Page 28 of Dragon Fires Everywhere
I wake up in my bed with no real memory of how I got here. But I can tell I’m inmybed, with my soft down comforter and approximately twelve thousand throw pillows. So warm and cozy, like the sweetest cloud,that I don’t want to open my eyes and face the day. I want to snuggle in and sleep some more and—
But something moves. And not a warm, fuzzy thing like Octavius.
My eyes fly open, and Azrael isright therebeside me.
His eyes are closed, his breathing even. He’s asleep.
In my bed.
Next to me.
I scramble up and out of bed so fast, I trip over my nightstand. The crystals and books littered on the surface shake andrattle, some of them even clattering across the hardwood floor.
Azrael opens one eye. Then the other. “Are you always so loud in the morning?” he asks sleepily.
From my bed.Mybed. WhereIslept.
With him?
I have no words. The last thing I remember from the nightbefore is another wild, joyous free-wheeling ride through the cloudy night. I cast my mind around, but I don’t really remember coming back. Did I fall asleep mid-flight?
Am I hallucinating my entire life?
Becausehowdid we end up in bed together?Howam I inpajamas? I know I was tired, but...
Azrael is regarding me with a smug kind of interest. And there’s something about his smugness that has me straightening.
I’m overreacting. He’s a dragon. He doesn’t understand boundaries. I should explain them to him.
Like a parent to a toddler. Maybe if I do, I will start reacting to him like that and less like...this.
But my voice still doesn’t want to work.
With ease and grace, he moves out ofmybed and around it toward me. My instinct is to scramble back, but all that smug helps me hold my ground.
Give him a firm, fair scolding.Explain the overstep, and set a boundary he is not allowed to cross.“Azrael. This ismybed.Myroom. And—”
“Of course it is,” he agrees, moving past me. But he doesn’t do so withouttouchingme. His hand trails down my spine as he passes, and it’s notsexual—even if my body has areaction—it’s... affectionate. The kind of thoughtless gesture I see Jacob and Emerson give each other.
Butnotthe kind of careless gestures Emerson and I give each other. The affection isn’tfriendly. It’s intimate.
It’sinappropriate, I assure myself.
“I’mstarving,” he says, already halfway out the door. “Do you think we can have some of those cinnamon rolls you’re always on about?”
I could run after him and try my hand at scolding him, but I don’t. I stand where I am. Breathe. Then pick up my crystalsand attempt to move through my morning ritual, a little too aware that my panic isn’t because Idon’twant to wake up with him.
It’s more that I know that when I do, after a longer night I can remember fully, that will be that.
It’s that recognition. It’s that ache. It’s a sense offinalitythat goes along with thatfinallyI felt when I saw him take form.
It’s fate, I think.
It makes me shiver. It makes me wonder. It makes me question my sanity—but only when he’s not in front of me.
And I certainly want torememberwhat happens between us once it does.
Tonight we’ll sit down, no midnight rides, and discuss the boundaries of my room, my space, mybed. Maybe if I give him rules, I’ll feel more in control of thisthingthat already feels as if it’s been forever. When it’s been two nights, two long days, and this morning.
