And she laughed again. “You don’t have to try so hard.”
He headed towards the window, and Myra stopped him, her hand on his arm. “You don’t have to do that. The front door works fine, and Onna is sleeping. She won’t see you leave.”
But he slipped out the window, holding himself up on window sill so he could see her. “I have to try for you, Myra.”
She couldn’t believe how warm her face grew. There was no way he couldn’t see it. “Very romantic, Cam.”
He grinned, then let go, dropping the two stories to the ground without so much as tripping. And Myra watched him walk away. For the first time in her entire life, someone was going to try.
Four
Waves
Cameron sat at the table, his fingers like cement against the wood, his mind somewhere else.
“You have to eat, Cameron,” Karma said, motioning to his food.
He snapped out of his thoughts and stared down at it. The white plate seemed so large against the tiny pink sliver of defrosted salmon. Beside him, his brothers and father were scarfing down giant piles of grilled red meat. They weren’t even glancing up at each other.
Cameron looked across the table to his mother, their blue eyes meeting. “Why do I have to do this?” he asked her in hushed blue tongue.
She answered in English. “Because we are a family and families eat together. It’s socially integral to the familial structure.”
“It’s humiliating,” he argued back in blue.
“It’s important we eat as a family, Cameron.” She motioned back to his food. “I know you are hungry. It’s been two weeks.”
She prodded her fish with the tips of her fork and Cameron thought he would throw up if he didn’t look away. He wanted to leave the table so badly it hurt his stomach. Karma, with quick precision, slipped the fish into her mouth and dabbed at her lips with a napkin.
The young blue dragon felt anger flood up in his core. “I am not doing that. It’s shameful.”
“It only takes a moment, Cameron.”
He glared at her. “I won’t do it.”
“Your brothers are eating without a qualm.”
Mac motioned to Cameron’s food with his fork. “Cam, listen to your mother. It’s just a bite. You can handle it.”
Rory shook his head, his mouth full. “He’s being a big baby about it.”
“Just eat it,” Mac echoed.
Cale watched in silence, a look on his face that said he knew what was coming. A storm. “Maybe we should leave him alone. If he’s not enjoying eating with us, why does he have to do it?”
“Because we’re a family,” Karma said, stern and icy.
Cameron pushed the plate away. He spoke in red tongue this time, loud enough for everyone to stop eating and look at him.
“It’s shameful, in my culture, to eat in front of people. I am not going to humiliate myself just so you can feel better about splicing a family together for your own selfish experimentation.”
Mac flushed red, ready to shout something about how Cameron couldn’t talk to his mother like that, but Karma held her hand up to silence everyone.
“You may eat in your room,” she said in blue tongue, reverting back to the language of their kind.
He snatched up his plate and left, downing the salmon before he made it to the top of the staircase. He knew everyone would breathe easier if he wasn’t at the table anyway. Every dinner was spent with him watching in silence as the rest of them ate and laughed and joked.
He locked his new door, acquired from the hardware store, where candy was not a temptation, and took out the new stack of books his mother had ordered him. Quantum Physics. The Study of Hermeneutics. Apologetics of the Middle Ages. At least when he was immersed in knowledge, he didn’t have to think.
As soon as the clock showed that it was midnight, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and hurried down the stairs.
No one noticed as he closed the door behind him. He could almost hear Myra’s words, see the desolation in her eyes when she’d said what he knew was true. If he never came back, they wouldn’t mind. Alone was better. Alone was all he had.
He saw her waiting for him, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, her eyes smiling beneath her bangs.
Cameron stopped in front of her, not sure what to say.
She frowned at him. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, a little startled.
“You look so upset.”
He tried to push it out of his mind. “It doesn’t matter now. Tonight will be better.”
“So you did have a bad day….” His blue eyes were deeper than she remembered, his lips tighter.
“It was not the best. But I’m surprised you decided to come.”
“Of course I came. You’re pretty much the only part of my day that’s worth anything.”
“Likewise.”
He bit down on his jaw while he thought, and Myra scuffed her shoe against the ground.
“Hey, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she said. “I mean, it’s your secret….”
“No, I want to show you. I’m just trying to figure out how to get there. I usually walk but it takes about an hour.”
Myra shrugged. “I have time.”
And so they walked, not rushing, no one looking for either of them, their hands close enough to touch.
When they finally got to the beach, the breeze warmed the air. Cameron stopped near the rocks and put his backpack down. He then pulled out a roll of some strange paper and opened a package of what looked like surgical tools.
Myra, peering over them, said, “Did you lure me out here to experiment on me?”
Cameron snapped his head to her, his jaw clenched so tight Myra thought it would crack. “I didn’t lure you. You asked to come,” he said.
She put her hands in her pockets. “I was just joking, Cam.”
He waited a moment, switching his thoughts to something other than Myra. He forced himself to calm down before speaking. “I know. I just don’t like that joke.”
Myra almost asked why, but she remembered the first night they met and what Cameron had said about personal conversations. “May I ask you a question?”
“No.”
She blinked, bit her lip. She hadn’t expected him to turn down her inquiry and wished she could shove her hands further into her pockets.
He sighed, looking up to her. “I was rude just now, wasn’t I?”
“Kind of.”
“I should have explained. The question is not a nicety. It’s perfectly acceptable for one blue to decline to answer…but you couldn’t have known that.”
“It’s okay.”
“I didn’t mean I don’t want to talk to you. I just meant I don’t want to talk about that.”
“It’s fine.”
He was still frowning, waiting for a moment. “Don’t leave.”
She moved closer to him, so their elbows bumped together, and took her hand out of her pocket so she could point to the roll of paper. “What’s that?”
“Careful not to touch it,” he answered. He pulled latex gloves from his bag and put them on before handing Myra a pair.
“I get to help?”
“If you want.”
She smacked her gloves as she put them on. Cameron set the paper roll down on top of his backpack and opened it with careful hands and watchful eyes.
“Put your finger there,” he told her, pointing to one end of the yellowed paper. Then he unspooled the other end, leveling his eyes to it so his hands didn’t waver. Once it was unrolled, he used the scalpel to cut the piece away from the roll, holding his breath.
“Cameron, I think the paper is wiggling.”
“Yes,” he said, licking his lips as he concentrated. “It’s alive.”
It’s alive? Myra stared at the paper. “Are you…killing it.”
“If I were killing it, I wouldn’t need to be so careful.”
“I should
think more before I ask questions, huh?”
“If you’d like.”
She smirked at him. “Jerk.”
He chuckled. Then, he took from his backpack a bottle of purple ink. He pulled out an old fashioned quill pen and held it up to Myra. “Can you tell what that is?”
She took it in her gloved hands, turned it with deliberation beneath the moonlight. Her eyes widened. “Is this a griffin feather?” She ran her finger over the brown and black tufts. “How did you get this?”
“I…acquired it.”
She wagged her eyebrows at him. “You’re a dirty thief, Cam.” Griffins were rare, secretive, and fierce loners. There was no way he just happened upon the feather.
He chuckled, then held up the bottle of ink. “Siren blood. So don’t touch.” He opened the bottle. “Be very careful not to slice too sharply. Or the parchment will bleed.”
She held the quill like it was evidence in a sensitive murder case. “Because…it’s alive.”
Cameron put his hand over hers, closing her fingers around the griffin feather. “Write a message, but don’t say it out loud. Then roll it up.”
Myra set the bottle of siren blood down and stared at the concoction Cameron had laid out. What on earth is all this for? It didn’t help that he was looking up at the stars, counting them with his index finger. She wanted to ask him what he was doing so badly, but she kept her mouth shut. He looked like he was concentrating.
When he finished counting, he reached down and stripped, pulling his shirt over his head. He dropped his pants next, and Myra couldn’t help but wonder if this was some weird blue dragon mating ritual. But the way the moon spilled over his body—muscled and more taut than she expected, usually hidden beneath his clothes—she didn’t mind if it was a mating ritual at all.
He jogged over to the waves that beat against the beach, scooped up some seawater in a bottle, and brought it back.
“When you’re finished writing, put the note in the bottle and shake.” Then he ran to the water’s edge and dived in.
Myra gawked with her mouth open. Cameron moved in and out of the wild waves like a fish, his body streamlined for that exact purpose.
Finally, his head bobbed up over the surface. “Did you write the message?” he shouted.
“Not yet,” she yelled back.
She dipped the tip of the quill in the siren blood and moved it over to the parchment. The paper shivered as the ink soaked it and Myra hoped she wasn’t hurting it. I can’t believe I’m worried about a piece of paper.
She wrote the message, rolled up the parchment and stood back up. “I’m done,” she called.
Cameron’s head dipped beneath the water for quite some time. Then he swam back to shore, his strokes sure and quick. He hurried out and wiped the water off his face. He stood next to Myra, dripping wet.
She had to remind herself to keep her mouth closed.
“The answer is yes,” he said. “I did change forms when I went under the surface.” His shirt stuck to his skin as he tugged it over his chest.
She looked down at the water bottle. The parchment had entirely dissolved, nothing but a swirl of purple ink left behind.
“How did you know what I wrote? How could you possibly know?”
He sat down in the sand with a plop. “I’m developing a new mode of communication. You see, our cores are made of water, but not by coincidence. Water is a magnificent transducer. It conducts electricity well, for example. In the case of blues, it conducts our knowledge. That’s why once a year, we hold one of our only rituals. The Night of Knowing. Every blue who wants to participate steps into the ocean wherever they are in the world—all connected by water. And when the stars are right, we submerge and share thoughts with one another. We share knowledge. Knowledge is everything. Protecting it is everything.”
Myra scratched her head. “Tonight is the Night of Knowing thingy?”
Excited, he grabbed her, his hand against the small of her back, and whirled her around so she was looking at the ocean. “No, it’s not! See,
I read that the blue dragon monks who study in the monastery have this understanding of the world that’s different than that of the academy dragons. The monks believe that the world, especially the water, seeks to bond with us. And that if you are willing to acknowledge that as the truth, the water will do everything it can to bond with you.” He pulled her down to the shore and stood in the lapping waves, scooping some of the water up into his hands. “See? Water molecules are some of the most unique in the universe.”
He widened his fingers to let the water spill out, but some of the droplets stayed with him, clung to his hand.
“The water…does what you tell it to?” Myra asked, her eyes once more growing wide.
“The water tries it’s best to do what it can for me. It’s not as though I’m its master. It’s more like…an honor. An honor that it would seek to know me.”
“So it told you what I wrote down….”
“Yes. With the right materials and at the right time. I find that if you give the water what it needs, it will do everything it can for you. Even share information from molecule to molecule.”
Myra was staring at the ocean, not saying anything else. Cameron let her think. Of course, he couldn’t turn his mind off as he waited. He had so many things to ask her.
“May I ask you a question?” he said at last.
“Yes.”
“What are you doing here? With me?”
She thought about that. “Getting to know you better.”
“But why?”
“Because….”
But she didn’t have the chance to finish.
His lips were gentle. A ginger touch to hers, just enough to make her lean in and certainly not enough. He paused. Looked at her, at her mouth, her body. Stared into her eyes—learning her.
He did it again, the brush of his mouth, and suddenly she realized just how close his body was to hers.
He was taller than she realized, firmer than she’d anticipated. There was little softness to his taught arms, his tense back. Every muscle was sculpted, defined.
He pulled away, smirking. “You are examining me.”
Blushing, she tried to reclaim her hands, but he held them there against his skin, pulled her in again. This time, he wasn’t as polite. His kiss was a magnet, lingering until she thought she might not be able to stand much longer. But he had her, his hand against her spine, keeping her pressed against him.
When he finally pulled away, Myra was almost embarrassed by how little breath she had left. Cameron ran his lips down her neck, behind her ear, across her collarbone. She wondered if maybe she was clutching his shirt too tightly, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing she could do about how she felt.
“I should stop,” he said, speaking against the skin just below her jaw. He knew she didn’t think the same way he did. There were consequences for her that didn’t pertain to him.
But he didn’t stop. Instead he found his way back to her mouth, meeting her lips with his in a slow exhale. She felt too good. Tasted too real.
Myra pulled away then, and turned, her feet digging into the sand. Cameron took a moment before he responded, that dull, throbbing confusion creeping into his mind. What did I do?
“Wait, Myra, hang on.”
But she wasn’t waiting. She was walking. Fast. Headed home. Cameron grabbed his gear and hurried after her.
“Myra, wait a moment.”
But she wasn’t responding to him. Only looking straight ahead and speeding on. Finally, he circled in front of her and caught her by the shoulders. They were in the middle of the desolate, barely paved road, the slanted light of moon shining down on them.
“Myra, please. May I ask you a question?”
“No.”
And she pushed past him.
He hurried back up to her, circling in front of her once more. “I must ask you….”
But she didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to see him.
He felt worse than he did when he was staring down at his plate of salmon. He felt like he’d been left someplace to die.
“Did I hurt you?” Forget courtesy. Forget the blue dragon way of asking permission to get personal.
She shoved her bangs out of her eyes, and they flopped right back in place. “No, Cameron, you didn’t hurt me. I’m just going home now.”
“Why…what…?”
“It’s very simple.” She wasn’t looking him in the eye. “I don’t want to get to know you any more than I already have.”
He couldn’t figure out what he was seeing in her without her meeting his gaze. Anger, denial, spite? No, none of that was right.
“It’s because I kissed you.”
“Yes.” The lump in her throat burned as the word squeezed out.
He nodded, swallowed. “Then I won’t do it again. I just…I need you not to hate me.” He glanced off, and the look on his face gripped Myra’s heart so hard it might have burst.
He cleared his throat. “I need someone who wants to know me. Just one person.”
She opened her mouth, tried to say something, but nothing came out. A choked, shaky nothing.
He studied the ground, anything not to look at her. “I’ll walk you home, if that’s alright. It’s late and unsafe.” And he started the silent walk home.
He said nothing as she hurried to her front door. Said nothing as he waited for the click of the lock that meant she was inside. And then he walked home himself, where he would say nothing, because no one would be listening.
Five
Clutch
Cameron waded in the water and let it surround him. He let it happen. Let the water in his core flood the rest of his cells until he wasn’t himself anymore. Until he became someone else.
The fins along his arms were sharp, his toes and fingers webbed ever so slightly. His skin was coated, scale by sale, in a dark blue. His eyes themselves were covered in a layer of film. Beneath the waves he could see everything. He didn’t need light, didn’t need to come up for air.
He could feel his thoughts, the very nature of how his brain processed information changing along with his body. In the deep water, his mind flowed, his thoughts fluid and unified, all happening at once.
Sole: A Blue Novella (The Core Series Book 2) Page 4