Page 25 of A Witch and Her Dragon
And like usual, Alina isn’t helping.
Ever since she invited me into her dorm room, I’ve been unsettled. I don’t understand her, can’t quite read the expressions she makes and the words she says.
It’s a small miracle we’ve been able to make this work. I’ve given her a bit more space these past few weeks, and thanks to that, I’ve even been able to sleep at night—mostly, though when my dragon is particularly agitated, like it is now, I still find myself wandering the corridors in the evenings, scaring the students who’ve crept out of their dorms to kiss each other in the darkened hallways.
I canalready tell tonight will be a sleepless night. My dragon coils beneath my skin, hot and angry. It wants to spread its wings and fly, to taste the rain and dive through the lightning, to tumble with the thunder while it races across the clouds.
But no. There will be no freedom for it tonight, nor any other night so long as I’m here with Alina.
There will be a holiday vacation in December, for Yule, and when I return home to the castle with Alina, I will tell the king I need a brief respite from my duties. He’ll understand. Since he took me in, there have been a number of occasions when I’ve needed to get away, to cut through the clouds and feel the cold air on my scales, to release all the pent-up aggression inside me.
Usually, I don’t feel so strong an urge to let my beast free. But Alina changes all of that.
Right now, she’s seated at the end of a long dining table, surrounded by her three roommates. She smiles and laughs easily with them, seeming comfortable in their presence. The dining room is lit by chandeliers laden with flickering candles, and heavy aromas drift through the air: fresh-baked bread, spices and herbs, stews and pottages and roasted vegetables.
I typically eat when Alina does. But tonight I feel on edge, and I have very little appetite.
For food, anyway.
My eyes track Alina’s hand as she butters a thin slice of bread and lifts it to her lips. Her movements are graceful, elegant. She takes a bite of the bread, and a small dab of butter gathers in the slight depressionabove her top lip.
I imagine licking it off for her, claiming her lips with mine. I imagine the taste of her tongue, wonder what it might feel like gliding across my skin.
And in response, the chain around my neck burns, the magic battling my dragon down, keeping it contained. I flex my jaw and try not to react to the pain.
Alina looks up at me then, as if she can feel my eyes on her. Despite all the students lingering around the dining hall, she finds me easily, and she holds my gaze. Her blue eyes narrow slightly, lips drawing together.
I should look away. I always do.
But this time, I don’t.
This time, my dragon meets her eyes and refuses to glance away.
And every second she holds my gaze feels like an eternity. In my periphery, everything else falls away, until all that’s left is her.
Alina Ravenscroft. The princess of Elarwyn. A blue-haired frost witch. My fated mate.
Pain ricochets through me, making me clench my hands into fists and grind my teeth. A few students walking past take notice and step subtly away, giving me a wide berth while their eyes flick my way nervously.
The pain of holding myself back from her hasn’t been as bad these last few weeks, but today is a different story. I’ve been fighting my instincts all day, and it’s becoming difficult to stand for the aching thrumming through me.
We aren’t supposed to resist our mates like this. It goes against nature, against our instincts. And yet I must resist.Because no matter the torture, she is not mine to claim. She’ll never be mine to claim.
My dragon just refuses to accept that truth.
A few students carrying dining trays pass in front of me, breaking my gaze with Alina. For a brief moment, I catch my breath, saved from the power of Alina’s stare. But then I find her again, and she’s no longer looking at me.
She’s looking up at another student who’s stopped at the end of the table to speak with her.
Amalestudent.
My dragon roils as I watch them talk. Alina lifts a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and I swear I can pick up her scent swirling through the room despite the hundreds of other smells drifting through this crowded space.
The other student shifts closer, bracing his hand on the table, so near to Alina’s that he could touch her fingers if he wanted to.
Mine, my dragon growls.Not his. Mine.
I clench my hands harder, digging my nails into my palms, trying to use the pain to focus myself.
