I throw myself at him, but his arms remain rigid at his sides. No wonder being touched is so hard for Lu; it’s horrifyingly easy to guess why, but Iwillreclaim his ability to be loved.
I will. “Ludo? Come back to me, please, my Ludo. I need you.”
More plumes of incense weave around the meadow. Some floral notes, some musk, and some of the smoke definitely carry the same scent as in Ludo’s memory.
“Find a way to make those Godsdamn things stop smoking!” I yell, then continue to stroke and hold tight to Ludo, nuzzling my face into his neck.
Alexis and Cosmo immediately start casting, and a sharp gust of wind directly away the smoke. At the same time Donovan runs to the temple, pitching the smoking metal bowls upside down.
It takes a while, but finally the air clears. “Come back, Ludo. We’re safe if we’re together. Please, my love, please.”
Slowly, his eyes begin to regain focus.
—Nymph—You’re real?—
I stroke my hand through his long white hair. “I’m real, I’m here and I’m never going to leave you, Ludo.”
I place a gentle kiss on his jaw.
—Too broken—not worthy—
“We’re all broken. I’m damaged goods too, but we glue each other’s cracks back together. You’re my glue. Please believe me when I say, I couldn’t exist without you. I love you.”
—Nymph?—
“Lu?”
—For you, I’ll try to believe. You own me. Every piece of me—
I lean my forehead into his. “The feeling’s mutual.”
14
Theo is coaxing the janitor out of some kind of fugue state.
The smoke provoked such a primal reaction in Ludo that it must be PTSD. I saw a lot of that in the Kormovia army. It never gets easier to witness.Fuck.
We all deal with trauma in different ways. Take my cousin; he’s back in his hound form, tearing around the hillside completely manic.
Donovan is asleep on the grass.
And Drakeward? He is staring into the distance, jaw clenched. Who knows what goes on in that mind?
As for me, an emotional or psychological experience leads me to seek answers, so that’s what I’m going to do.
“Where are you going?” Drakeward frowns as I start moving.
“Taking a look inside.”
“I’ll come. You are not the only one here with an intellect, Feniks.”
I don’t bother giving him a response; I’m too focused on the structure in front of me. The walls are not fabric, but something that moves like it—a kind of gossamer glass that ripples like liquid silk. Its construction is utterly alien; the effect of the golden light passing through is mesmerizing.
A breeze parts the drapery, letting more of the golden light pour out. Holding out a hand, I tell Drakeward to wait. I don’t trust the dragon to remain calm and observant, and who knows what is beyond these curtains?
“Fine, put yourself in the firing line,” he snaps. “I don’t care.”
I know you don’t, Dragon-boy.
