Page 64 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

He tried to kill himself, for me. To save me. He offered his flesh for me to eat. He loves me more fiercely and wonderfully than anyone ever has.

And I wanted to leave him—why? Because I feel responsible for children I didn’t make? Because I feel as if my life must be forever burdened by the choices and needs of my family?Because I consider it my duty to be there for them, to be miserable for their sake?

Isn’t that selfless love? Isn’t that laudable and beautiful? Shouldn’t I be willing to give up everything to protect those little ones? Shouldn’t I be ready to sacrifice the life I could have and the dragon I love, for them?

The dragon I love…

Yes. I do love him. The love bloomed inside me like a dance being choreographed, step by step, soft and tentative, practiced through conversations and kisses, through ecstasy and anger, until it became something new, something dramatic and forceful. The love will always be there now, dancing inside me to the music of his soul and mine.

He shifts in my lap, his eyes unfocused. There’s a frantic purpose in his gaze, and his hand crawls toward the place where he dropped the shard, like he’s intent on finishing himself off. Furiously I kick the shard away.

“Be still,” I tell him, despair threading my tone. “Don’t move. I have to keep pressure here. Don’t try to talk.”

We sit there for hours, I think, though it’s hard to tell with the storm roaring outside and no sunshine or moonlight to indicate the passage of time. Varex’s skin grows paler than usual, and a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. I keep pressure on his wound for so long that my arm aches miserably, yet I’m afraid to move the cloth and see if the blood is staunched, lest the material rip away the clot and set the wound bleeding again. So I remain still, though my legs are cramping and my arm quivers from exhaustion.

Varex seems to have fallen asleep, his dark lashes lying against the shadowed skin beneath his eyes. Some of his beautiful white hair is scarlet now, soaked in blood. He looks so lovely and so helpless that I can’t keep tears from prickling in my eyes.

Beautiful, terrible, gentle prince. I love you.

I don’t say any of it aloud. But I stroke my thumb along his cheekbone.

Sometime later his eyes open and he murmurs. “I have not died.”

“Not yet,” I say. “If you plan to, I wish you’d hurry up and quit dragging it out.” It’s an attempt at dry, morbid humor, but my voice shakes and tears surge in my eyes. Two of them drip onto his face, and he lifts his gaze to meet mine. Or he starts to, and then he’s distracted by my bare chest.

“I needed the cloth to staunch your wound,” I explain.

“What a delightful idea.” He lifts one hand slowly and touches my breast. “Darling, you must let me die.”

“No.”

“Don’t make me endure the horror of killing you.” His eyes glisten with misery.

“There’s another way,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “There has to be. If only the fucking storm wouldstop—if only there was a spell to make it vanish. Where is Thelise in all this? She should be doing something.”

“I doubt her magic is powerful enough to combat something this immense and this ancient,” Varex murmurs. “To make this storm disappear, it would take a cosmic force—” His eyes go wide as if he has just realized something.

“What?” I ask. “What were you going to say?”

“I need to shift,” he gasps. “Let me up.”

“But if you switch forms…”

“I think if I change now, of my own will, I’ll have a few moments before the madness hits. It will have to be long enough.”

“Long enough for what?” I smack the side of his face lightly. “You’d better explain, you fucking obstinate dragon.”

“Something that might save us. Let me go, Jessiva—let me try this.”

“Your last solution for our problems was a fucking stupid one,” I protest. “Is this new idea any better?”

“I think so.” He pushes firmly against my arm, and reluctantly I allow him to rise.

“Careful,” I urge him. “Hold the cloth against your wound. I think it stopped bleeding, but I can’t be sure.”

“I suppose I didn’t do a good job of ending my life.” He gives me a weak grin. “I didn’t know how deep to cut.”

He casts the scrap of pink cloth away, and I get one glimpse of the jagged mark along his throat before he transforms.

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