Farren breaks into a huffing laughter that turns into the real thing a moment later. “That’s so sad.”
Though I’m drenched, a warm bubble rises in my chest. I made her laugh. Not Hort, not Jeffrey. Me. However, happiness won’t prevent the cold I’ll surely catch if I stay wet in my flying gear. I unbuckle the silver chest guard. Along the side lies a seam I must craft open, the metal curling up to release its protective hold on my torso.
I catch her looking at me as the metal thumps onto the floor. “What?”
“Your full chest plate is so heavy. I don’t know how you fly with it.”
“Yeah, well—” I stop, staring at where I crafted the metal apart. “You’re the one that took this off me, didn’t you?”
She winces like it still hurts to admit her full power. “Yeah.”
“Damn, all the signs were there. How did I miss them all?”
“Everyone does. Everyonedid. When someone’s dying, no one pays attention to how the metal gets crafted off. All anyone cares about is that it does.” She pauses with the weight of those words. Dying. I was dying thatday. “You were right by the way,” she continues. “You’re the first person to figure out my secret.” She brushes her hair from her face, tries to dry her glasses. She’s wearing her old frames with my new lenses. I look away. I don’t know why, but Farren wet could be the death of me. Something about her hair, wavy and messy. Her clinging clothes, especially the white undershirt beneath her olive-green cotton dress. Compound that with the discovery Farren undressed me before giving me mouth-to-mouth… I will myself to form thoughts. Productive thoughts.
“Do you want to wash up? Or I can give you clothes to change into?” I motion toward the dresser.
“Clothes would be nice.”
I pop open the drawer. With all my shirts and sweaters staring up at me I’m at a loss with what to give her. I grab a light cream sweater and riding pants and then hand over the bundle.
As the bathroom door clicks closed, I rip off my own clothes and change, trying desperately not to think of Farren on the other side of that door.This is fine. Be normal, Murphy, for god’s sake.
Farren steps out just a moment after I button up my shirt. She stands in front of me wearing my sweater and my pants. I don’t know if I’ve ever been more attracted to her.
She flaps her arms a little and the shirt pulls up on the sides. “It’s a little wide.”
“Umm.” I swallow. I offer a belt, and she wraps the leather around her hips, fastening my clothes to her frame so they don’t fall.
She then hugs herself. “It’s nice though. I want to keep it.”
“You want to keep it?” Like we’re together. Like I’m her boyfriend and she’s my girlfriend, stealing my clothes. My entire body warms. “I don’t know, Walsh, that’s my favorite sweater.” Or at least, it is now.
Shock travels across her face as she drops her arms. “I don’t know why I even said that. I’ll return everything tomorrow.”
The wordtomorrowlingers between us. But what about tonight? Is she going to wait out this storm here, with me? The loft suddenly feels small,intimate.I expect nothing inappropriate will happen, my father’s voice bounces through my skull. I don’t think either of our parents would be pleased seeing us right now.
Or is this her plan, a trap? Trying to implicate me somehow. I hold up my hands in surrender. “You can stay here, but please don’t get me kicked out.”
Before she can answer lightning flashes and the lights snuff out, pitching us into darkness. Thunder booms, but intermingled in the rumbling lies a more primal roar, impossibly loud and low.
“Was that a dragon?” I ask into the darkness.
“I don’t think so,” Farren whispers. My eyes adjust a little in the beat of silence that follows. Her voice sounds on the edge of panic when she continues with, “You know, I should go back to the house. In case my parents call.”
“Walsh.”
“It’s fine. Just a little rain.” She’s already moving, opening the door.
I catch her wrist on the landing. “You just got dry.”
Farren wheels around. “I don’t feel comfortable here… with you.”
I let go like she’s burned me. And in a way she has. It’s one thing if she doesn’t want to be around me. Another entirely if she believes I would ever hurt her. “I won’t do anything to you. I promise. I’ll sleep with Hort even, if—”
“Murphy, just—” She shifts like she needs to leave right now, or the world will end. “I have to go.”
She runs down the stairs too fast, throws open the barn door like I’m a monster she must escape. I replay every syllable of our interaction. If that noise was a dragon, it was a wild one who can take care of itself. So, it must be me. I clench and unclench my fist. Did I grab her too roughly? Did I make it sound like I couldn’t control myself or something? Damn it. I ruffle my wet hair as I pace. Should I go after her and apologize?
