Page 15 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
And I need some serious sleep before I can even begin to figure out how to deal with that. I take the steps with a certainresoluteness, as if the act of climbing them is how I’ll shake off this day. I make it to the third-floor turret and walkdown the hall, running my hand over the half-cracked door to my library as I pass it. Once I finally make it to my room atthe far end, cozy and light andhome, I’m ready to just collapse into bed and sleep for twelve hours straight.
But my room isn’t empty.
Azrael is standing in the middle of it with his arms crossed over his impressive chest.
And he smiles at me, but it doesn’t feel like happiness or joy or even kindness.
It feels like passion. It feels like danger. It feels like the wildest daydreams I’ve ever had.
All over me.
6
“What... are you doing in here?” I manage to ask him, despite that shivery sensation that’s making my skin prickle. “Thisismyroom.” I remind myself that he’s been living in a newel post for at least a century, apparently, so he might not know whereto go. “I’ll find a room on the second floor for you to—”
“I’ve always wondered what your room looked like.” He wanders from one side of the room to the other, studying the crystalslittered on every surface, the stacks of books, the old photographs propped up everywhere and pinned to the walls, and thedried-out flower wreaths hanging from ancient hooks.
“Why?” I hear myself ask, because I cannot fathom why adragonwould have even the slightest interest in myroom.
“You can tell a lot about a witch by the place they rest and practice their most intimate magic.” He doesn’t look at me whenhe says that, so there’s no reason for me to feel suddenly overwarm. He’s obviously only talking about spellwork. Azrael looksover at me then, his eyes gleaming. “I always make it a habit to study the private domains of my Historians.”
My Historians.“What do you mean,yourHistorians?”
“Dragons are always assigned to protect Historians.” When I only stare back at him, his expression shifts into that same astonishment. “Not even this has survived as common knowledge?”
I shake my head. The idea of a protector is ludicrous—who would bother with a Historian enough for them to need protecting?From what? Bookworms and dust?
And even if I thought that reading was more fraught with peril than it is, here’s what I know for a fact: Every single oneof the women in my coven has been directly targeted by the Joywood this past year... if not over the course of their wholelives.
Exceptme.
No one cares what Historians do. Why would magical creatures?
I try not to sound as dubious as I feel. “All dragons protected all Historians? Throughout history, even though that’s lostto us?”
“No, not all.” He settles back on his feet, and I think about his dragon form, all sinuous, gleaming muscles and talons, notso muchstandingin the front hall asconqueringit. “Not all Historians are worthy of protection, and no one can tell a dragon what to do if they do not wish to do it.”
He stares at me then, something pulsing between us that feels just out of my grasp.
“I was the protector of another Wilde Historian, once upon a time,” he says very quietly, studying me with an intensity thatmakes me feel like someone else entirely. “Why do you think I got cursed into this house?”
But I can’t think of one Wilde that’s ever been a Historian. Not in the last century or the five before. “What Wilde Historian?When?”
That intensity morphs into irritation. “How can there be so much you do not know?” he demands. “I gave the lot of you fartoo much credit, I think, from my position as observer.”
His frustration pokes at my temper. Normally I would sayI don’t have one, because I know how to control it. It was that or be like my parents, and I would rather my entire family think I’m a dingbat than be too much like them.
But the more tired I am, the morepushedI am, the more I have to admit that the truth is, I’m more like my mother than I want to admit.
I have aterribletemper.
It just takes a while to get me there.
And as I feel it boiling within me, I struggle to keep in mind that this is adragon. I don’t have to have vast experience with the species to suspect that blasting one with my entire and usually hidden temperis probably unwise. “We’re just stupid, of course. I’m surprised that wasn’t obvious from the newel post.”
He makes a dragonish sort of scoffing sound, and I swear I see a little puff of flame snake out of his mouth as he does. “Witchesare so touchy.”
“Witches have been dealing with the psychotic, powerful, and tangled web of lies the Joywood has had in place for who knowshow long,” I shoot back at him. “The Joywood have obscured and changed what they could. Records go missing. Books that shouldexist don’t. Frost has some of the missing pieces in his library, but you have to know what to look for to find it. It’s hardto know what’s hidden and what’s an outright lie when it’s not only all you’ve ever known, but they’ve done everything theycan to wipe away the memories they don’t want any of us to have.” Likedragonsandmermaids. “Take you and Melisande, the mermaid.” A thought occurs to me, and I frown at him. “Is there... anyone else in WildeHouse?”
