Page 33 of A Witch and Her Dragon
It’s Raelan’s. And he has some explaining to do.
Assuming he even comes back . . .
“Thank you,” I whisper to Lyra as she straightens up and eases Juniper into her pocket. Her rat was able to slip under Raelan’s door, scurry up the wooden doorframe, and flip the heavy lock. At my feet, Yuki huffs out a disapproving sigh and gives me a sharp side-eye. He’s not a big fan of such antics. Maybe Grandfather should’ve assignedhimas my bodyguard.
“Are you going to tell me what’sactuallygoing on?” Lyra asks. She leans against the stone wall, her wild red hair pulled up into a messy bun, two smears of purple face creamswept under her eyes. She was getting ready for bed when I made the impulsive decision to wait for Raelan in his room.
I’m very suddenly reminded of our kiss in the darkened corridor, the heat of his mouth and hands on me, and I clench my fingers into fists.
“Not yet,” I tell Lyra, and she pouts. “But I’ll tell you what I can, when I can. I promise.”
I step forward and pull her into a hug, careful not to squish Juniper between us.
“Fine, fine.” Lyra pulls away and yawns. “Just be careful, all right?” Her crimson-eyed gaze flicks to Raelan’s closed door, and a strange worried look crosses her face. “He seemed... off today. Grumpier than usual.”
So, I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Even before the commotion in the dining hall, Raelan seemed more uptight than he typically is—fidgety, like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. And I realize now that he probably did.
I almost gulp when I remember the way his body contorted, becoming something else. Something powerful and terrifying and... even beautiful.
“It was Tristan,” I tell her, which isn’t completely a lie. “I think he was uncomfortable with him being so close to me.” Shrugging, I glance away, letting my eyes trace the facets in the stained glass window to my left. It lets a bit of silver moonlight in, illuminating the gryphon depicted on the glass.
“I told you he has it bad for you.” Lyra’s worried look morphs into one of her crooked-mouth smiles. “It’ssoobvious.”
I shake my head, then reach for the door handle. “Thanks again.” My gaze flicks to Yuki, who’s sitting at my feet, his fluffy white tail wrapped around his paws. “You should go back with Lyra,” I tell him.
His eyes narrow. “You want me to leave you alone with him? I’m not sure about this...”
With a sigh, I crouch down, then stroke a hand over Yuki’s soft fur. “This is Raelan we’re talking about. He’s not going to hurt me. He’dneverhurt me.”
My body tingles with the memory of the dragon peering down at me, the flecks of gold in its eyes, the fangs as long as my forearms. It could’ve swallowed me in one bite. But it didn’t.Hedidn’t.
I’m safe with him. In my heart, I’m sure of it.
I shake myself back to reality and focus on Yuki. “We just have some things to discuss, that’s all.”
Yuki holds my stare for a long moment, then lets out a sigh. “Very well.” He stands and yawns, showing off his sharp teeth, then turns to pad back down the stairs to our room. “But if you need anything—”
“I won’t. But I know you’re there if I do.”
Lyra squeezes my hand and tosses one last smile over her shoulder at me, then heads back down the winding stairs with Yuki a few steps ahead of her. I stand in the moonlit corridor until I hear our door close, and then I turn to Raelan’s room. And I step inside.
The room is dark and cold, and I shiver as I ease through the doorway and push the heavy wooden door closed behind me. Clearly, Raelan has still not been back since I last saw him early this evening.
Since he turned into adragonand flew away.
My heart pounds just thinking about it.
He’s a shifter. He has to be. But dragon shifters are so rare, they’re almost considered nonexistent these days. I never would’ve guessed Raelan could be one...
And he never told me. But why?
Maybe he doesn’t trust me. Ididtry to get him replaced with another guard, and that certainly doesn’t build a sense of confidence and loyalty.
The thought makes my stomach turn.
I cross the dark room, being careful not to bump into any furniture as my eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. I grab a few logs of firewood from the stand tucked into the corner, then arrange them in the cold hearth, careful not to let the sleeves of my robe sweep through the ashes. As a frost witch, I’ve always found fire magic difficult, so I opt to start a fire the manual way: with the flint and steel from atop the mantel. It takes me a few tries—I don’t often start my own fires—but when I finally get a spark to catch, a feeling of pride comes over me.
Such a small task, and yet I almost always have someone else to do it for me.
