Page 22 of Dragon's Flame
He briefly closed his eyes. “Kenna,” he repeated. “That sounds like a good name. And in any case—you currently don’t hate me.”
Her back was pressed against the couch behind her as she blinked at him. “I wouldn’t bet money on that, mister,” she said, and he laughed darkly.
18
TARIAN
Even before she’d fallen asleep, he’d felt his strength slipping—which was why he’d pulled over at the first safe place his magic had sensed.
The sensation of his life flowing out of his body was unlike any he’d ever had before—with maybe the exception of when he’d wound his soul with Seris’s magically, that one night, but that’d been different. It had been a merging, a sharing—not like he’d been while driving here, his will and reason to live ebbing out drop by drop.
He would’ve changed into his dragon if he’d thought it would’ve stopped things, but he didn’t think so—he realized the mortal wound the “cop” had given him wasn’t from the uniformed man at all, but the lack of Seris’s recognition, which had only compounded, until the very thing he had to live for seemed gone, taking with it his actual life.
Until . . . she’d come back.
For him.
He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it was that he’d been saved—when she’d been pressing weakly on his chest, or lying to him about her name—but it had worked nonetheless.
He was back amongst the living, pulled back from the brink, by a woman who didn’t remember him in the least.
“What are you?” she asked, after a few minutes had passed.
“Are you willing to hear me now?” he asked the ceiling, not wanting to look at her and see fear of him in her eyes. “Actually—no. Tell me about yourself,” he said, finally turning his head to meet her eyes. “If you are not my Seris—who are you?”
Her eyes widened and she took a hesitant breath. “I’m Kenna Murillo. I turn twenty-three on Sunday, and I’m in school to be a doctor.”
“A healer. Of course.” His Seris was forever bringing stray animals into their quarters to heal.
“Now tell me who you are. Orwhatyou are,” she said, more insistently.
“This is not my world. I’m from another Realm entirely. And I was very much in love with a human woman, once upon a time.” He sighed as he sat up.
“And you think I’m her?” Kenna demanded.
“I do not think it. I know—because I tethered her and myself together. Eight hundred years ago.”
“But surely she’d be dead—and you’d be dead.” He tilted his head, waiting for her to make the obvious connection. “Only you’re not human, are you.”
“I am not. She, however, was. Which was why I chained my soul to hers. So that she could walk by me forever.”
“What are you, then?”
“I’d rather not tell you.”
She frowned and got up on her knees. “Why not?”
“I think it might scare you.”
She took a deep breath, and he would’ve sworn he saw fire spark inside her eyes. “You’re half a second away from me clubbing you with this flashlight, mister.”
He knew what “mister” meant, but he began half-hoping it was a term of endearment, a thing he was willing to believe, seeing as Samantha called his brother Rax Mister Worst, and occasionally Mister Asshole, all the time.
“You? Scare me? After the night I’ve already had?” she went on, gesturing dramatically with the flashlight. “Fuck you,” she finished, and he laughed. “But okay—fine. You’ve got the wrong girl. I saved your life, kind of sort of, so now you owe me—take me back.”
“To . . . where?”
“Home,” she said. “Where you got me. Santa Cruz. I can still get my homework turned in on time. I won’t tell anyone. Hell, even if I did, no one else would ever believe me!” He watched her work herself up before she realized he wasn’t responding. “You—you can’t just keep me here.”
