I pause for a moment, unsure where to begin.
“I thought I was a dead man,” I say. “What was that you gave to me earlier?”
“It was blood. My blood. It has… healing properties.”
“How’s that possible? Unless you’re… part dragon?” I feel ridiculous asking such a question aloud, yet here I am, sounding like a madman.
“I’m notpartdragon,” she utters, her tone indignant. “Iama dragon. I have the ability to transform.”
“How?”
“Just as the Gods may choose their form to suit their desires, I, too, can change on a whim.”
“You said before that you knew you were my Fated One. How?”
The woman shifts her weight from foot to foot. Her mouth opens for a moment before she closes it again. Even from across the water, I can see that she’s choosing her words carefully. “Next question,” she says.
I stride around the edge of the water and approach her cautiously. “Please, answer me.”
“I can see them, too.”
My brows knit together. I now have more questions than I started with. “The threads? How is that possible?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m willing to listen.”
“Even if you do, it will do you no good.”
“And why is that?”
“Because…” She trails off, her eyes glassy with the threat of tears.
I take a step closer, my fingers itching to touch. There’s barely a pace between us now, the tension thick and heavy in the air. I reach up slowly and carefully, genuinely surprised when she allows me to graze her cheek with the back of my hand. It’s fleeting, but electric.
Now I know exactly what all my customers have experienced the first time I bring them to their Fated Ones. It’s unlike anythingI’ve ever felt before. My skin tingles with a pleasant warmth, my soul is wrapped in a restful peace. It’s the same feeling I get when I lay my weary head on my pillow at night, soothing and comfortable and secure.
And then she pulls away, and I’m adrift once more.
“You can see our thread, then?” I ask hastily.
“Yes.”
“Why is it gray?”
She stares at me, then exhales deeply before her eyes flick away. She’s still being very deliberate with her words; I can’t say that I like it.
“I don’t know,” she replies.
“But you must have some idea—”
“Enough questions,” she says. “You’ll get no more answers from me.”
“Just one more,” I barter. “And I’ll let the issue rest.”
“What is it?”
“What’s your name, my lady? At the very least, please grant me that.”
