The heel of my boot hits stone. Then my shoulder blades. The wall at my back is cold. Students are hot and angry and jealous in front of me. Pressed up against the rough stones, I could still land a few punches and kicks, but what good would it do? They’re going to overpower me, dangle me out the window, and demand their share of gildenfae gold.
I’m suddenly upside down, hanging out the soaring window, the stone courtyard far below. They hold me by the ankles and give me a good shake. A single gold coin falls from my pocket. A greedy hand lets go of my ankle to grab for it, and I wake with a scream.
I struggle up in bed, breathing hard. My shout still rings in my ears. Fyrestar’s eyes are my only light in the dark. Then Rim’s blink open. Then Sol’s. They know my sleep can be agitated, but I don’t usually scream.
Cold air sweeps over my bare shoulders, the annoying straps of my nightgown halfway down my arms again. I yank them up as I glance at the window. It’s blown open, and I really want it closed. Trembling, I swing my legs out of bed and stand just as Bale bursts through the open window, his horned, black-and-crimson head leading the way before he shifts into skin and stands in my room, shadows spilling from him.
Gasping, I jump the height of Drayke Mountain. “Bloodpit!” My pulse takes off violently, my hand flying to my heart.
Bale sweeps me behind him, looking for threats. “What’s wrong?”
Startled shock mixes with the still-vivid feeling of being shaken out a window. I gape at Bale’s wide back, a few shadow scales continuing to darken his neck between his shirt and hair. “Why would something be wrong?” The fact that I’m shaking like a leaf means nothing. Nothing at all.
“I heard you scream.” He turns to me, his brow drawing low.
I shuffle back, putting more distance between us. His inner warmth blasts over me, and I don’t hate it. I fear leaning in. “From the top of the mountain?” I smooth the mess of hair back from my face, my blood still beating like a storm. “Even if your hearing is that good, how did you get here so fast?”
“I was flying around.” He waves a vague hand toward the chasm outside the window.
I swallow. Flying around outside my room? Heat pricks me all over. Bale feels like a wash of sparks blowing over me from a bonfire that I can’t brush off my skin. They just keep burning deeper and deeper. Short of breath, iced over but somehow burning up, I almost feel as if I’m coming down with something. Maybe it’s dragonkingitis. Bale is a force. He might also be a disease.
“I didn’t scream.” I glance at Fyrestar, who narrows his eyes. “I mean, I might’ve made a noise…”
I see Bale’s expression darken just from the light of the stars. “You screamed,” he counters bluntly, “so what’s wrong?”
His gruff concern catapults my heart right into my throat. So does the hard edge in his voice. “Nothing. Really. Just a weird dream.” I shuffle toward my bed and grab my robe, knowing he can hear every absurdly loud beat of my pulse.
Fyrestar gets up and ruffles his feathers. “It’s almost dawn. Let’s go stretch our wings and hunt for breakfast.” Rim and Sol immediately stand.
My lips part in shock. Did our conversation during the night mean nothing to him? I stare in disbelief as he takes off, Rim and Sol hot on his tail feathers. Judging by the complete absence of sunlight, it’s not close to dawn, and Fyrestar just left me alone with Bale because apparently, he’s a hopeless matchmaker.
Bale watches them fade into the darkness. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the young ones move so fast.”
My voice sours. “They’ll follow Fyrestar anywhere.”
“And you.” He turns back to me.
The echo of my conversation with Fyrestar is louder than ever as I nod. Shivering again, I decide it’s my room, and I can do what I want. I hop back into bed, fluff my pillows so I can sit up, and pull the still-warm covers over me. “Now that you crashed through my window like a falling star only to discover that I’m fine, you can carry on with your flying around.”
Bale pushes the windows most of the way closed, then follows me to my bedside. “Trying to get rid of me?”
“Is it working?”
His eyes like two smoldering coins, he watches me attempt to get comfortable—impossible with him standing there. “What happened? Why the shout?”
“What if there was someone else in here?” I ask in lieu of answering. “Not all shouts are bad.”
His hands curl into fists. The darkness around him deepens, shadows creeping from his skin. “You can admit to having nightmares, Idallia. It’s not the end of the world.”
“And you can admit to having friends. It’s not the end of the world.”
He sits on the side of my bed, making the mattress dip. “We’re not talking about me.” His gaze roams my face. “Are you all right?”
No. The tenderness in his voice makes me want to cry. And no, because the thing I want most right now is to crawl into his arms.
“I’m fine.” I lift my chin. “Nightmares are for children.”
“Nightmares are for anyone.”
