Page 53 of Of Flames and Fallacies

“Because—”I pause, wracking my brain for my own reasoning. Because my mother said so. It sounded pathetic. When in truth…it’s because I don’t think I can do it on my own.

Because I’m scared.

“Because we need him.”

“What do we need him for?”

“What do we need anyone for?”I challenge. Perhaps it isn’t only my self-doubt. I don’t want to be separated from Cole—not again. My heart belongs to him, whether or not I still had his mother’s ring wrapped around my finger. The terrifying thought of choosing between him or Daeja lingers in the back of my mind.

“All I’ve ever known is you…” she whispers into my mind, nuzzling into my side.

I stroke her head with a shaky hand, my hand stinging from the thawed nerves. “I know. And all I’ve ever known is him, too.”

“So we have to go with him? How do we know he isn’t a dangerous two legger?”

“Because I know him. I know Cole. And I—”

“Love him. I know. I can feel what you feel.”

“You can?”I smile at the revelation and lean into her, closing my eyes and scratching underneath her chin.

A purr thunders to life in her chest, shuddering the blood in my veins.

We lay in a silent curl of scales and skin, cold and warmth. Soaking in each other’s presence. Listening to the rise and fall of each other’s breath.

A thought whispers in the back of my mind. I try, unsuccessfully, to damper it as it rises. I drag my attention out toward the edge of Dragon’s Back Ridge etched into the night sky. It stares back: jagged, menacing, and dark.

I should take her. I should go. Before I fail and someone else dies.

But the longer I stare at the distant mountain range, the firmer my decision becomes. There’s no way I can make it on my own. Not without a map and not without Cole.

With a hard swallow, I break the peace of our quiet moment. “I have to go back.I have to figure out a plan.”

If anyone has ever said they can sneak around in wet clothes, they’re lying. Every footstep back to camp is a squelch of water between my toes, the drip of my hair snaking streams of water down my spine. My clothes scrape and cling against each other in every stride. My skin rubbed raw and irritated by the time I pass the tree line and near the camp border.

A patrol loops around the west side I’m approaching, and I pause, sliding behind a tree. They pass by me, unnoticing, and I slip past the crumbling wall and toward the faint silhouette of my quarters. My heart skips when someone emerges from the shadows nearby.

I debate ducking and running. But it’s too late.

I’ve been noticed.

“You’re um….wet.” Darian’s rough voice cuts through the silence. His gaze outlines my clothes clinging to my frame.

I hug my arms around myself, suddenly more self-conscious than I am cold.

“Great observational skills you have,” I whisper and turn toward my room.

He slides in front of me, tilting his gaze up at the sky with a thoughtful‘hmmm.’

I follow his line of sight. The stars glitter brilliantly above us in a cloudless night. We both look down and back at each other. A question hanging between us.

After a few moments of silence he says, “And it’s not like it’s raining.”

“I like bathing at night,” I blurt.

“And...in your clothes?”

He’s got me there. I wrack my brain for a reason as to why I’d be walking through the night dripping wet. Especially so soon after a public execution.

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