“I can’t let Torrynth meet the same fate.”
I shake my head. “No. You’re right. We won’t let that happen.”
He gives me a sad smile, then a faraway look overtakes his face again as he mindlessly rubs my foot.
“I’d like to see the moon one day,” I tell him quietly as I look at a painting of it hanging on my wall. I hung it there a few years back, as a reminder. “The stars painting the night sky…”
I glance at him. He’s looking at the same painting, nodding. “You will.”
“Tell me a funny story about Raef.”
He smirks, running a hand through his hair. He’s stopped rubbing my foot, but they still rest in his lap. His hand still holds onto one, and the warmth of his arm rests over my shin. My body heats, and the flutters travel lower.
Dammit. My plan to ignore my attraction to him is not working.
“Ah, a funny story about Raef. Where do I begin?”
“How old are you two, anyway?”
“Twenty-three. He’s actually six months older. He’ll never let me forget it.”
I laugh.
He tilts his head to the side, eyeing me, then takes in my damp hair. “May I?” he asks, reaching out to gently tug a piece of the ends.
My breath hitches. “What?”
“You like to wear your hair braided a lot.”
“I do…”
He gently lifts my feet off him, then spreads his legs and motions to the rug in front of him.
“Okay…”
I move to the floor in front of him, leaning back against his seat. I set my glass on the floor in front of me. His long legs cage me in on both sides without quite touching me, his smoky musk filling my senses. I pull my legs into myself, hugging them.
His gentle fingers begin to pull at the top of my head, and I can’t help but shudder at the touch. Chills run down my spine.
He pauses. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Apparently having my hair and scalp played with is a weakness of mine. As he pulls and runs his hands along my head, it feels fucking incredible. I rub a hand along my arm under my sleeve and confirm there are tiny bumps along it.
I take a large gulp of my wine, then close my eyes.
“So… Raef,” he releases an exaggerated sigh. “Where do I begin.”
“When we were younger, he was convinced he’d be the first dragon to fly in a thousand years.”
“So it’s true, you really can’t?”
A heavy pause follows before he answers. “No.”
I wait for him to go on.
“Anyway,” he says, continuing to weave his fingers through my hair slowly, methodically. Like he’s handling something incredibly gentle that he doesn’t want to break. “He became very determined. He jumped off small ridges that he could access, broke a few bones…”
“In his human-like form?”
