by May Dawson
I stroke my egg absently with my fingertips; I can almost feel the anxiety of my little dragon, struggling to break free from its egg. The shadows of the trees seem to loom, deep and dark and full of potential danger, but I rush through them, heading through town and up the route toward campus. I don’t feel better when I see people on the street, because anyone could be an enemy.
Then Rawl House is in the distance in front of me, lights shining out like eyes from a face that has grown familiar and become beautiful in its familiarity, and I breathe again.
Still, while I feel safe as I cross under the lacy branches threaded with white lights and am within calling distance of the building, I hesitate when I reach the broad white stairs up to the doors. Lights blaze beside the doors, cheerful and welcoming. Now, though, I’ll either have to go to my own room—which might arouse suspicion—or go to Airren’s room.
I wonder what Mycroft would say. I want to see him, for some reason, but I imagine myself knocking on the door only to have Cax open it, grinning his usual cocky grin. And I imagine myself slugging him in the face. Cax can’t possibly have beaten me back here, can he?
If Cax is true, maybe they’re all True. The thought fills my stomach with heavy dread. I need time to strategize.
There’s a scratching sound from my pocket. I jump forward, heading up the stairs. Airren’s, then. I think it might actually be harder around Stelly, who is so light-hearted and happy and adores her brother. It always feels like Airren has some wall up between us; might as well give it back to him. With Stelly, I’d feel guilty for lying.
It’s only when I reach the door to Airren’s room that I realize I don’t have a key. One of the guys is always with me, or the door is unlocked because we’re just around the house. I grab the knob, but it doesn’t turn in my hand. Damn.
Then Airren swings the door open. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans for once; the soft gray material of the t-shirt clings across his biceps and pecs and drapes loosely over the lean taper of his waist.
“Tera, where the hell have you been?” he explodes. Then he glances down the hall. He jerks his head into his room. “Come on.”
“Excuse me?” All the anger from earlier tonight is back with a vengeance.
He glances down the hall again—a girl carrying her laundry basket is staring—and then grabs my waist and pulls me into his room. I lean back, out of his reach, as he bumps the door shut with his shoulder.
As he turns to me, I wrap my fingers around his and yank his grip away. “Don’t touch me. I didn’t ask you to touch me.”
His jaw sets angrily before his eyes meet mine. Then his face changes and he takes a step back, raising his hands. “I’m sorry.”
It’s such a sudden apology, coupled with such obvious understanding, that I’m suddenly embarrassed. I glance away from him. I’m full of overreactions. “It’s fine.”
“I was worried about you. Stelly said you’d come up here, and then you were gone…” He rakes a hand through his dark hair, blowing out a slow breath. “I thought the True took you while we were looking the other way.”
He really was scared. I think? But maybe he was scared because they want to use me to get close to the True. Maybe I’m some kind of bargaining chip for the guys to leverage to leadership within the True. I wish I’d been able to overhear everything Cax said. I wish I knew if Airren was True or if I could trust him.
There’s a scritching and the faintest mewl of distress, muffled by my jacket pocket, and I gasp.
Right. I came back for a reason, and it wasn’t to fight with Airren.
“Where were you?” he asks, but I’m already slinging off my jacket and settling onto the floor.
With the wool pooled in front of me, I reach into the pocket and draw the egg out reverently.
Airren kneels next to me. “Don’t touch. You have to let it come out of the shell on its own.”
“When did you become a shifter expert?” I demand, even though I have no intention of breaking the shell apart. I wriggle onto my stomach, my feet swinging above my knees, so I can get a closer look at the egg.
It’s in a slender wooden crate that the boys put together for me, with two hinged wooden slats over the top to keep anything from falling on top of my egg. Airren releases the latches, folding back the slats. The egg is nestled in a bed of blue fleece—a donation from Stelly’s closet—and it rocks faintly from side to side. It’s a deep, translucent shade of red—marked by my blood when I found it—and the shape of the creature inside pushes against the walls, faintly visible as a dark outline.
“When I read everything I could find in the library about shifters,” Airren answers. I glance up at him, surprised; I’d been so distracted by the egg that I almost forgot my snarky question. “I even asked the terrifying librarian.”
“The one with the weird hair?” I mime my hand rising from the top of my head. There’s a perpetually angry librarian who wears her hair in a tight beehive spiraling up like a miniature tower on top of her head. It wobbles when she walks, and I can’t look at her without staring.
“She hates me,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “That must be hard. Usually, everyone finds you so charming.”
“Oh?” His tone is teasing as he settles onto the floor too.
Airren knows damn well I find him charming.
“I’m not complimenting you now. I’m still mad.” Yet, despite my doubts, there’s a teasing note in my voice.
“I’m still mad too.” He tugs the end of my ponytail gently, before winding it playfully around his fingers. “I happen to be fond of you and therefore rather anxious when I think you’ve been kidnapped.”
“Would it be a kidnapping? Don’t you want me turned by the True?” My tone is light and teasing, but a small line wrinkles Airren’s forehead just above his nose.
“I want them to think you’re open to being turned.”
“Yeah.” I shrug as much as I can with my elbows on the floor.
“Because I don’t think you’re actually evil,” he teases. “Despite Mycroft’s best attempts to convince me.”
“I’m pretty sure Mycroft’s evil.”
“Don’t mind him,” Airren says. “He’s a good guy. He’d do anything for his friends.”
“That only helps if you’re his friend,” I say.
“You are, Tera.” Every note of teasing has dropped away; convincing me about Mycroft matters to him for some reason.
Maybe because it’s true.
Maybe because Airren needs to manage me.
I shrug again.
“It could be a long night of watching this egg to welcome your baby dragon to the world,” Airren says, climbing to his feet. “Want me to put on the kettle?”
I nod. When he turns his back to me, I find myself staring at him instead of the egg. His muscles move smoothly under the lines of his t-shirt as he fills the kettle at the sink. The pipes squeal when he turns the water off. He brings it to his desk where he mutters his spell, passing his hand over the top of the silver kettle.
It only takes him a second to bring the water to near-boiling. He already knows how I like my tea best: there’s always a fresh box of orange blossom tea in his cupboard now before I run out of tea bags. He measures out a teaspoon of honey before he stirs my tea. He spills some honey on his thumb and as he turns around, carrying my tea, he licks it off. Something about his tongue darting out of his mouth tighten my core in anticipation.
It’s a small thing, this gorgeous man making me a cup of my favorite herbal-orange tea. But I’m a sucker for a small thing.
I bite down on my lower lip and hope like hell he isn’t really evil.
Chapter 19
Mycroft
I head for the stables on the outskirts of town. I hate riding—they don’t exactly teach miners’ kids how to ride, so I came to it too late to ever find it comfortable—but I need to move fast tonight, and the train won’t be an option. Cutter wouldn’t care much for what I intend to do this evening.
> Cax is friendly with the stables’ owner, but then, Cax is friendly with everyone. There’s always a horse or three available when we need them. By the time I turn up the white rock drive, the night is so deep that the vivid grass of the pastures looks black. The sky is crowded with clouds that almost block out the stars.
The evening suits my mood. I’ve pissed off Tera—no, worse, I’ve made her cry—and then raised her hopes only to fail her. The bleak, heavy way I feel right now aches to be unleashed on the people who have hurt her.
“Hello!”
The chipper voice from the barn makes me jump, and I nod curtly as a figure forms out of the darkness of the barn entrance. He leads a horse behind him, bringing it to my side.
The horse is a dappled gray, and its coat reflects the moonlight trickling through the night. I reach out and pat its neck, feeling the soft, shiny coat under my palm, to make friends with the horse as it nickers. “I’ll have her back by tomorrow.”
“There’s no rush. Always glad to help you boys.” The voice is full of respect. “I remember what you did for me when Vio’s men came calling.”
I don’t like it when people thank us for what we do; if I had my way, the old farmer wouldn’t be able to put our names and faces to what we did when he found himself in trouble. I nod goodbye to him and swing up into the saddle.
It’s a long, hard ride to Eileah. I tie up my horse at one of the lodges outside town, a sketchy one we frequent more often than I’d care for. Since no one will ever remember our names here, we stay at this shady half-brothel whenever life brings us this way.
One of my Intel buddies tracked down the portal ledger from the time that Tera was attacked. A man indeed did stumble through that portal, clutching his bloody gut. He’d claimed he was mugged.
The name he gave led straight to a grave. It would seem Tera was visited by a ghost.
But a ghost wouldn’t have choked her until she blacked out, stolen her magic, and left Tera with her particular blend of wariness and impulsivity. I don’t know if I’m drawn to her despite the broken bits or because of them.
But I know who sold a dead man’s name. That’s the lead I have to follow tonight.
I hope they put up a fight.
Chapter 20
Tera
“So where were you, anyway?” Airren asks.
“Maybe I was visiting my boyfriend.” I have my hands wrapped around my mug, and I take a sip from it strategically, hiding my face.
“Tera.”
I raise my eyebrows at him innocently.
There are distinct cracks in the egg now, but apparently, it’s a long, difficult fight for dragon-shifters to be born from their magic-imbued shells. I guess that makes sense, given how long these eggs have to survive on their own in the wild.
Airren and I plenty of time to chat. That’s…unfortunate.
“I could have a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, of course you could.” He doesn’t sound sarcastic or jealous; he sounds matter-of-fact.
My lips tug to one side. “But…”
“You’re beautiful and you’re tough and you’re smart and you’re famous,” he says. “And I hope you realize most guys your age will find you absolutely terrifying. But that’s okay. You don’t need most guys.”
“Infamous,” I correct. “And who needs a random freshman boyfriend when you could spend all your time with three emotionally unavailable, True-obsessed weirdos?”
He clinks his mug with mine. “Exactly.”
It makes me smile despite myself. It’s easy to give myself over to the lie and act flirtatious and comfortable with Airren. All I have to do is keep my own counsel about what I saw with Cax. Just for now, until I know if I’m in more danger with these men or without them.
“I ran to the library,” I tell him. “I’ve been reading about restoring lost magic.”
“Lost magic or stolen magic?” he asks, and there’s an edge in his voice.
I shrug. The guys have fixed on the idea that the man who attacked me took my magic.
“Aren’t you angry at…” He doesn’t like to say the man from Avalon. The name doesn’t mean much now that I’m home, anyway. I’m surrounded by men from Avalon.
“Of course I am,” I say, but angry seems like such a small way to put it. For the first year or two after he hurt me, I fantasized—often—about beating him to death with a shovel. And then slowly, the stomach-clenching rage that would move me to helpless tears faded into curiosity. I tried to imagine why someone would come through that portal to hurt a girl who wasn’t that different from their own daughter.
It’s strange I’ve spent so much time trying to imagine him as human, even though he never saw me that way.
He watches my face, and I can’t quite read his expression—is he irritated?—when he shakes his head. “We’ll have his name soon.”
“Putting all those spy skills to good use?” I tease, trying to bring the lightness back between us.
“I know, I know. I need a hobby.”
“You do,” I agree. “Mycroft has the bow and Cax has… inappropriate paintings. What do you like to do with your free time?”
“What free time, that isn’t consumed by troublesome freshmen?”
This time when he tugs on the end of my hair, I capture his hand in both of mine. It might seem strange, after all, if I stopped touching him. And it’s nice to hold hands with someone, someone I hope is exactly who he seems to be.
He rolls onto his side, propped up on his elbow, giving his hand over to me. His bicep strains the sleeve of his t-shirt, since this position brings his muscles into sharp relief.
“I used to like to sing,” he says. “And I play a few instruments. Piano, fiddle.”
“I’m surprised by this,” I admit.
“I don’t sing much in public anymore,” he says.
“How come?”
He shrugs.
“Well, will you sing me a song?” My tone is light and flirtatious.
His lips part in a smile as he shakes his head.
“How come?”
“I can’t spoil you, Princess. You already think you’re in charge.” He leans over to kiss me, his lips brushing over my forehead.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Impossible girl,” he mouths at me, as if he’s not the impossible one.
“You’re almost as secretive as Mycroft,” I accuse. “What’s your middle name?”
“What does it matter?” He rubs his thumb across my palm in slow circles. With every trace across this small erogenous zone, a spark of desire shoots through my body. I’m the one who captured his hand, but he’s taking advantage of it.
“What’s Mycroft’s middle name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You’ve known each other for years…”
“I know all the important stuff about him. You don’t need details for that.” He sounds impatient, as if he doesn’t want to give away any of Mycroft’s secrets, no matter how pointless they may be. Their first loyalty is still to each other, and the thought makes me ache. And yet, that makes me think that he’s most likely Crown—his loyalty is to his friends, his brothers, not to power and dark magic.
His thumb strokes down the inside of my wrist, and my breath catches, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “What did you find out about the magic?”
It takes me a second to remember I lied about going to the library. “Ah. Well, some people think that just like being Earthside destroys magic, it slowly comes back over time back here. Most people from Avalon don’t stay Earthside long enough for their magic to be strangled by the tech.”
“We already knew that.” His deep blue eyes are on mine, and he draws my hand toward him, raising it to his lips. He presses a kiss to the place where his thumb just circled, and a strum of lust vibrates from my palm through my arm and tingles straight down to my core.
“I just hoped that there would be an answer,” I say. “So
mething I could do. It seems like Croft took it hard…”
“One way or another, your magic will be restored,” he says. “Until then, we’ll cover for you.”
I shake my head. “Sooner or later, people will find out I’m not…”
“And by the time everyone realizes you’re not the second coming of Padrick Donovan, anyone with the intelligence to change their mind will see you,” he says.
“What if I die with everyone still hating me?” My tone is still light-hearted, but his face shifts.
“Someday, people will see who you really are.”
I shake my head. That’s a nice thing to say, but there’s no way in hell he can promise that.
“Why’s all this on your mind right now?”
“It’s always on my mind.”
His face clouds. “Tera. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? You didn’t make my father try to tear Avalon apart. You didn’t recruit the True.”
He glances away. “I don’t like what we’re doing here. This mission to draw out the True…”
“Why’s that?”
When he shakes his head, it’s clear there’s so much he’s still holding back, and then decision flashes across his face. “All right, I’ll tell you: my middle name is Alexander, and I am not a fan.”
That’s it? That’s all I get? “Airren Alexander? It’s not terrible.”
He raises an eyebrow. “It’s unnecessarily alliterative. I’m swearing you to secrecy. First step in your spy training.”
“You’re going to turn me into a spy like you? Why do you think I want to be like you?” That dangerous teasing lightness is back in my voice.
“Come on. Who wouldn’t want to be like me?”
He has a point, but I push his shoulder anyway to punish him for his ego. He grins, catching me around the waist as he rolls. Suddenly I’m on top of him, and I push up with my hands braced on either side of his head. My breasts brush against his pecs, and my nipples are suddenly hard, pressing against the warm muscle of his chest.
“What’s your middle name?” he challenges me.