Ten
Avoid an urge to deliver revenge by “accidentally” smacking your human with your tail.
-Humaning for Beginners: A Dragon’s Tale of Human Management
Ifloated in a hazy space between past and present, my surroundings crystallizing slowly.
A street stretched before me, lined by sidewalks and mailboxes and shrouded in a canopy of magnolia. Houses stood shoulder to shoulder, with wraparound porches and hanging baskets of flowers. I could almostsmell the scent of honeysuckle and fresh-cut peaches.
A screen door slapped open, and a boy, no older than nine I’d guess, popped out of the house closest to me and raced down the steps. “I got it,” he yelled as he passed, acting as if he didn’t see me, raising a leather pack high in the air. A wide grin split his adorable face, his honey-colored eyes bright with excitement.
Confusion struck. This was young Taron. I’d noted his presence in pictures while monitoring his father, but I’dnever seen him in motion. Never playing at this age. How was I seeing him now?
A smiling man followed him out, limping slightly. “Slow down, bud. Dad’s sore knee is screeching.”
Gasping, I pressed a hand to my belly. The man was unmistakable. Taron’s father, Julian. Last time I’d seen him, he’d been much older, battling an illness that had turned his strong body into a frail shell. He’d hoped I could provide a cure and grant him immortality, but all I’d given him was a horrific death.
Heart fluttering, I shot my attention back to the boy as he knelt and emptied his pack, removing a small buddy burner, a metal coffee can and a box of matches. A lump formed in my throat, guilt attempting to swallow me whole.
Here I was, witnessing the unraveling of one of Taron’s memories, as he had relived mine.
“Light the match,” Julian instructed. “Hold your hand over the flame until the pain is too great.”
“Like this?” Taron dutifully followed the instructions.
“Exactly like that. Good boy. Welcome the heat. Breathe in the smoke.” His father ruffled his hair. “I know it hurts,” he added when Taron grimaced. “This is important and might save your life one day.”
I watched in horror as the flame licked down the wood and blisters formed. Julian was training his son to survive me.
With a series of hisses, Taron held on until the very end, when the fire snuffed out between his fingers. He peered at his father, hopeful. Tremors rippled through me.
Julian studied his son’s red welts, a bit of his optimism draining. “Can you do it again?”
Young Taron jutted his chin. “I can do anything, Dad. I’m–”
My eyes popped open in a sudden rush, the scene erased, reality intruding. I was panting, my clawtips embedded in the chest of a man. Took a moment for my brain to come online and thoughts to form. Our desperate hunt for ingredients. A kiss that had burned even me. Gaining the needed crystal. Fighting the frostwargs. Taron’s injury.
Tremors plagued me anew. I didn’t have to wonder why I’d seen him as a little boy, learning to withstand my flame. The bond wasn’t just pulling us together; it was trading our wounds.
I was still sprawled on top of him, his arms wrapped tightly around me. One of his hands had migrated into my hair and the other resting on the curve of my back. Hours had passed. Sunlight now filtered through the high canopy, dappling his skin and mine in gold. Birds trilled nearby, the songs sharp, melodic and unfamiliar. Emberwood had changed with dawn, becoming less menace, more mystery. All hint of winter was gone, dew sparkling on ferns like fragments of shattered starlight.
With the memory playing on repeat in the back of my mind, I plucked my claws free of Taron’s chest. Wait. I’d, like, slept. Actually slept, all lights off. I did it out in the open, where predators roamed. Anyone or thing could have attacked us. Stolen our crystal. Something! Not to mention the threat of Lorik.
Ashamed of my lack of control, I shifted slightly, scanning for threats, every muscle ready to spring into action. But the woods were calm and quiet. Too quiet?
“Olyssa.”
Taron’s low, rough voice flippedevery nerve in my body to instant alert. In a heartbeat, I was face to face with him, mine hovering over his. His lids stayed closed, but the bluish cast to his skin had faded. Excellent. He was healing even from the poison.
“Lyssa,” he said this time, little more than a moan.
Um, was he now living another ofmymemories? A flush crept up my throat, spreading like wildfire. Okay, time to rise and shine.
I started to move, but his arms flexed. Then his hands shot to my hips and squeezed, drawing me back down to him. His eyes snapped open and met mine, all melted honey and brilliant intensity. Our gazes collided in a heated tangle, a live wire to my pulse.
We didn’t speak. We just stared. He smoldered. I quaked. What had he seen to cause such a result?
“The kiss,” he said, as if answering my unspoken question, his voice like gravel.
