Page 95 of The Hunt of Night

Where even am I?

Intrigue has its firm grip on me, and I inch toward the closed drapes standing between me and the outside world. Ghostingmy fingers over the fabric, I pull them aside just enough to slip through, and the moment I do, my breath is stolen from my lips.

A large marble balcony stretches out before me, offering views for what feels like miles and miles, and what lies below is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Clouds float around castle tops. The building’s an array of colors. A mixture of pale pinks, purples, and blues. They’re straight out of the fairytale books my father once spoke of. But the most awe-striking sight are the wide wings that glide through the air.

Dragons.

Not just one, or two, or ten, but hundreds.

Ferocious reds, mighty blues, haunting blacks, and every other color imaginable.

They’re stunning, swooping past the balcony over and over again, but none of them are as beautiful as the one that brought me here.

Kryll.

How did I ever believe I knew him before I came here? It’s impossible.

There are layers and layers to this man that I have yet to learn, and I can’t deny the fact that I want to. I want to know every part of him.

He healed my sister. He healed my father. And in doing so, he’s healed a part of me I thought would be broken forever. All without telling me. I think he tried, I’m sure he did, but every time he brought anything up relating to them, I shut him right back down.

“You’re up.”

I startle at Kryll’s voice, peering over my shoulder to find the man in question, and a soft smile teases the corners of my lips.

“How does this place even exist? It’s so beautiful,” I murmur, looking back out over the world beneath us.

“Isn’t it,” he agrees, and I feel him step closer.

“This view leaves me breathless,” I gush, unable to contain the awe it strikes in my bones.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Turning to him, my cheeks heat when I realize he’s not basking in our surroundings like I am.

No.

He’s staring straight at me.

Clearing my throat, I wrap my arms around my waist. “You helped my father.”

“I did.”

“You helped my sister.”

“I did.”

My gaze locks on his. “Thank you. I don’t know how I will ever be able to?—”

“Don’t. Don’t finish that sentence when we both know it was my honor,” he breathes, stealing the oxygen from my lungs and the blood from my veins, letting it all run dry at my feet.

“You healed me,” I state, lifting my arm, and he smiles.

“I did.”

“How? How did you do any of this?” I ask, blinking at him in wonder, and he smiles nervously, scrubbing the back of his neck.

“My blood is rare. Rarer than rare.” That’s all he offers, like it explains so much, but it feels like it gives me nothing.

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