Taevas wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t ignorant of what his instincts demanded of him. He just didn’t want to listen.
A cold, slushy wave of fear churned in his gut. It was one thing to crave, but quite another to give in to that craving. That would mean relinquishing control over everything he’d so carefully safeguarded over the years — an utterly unthinkable path, no matter what his instincts howled for.
His mind never stopped spinning, but sleep eventually claimed him anyway. Like a switch flipping on and off, Taevas couldn’t recall closing his eyes, only opening them again to a room lit with pale morning light. A strange shape of it was cast on the floor by a small gap in the fabric pinned to the window frames.
He watched it on the floor for several moments, disoriented, until awareness came back to him. The scent of coffee and the soft sounds of cooking prompted him to move before he’d properly assessed whether that was possible.
Taevas nearly stumbled out of the bed. He caught himself just in time to spare himself the fall, but he still landed hard on the bed. His head spun. Bile crept up the back of his throat. A full-body quake overtook him. It was as if his body couldn’t decidewhether it wanted to shift or not. Every muscle seemed to slither under his skin, unsure of their places.
Taevas gasped, claws curling into the bedding, and fought it hard. He barely heard a soft knock on the door, but Alashiya’s voice came through. “Taevas? Are you okay? It sounded like you fell.”
A pitiful noise left his throat. Not a moment later, the door swung open. His vision was too blurred to see her clearly, but he’d know the shape of her, the golden tones of her skin and hair, anywhere.
Alashiya rushed into the room, bringing a waft of rich coffee and cypress with her. “Whoa, whoa,” she muttered, bending a little to brace her palms on his shoulders. “Easy. Don’t move. Are you hurting?”
“I’m okay,” he rasped, muscles shuddering as they finally settled back into their proper places. His mouth filled with saliva as an impression of memory surfaced, one of complete helplessness as he was pricked with a needle again, a threadbare bag thrown over his head and his limbs bound.
I couldn’t shift,he suddenly recalled.I couldn’t control it.
“The drug that was used,” he found himself explaining around gasps of exertion, “I think it was a shift inhibitor. It must still be in my system, doing gods know what.”
Petal-soft hands smoothed over his shoulders and down his arms, tracing invisible but unforgettable paths down the naked skin of his biceps. “Is a shift inhibitor like medicine? Will it wash out of your system on its own?”
Taevas ran a hand over his clammy face. “Most do, but they could’ve used anything. And I was injected so many times…”
I could’ve died.
The thought came to him as clear as day. Of course, he’d recognized that he was likely to be murdered, but there was something more unsettling about the possibility of a careless, accidental death. A senseless one.
Most inhibitors were safe, used only in rare cases where two-formed beings needed to be restrained for their safety or that of others. But they weren’t meant for long-term care, and those that were more potent were far more dangerous.Nonewere meant for repeated use.
Snatches of memory, a muffled argument here and there, drifted from the foggy mass of his memories. “They didn’t know what they were doing. I don’t remember what they said, but I got the sense that they weren’t supposed to have me for as long as they did. Something went wrong.”
Alashiya hovered close. It calmed him, though a new urgency asserted itself when she pressed the silken skin of her inner wrist to his forehead. “You’re warm. Really warm, Taevas. I don’t know what’s normal for a dragon, but you feel feverish to me.”
He opened his eyes. Gods, the sound of his name on her lips was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. It was on the tip of his tongue to command her to say it again. Just one more time.
She was so close that he could count her lashes. He might’ve even been able to count the hidden freckles across her nose. Breathing deeply, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gently guided it down.
Settling her hand on his shoulder where it belonged, he muttered, “I overexerted myself yesterday.”
He expected a wince and maybe an apology for her disappearing act, but he got neither. Instead, Alashiya arched her brows and peered down her nose at him. “It was stupid of you to chase me.”
Taevas opened his mouth, but it was an ancient instinct who replied, “I’ll always chase you,metsalill.”
There was a taut moment of silence as they stared at one another, a scant few inches between their faces. A wild thing beat in his chest — his heart, he thought, though he didn’t recognize the new rhythm it struck.
His claws curled into the bedsheets again. It was a reflex, but not one he’d ever struggled with before. Dragons weregrabbers. Acquirers. They often snatched things on impulse, and it took the work of years to train their young to manage it.
It was a humbling regression —one of many,he thought bitterly — to struggle against the urge as a grown man.
If Alashiya noticed his internal battle, she didn’t comment on it. No doubt it appeared to her as yet another of his many oddities and improprieties. She eased back, taking the comfort of her touch with her. “Definitely feverish. You should stay in bed.”
Appalled, Taevas exclaimed, “I willnot.”
“You’re sick and clearly not as healed as you thought you were,” she argued, hands on her hips. She wore the strangest outfit that day, composed of what looked like repurposed men’s overalls, and still somehow she managed to be the single most appealing creature he’d ever laid eyes on.
With her curls tied up in a colorful scarf and her eyes as bright as polished cedar, she looked the very picture of robust health when she ordered, “Back into bed. I’ll bring breakfast, then you’ll rest.”
