CHAPTER FORTY
Lukendevener
She’s leaving. The words taunt me as I storm out of my castle and fling myself into the air. The waterfall flashes by below, reminding me of Skye and all I’ve lost. I barrel down to land in front of the rock formation that holds the door to Faerie and step through into the warm spring air of Alarria. Ignoring the orcs guarding the door, I launch into the sky, my clothes shredding as I become a dragon, huge and powerful.
I fly and fly with no thought for where I go, my wings thumping in time to the words that fill my mind until my heart beats to match: she’s leaving, she’s leaving, she’s leaving.
No more sleepy mornings with her pretty unpainted face yawning as I make her one of her special coffees, while she cooks our breakfast. No more hours spent organizing my library, working side by side, sharing small treasureswhenever one of us finds an interesting title. No more practicing lifts in the heated pond, Skye growing ever more confident as we repeat the move successfully, the feel of her held up by my hands like an offering to the heavens. No more dinners on the couch while we watch one of her romantic dance movies, and Princess Buttercup tries to snag treats from our plates. No more dancing with Skye, touching her, feeling her come alive with movement and joy. No more flying with her in my arms, her soft curves snuggled close as she trusts me to never let her go. No more of the fiery heat that ignites every time I touch her naked skin.
No more of the pretty little witch filling my life with her youth and beauty and intelligence and passion and joy. No more of her perfect blend of sweetness and spice. No more of everything that makes her so marvelouslySkye.
I roar. Fire pours from my mouth to scorch the sky, my internal fire an inferno inside me.
Time passes, minutes stretching to hours, hours feeling like days. I have no idea how long I am lost.
The setting sun gilds the edges of the Dular Mountains, painting the distant purple peaks with splashes of orange. The sight of my former home shakes me out of my angry daze.
If I return there, I return to a life half lived. For three hundred years, I’ve known only rejection, my fractured magic grating at other dragons. I never let myself recognize how deep the wounds were when I had to live with the daily snubs and cold shoulders.
They’d slowly begun to heal in my time on Earth, and Skye’s presence greatly added to that. But they were onlyscabbed over, still raw and open deep down. Skye leaving feels like another rejection, tearing open all those old wounds, making them flare into agony again.
It’s too much.
So I did what I always do: I fled. For that is how I spent much of the past three hundred years: a constant cycle of reaching out to my family and peers, being rejected, and fleeing for a time before loneliness sent me right back to them for more. Not that I was ever willing to admit how lonely I was, even to myself.
I can see it now, because of Skye and her openness and willingness to be vulnerable.
I ran away from her exactly as I ran away from all of those past hurts. Yet that wasn’t fair to her. Shadow’s taunting voice fills my imagination: “You’re angry she’s leaving, but did you ever ask her to stay?”
A snarl curls my lips. Imaginary Shadow is just as annoying as the real fae.
As the sky purples into night, I turn back toward the door to Earth. My magic flares within me, and I fly faster than I’ve ever flown in my life, great wingbeats that sound out a new mantra: claim Skye, claim Skye, claim Skye.
On the outskirts of the orc village, I shift into weredragon form and barrel through the magical door to Earth, ignoring the orcs and their cries about my nudity. Unwilling to waste time dressing, I fly home through the cold night air and race to the reading room. It stands empty, yet the wisteria remains pink, which I take as a good sign—my library wants Skye here as much as I do.
I storm up the main staircase, yelling her name as I go,ready to ask her to stay.
When I get to her room, the door is open and all of her things are missing. She’s already gone. I took too long, and she’s already gone.
I pick up a pillow and breathe in the lingering traces of her sweet and spicy scent.
My old habits caused this, but I’m on Earth to have a new life, and I want it to be with Skye.
I’m done fleeing.
“Shadow!” I pound on his door for the third time. “Wake the fuck up!”
The werepanther rents the second-floor apartment over Bling It On, since the earth-dwelling gnomes have no need for an aboveground residence. He should be here, unless he’s off on one of his messenger trips to Faerie.
Finally, the soft pad of footsteps sounds from within.
When he swings open the door, I push past him into a living room with a long sofa facing a television that’s flanked by bookshelves covered in anything but books. Raw, uncut gems lay beside an orc dagger and a quiver of ancient elfin arrows. Bespelled crystals cover one shelf, while another holds Faerie gold. There’s even more treasures from Faerie mixed in. They must add up to a fortune, but the cat’s collection of curiosities is not what I’m here for.
“Do come in,” he says, tone sardonic.Then he yawns, his mouth opening far wider than should be possible, showing off an impressive amount of teeth, even in his fae form. Shadow wears only a pair of linen sleep pants, his hair rumpled.
“Aren’t cats supposed to be nocturnal?”
“Aren’t dragons supposed to have manners?” Then he taps a finger to lips pursed in an exaggerated fashion. “Oh, no, wait. My bad. I forgot who I’m talking to.”
