Whichever. See you both around.”
The dragon strolls out of my apartment, leaving me with an angry Esme. My strength slowly returns to my limbs, and I’m able to push myself into a seated position as the harpy paces around the living space, unnervingly silent.
I expect the obvious questions.
How are you here?
Why did you come back?
Why didn’t you say who you were?
Instead, Esme, like always, surprises me.
“Why do you have so many throw pillows?” She snatches two off an armchair I bought at a yard sale.
Glancing around, I realize I do have a lot. Probably twenty in this room, and there’s more on my bed. Every time I went to Bed, Bath, and Bargains, I would toss a few in my cart.
“Missed soft things,” I say, now realizing that’s the reason.
Everything in the colony was hard and sharp and cold.
Throw pillows are the opposite.
“You’re hoarding them.” Esme tosses one my way, and it hits my chest like a lobbed marshmallow. “You’re hoarding throw pillows because you want soft things,” she mutters.
I shrug. Collecting them simply felt natural. Like being around Esme.
She continues to pace, not meeting my eyes, clutching a piece of my hoard to her chest, as if it will comfort her.
“Tell me,” she commands.
So, I do. In slow, halting words, I tell her about leaving against my will, only realizing my father’s intentions once he shoved me into the fighting pit. How I had to change to survive, but then I just wanted to die. How a dragon saw my torment and shared her sacred secret with me. How I trained and meditated and fought every day to get back to myself. Back to her.
“But you didn’t come back to me though. Lee did,” she points out.
“Would’ve left,” I say. “If you were better off. Better without me.”
Esme crouches in front of me, her eyes wild, tears on her cheeks. “I’m going to kiss your fucking face off, you fucking infuriatingly dense dragon.”
My sluggish brain takes a moment to register the words. The deliciously perfect threat.
“Yes.”
Esme flies forward, straddling me, plastering herself to my chest as her fingers dig into my hair. Her lips crash into mine, dragging a groan from deep in my chest when I taste her hot flavor on my tongue. She kisses like a woman starved for my mouth, and I want nothing more than to be her feast.
Until I can’t fight the urge to consume her myself.
There are so many throw pillows in my place; a handful have toppled to the floor. I roll Esme over onto her back so she’scradled among the soft cushions, and then I drag my mouth from hers, licking my way down her neck to her collarbone.
“Sulien,” she moans, and I grow hard at the sound.
Shoving up the thin cotton of her shirt, I continue my trail of kisses over her bare flesh, enjoying not only the salty, sweet taste of her skin, but also the way she twists and laughs and groans. Just like she did all those years ago.
