Page 62 of Burned

Montrose laughs and tilts his head, giving his dragon more access to kiss and bite at his throat.

I tear my eyes away from their display and stare at the keys in my hands for a minute. This is it. Will Viggo listen?

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Lord reminds me again, pulling me close and cupping my jaw, his eyes boring into mine. His irises flicker and turn to my new favorite shade of orange. Warmth and resolve spread through me, and I swallow my rising fear.

“Yes, I do.” I brush a kiss over his lips, reveling in the purr emanating from his chest. “I have to do this for us.”

He makes a noise in his throat that’s half growl, half whimper, and through our bond I can feel his dragon thrashing for control. It doesn’t want to let me go. I run my fingertips soothingly up and down the back of his neck like I’m petting a cat and make soft, calming noises in between kisses.

“Settle, dragon, I promise I’ll be back. I won’t let them hurt me,” I murmur.

“I don’t like this.”

“I know.” One more kiss. Just one more, because if I don’t put a limit on myself then I’ll stand here for eternity kissing this man instead of doing what needs to be done and standing up to my family once and for all.

Then, I step out of his arms.

“I’ll see you soon.” I blow him a last kiss and turn away, jogging towards the car Montrose somehow conjured out of thin air. I don’t let myself take a backward glance as I climb in and drive away. I use the car’s GPS to set a course for Fairmont park, and on my way there I practice muting the bond—not because I don’t want to be able to feel Lord, but because I can’t let myself be distracted by his worrying.

When I arrive at the park, it’s easy to see why Montrose picked it. It’s a sprawling green space with plenty of opportunity for private conversations while still being public enough, with children playing and couples picnicking, that it’s unlikely Viggo will get violent.

My stomach churns. I hate that I even have to consider the possibility my own brother might hurt me. If you’d asked me a month ago, I would have said you were out of your mind. It feels wrong on a bone-deep level to be at odds with my own flesh and blood, to think I might have to fight against them if I can’t convince them to hear my side of things. But as unimaginable as it all is, if the choice is between that and betraying Lord, I already know what my answer will be.

I get out of the car and drag in a few deep breaths, trying to let the fresh air steady me. Unexpectedly, I hear my dad’s voice in my head as I prepare to meet Viggo.

You were born to be a warrior, it’s in your blood. Fear is nothing more than another dragon to be slain.

There is right and wrong in this world, Alrick, as sure as there is day and night. If you don’t pick your side, your side will pick you.

It turns out he was right, just not in the way I used to believe he was. I fell for the wrong things for far too long, but I’m choosing the right ones now. Taking a perverse kind of pleasure in drawing strength from his teachings, I straighten my shoulders, hold my head up high, and set off in search of my brother.

It doesn’t take me long to find Viggo, tucked into a quiet corner of the park at a picnic table surrounded by tall bushes on three sides. His knee bounces under the table and his gaze darts around anxiously. A small amount of guilt creeps in that I didn’t reprimand Montrose for sneaking into my brother’s head to lead him here. It clearly unsettled him, even if he doesn’t understand what happened or why.

From far enough away, you could almost mistake us for one another. We have the same long blond hair and similar builds. It’s only up close that the differences between Viggo and me are obvious; the slightly crooked bend to the bridge of his nose, the green and gold color of his eyes, and the guarded look he’s always had, like he’s constantly holding himself in check. I never thought too much about it—I think I always chalked it up to my dad’s quest to make us all paranoid—but that’s the reason I chose Viggo. Between him and Digby, something tells me he’s the one who will be more open to the truth.

When he spots me approaching, I notice a brief flicker of surprise that he quickly hides behind a stoic mask as he rises tohis feet. He doesn’t approach me, just waits by the weathered wood table, his eyes narrowed suspiciously and his fists clenched at his side. The only weapon I can see on him is the dagger in his belt, which I know is tipped with the same poison as our swords.

I shudder at the thought of what it would do to Lord if I so much as pricked my finger on the blade. I don’t let the fear show though, my expression blank as I reach my brother.

“How did you know I was here?” he asks, his eyes darting looks around again. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did the dragons follow you?” His hand twitches towards me but he stops himself.

I take a step closer, my heart a steady drumbeat in my ears but my gut telling me to trust my brother. I close the distance between us and pull him into a tight hug. My throat tightens as the familiar smell of home wafts off of him. It doesn’t seem to matter how many places we move or how long it’s been since we’ve set foot there, the scent of the ocean and the wildflowers in the field always seems to cling to him.

“I’m okay,” I whisper.

He lets out a relieved breath and hugs me back just as hard, squeezing until it feels like my bones might crack under the pressure. When we finally release each other, I swear there’s a glint of moisture on his cheek, but I can’t be sure because I’m too busy trying to wipe away my own stray tears before he can notice them.

“I’m better than I’ve ever been, actually.” I gesture to the table. “Can we sit?”

He slides back into his seat, folding his arms on the table and bouncing his knee underneath it again.

“Brother, I don’t mean to be condescending, but the last time I saw you, a dragon was tearing your chest wide open. And then after weeks of mourning, we hear you’ve somehow been healedand taken captive by dragons.” He shakes his head. “‘Better than you’ve ever been’ isn’t really adding up.”

“Right.” I try not to choke up at the image he’s describing of how they left me. There was nothing they could have done to save me, and if they’d tried, Lord might not have found me. I can’t be upset about it, but still, there’s a small sting in my heart knowing they walked away while I barely clung to life in the middle of nowhere. I clear my throat. “Do you remember when I was about twelve and dad was on one of his ‘survival skills’ kicks, he dropped me off somewhere in the Alps and left me there to find my way to our camp. I nearly froze to death before you found me and you carried me to safety. You helped me get warm and made sure I ate. And then when dad tried to punish you for it, I volunteered to take double the punishment instead.”

Viggo’s eyes darken, filling with the haunted memories I know we’ve both tried hard to rationalize or forget over the years.

“Of course,” he says gruffly. “Why?”

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