Page 36 of Dragon's Flame
Tarian grunted, crossing his arms. “Magic doesn’t always make sense.” It was hard to watch Kenna laughing, especially when he knew he wasn’t in on the joke. “Here are some sayings from my Realm, though, since you keep using so many from yours. ‘Magic makes fools of us all’ and ‘Magic doesn’t care what you think is fair.’”
“Well, that sounds about right,” she said, still snickering. “But nope. Nope. Still not over the fact that I was apparently a white grandma.”
“Grandmother? No. We were incapable of having children together, unfortunately. We definitely tried.”
Kenna winced at that. “I’m sorry. Now I feel like an asshole.”
“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “This was destined to be awkward, even under the best of circumstances, which this is not.” He heaved another sigh. “I did have dreams. Of how this was going to go. They were worthwhile, because they kept me living—but I have released them back into the night, where they belonged.”
Another awkward silence passed between them, during which she began drawing a circle in the sand beside herself, with one delicate finger.
“How did they go?” she eventually asked.
“Much more simply,” he said, and she snorted. “You recognized me at once, threw yourself into my arms, and we went to live somewhere, happy and content, for the rest of our very, very long lives.”
“Ah,” she said, slowly nodding, before her eyes flashed up. “So were you disappointed, when you found me? Seeing as I was brown, and young, and snarky?”
He got the feeling that there was much more to her question than whatever was on the surface, and so he tried to answer with that in mind. “Seris was snarky, as you call it, too—but as for the rest—how could anyone find you disappointing?”
27
KENNA
He meant it when he said it, she could tell.
He wasn’t flirting—well, maybe some—but he wasn’t lying to get her on his side.
He just was himself.
Which was why somewhere in the middle of their talk, a switch had flipped inside her.
It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it. Like love wasn’t about wanting or winning, but about knowing someone, deep down, and never turning away. He wasn’t trying to play a role, to be smooth, or to make her fall for him.
He was just who he was: unflinching, raw, and devastatingly real.
And if other guys who’d tried to get with her before wereplayers—by comparison, Tarian was the whole damn game.
She came to a decision, then got up on her hands and knees. “Okay, so—don’t get the wrong idea,” she said, crawling over to him.
His gaze flickered over her quickly, and she could see the panic—and hope—flare inside his eyes. “I will definitely try not to,” he said.
“And keep your hands to yourself,” she said, coming to kneel at his side. “No touching, just—” she said, leaning in, to press a chaste kiss atop his lips. Then she pulled back, to see how it affected him—and what he did was lick the place she’d just kissed, like an eager hound. His breathing quickened just as quickly as his expression turned dark.
“Please...do not toy with me,” he pleaded. “I have been tortured enough.”
That set her back on her heels. She wasn’t committing her whole life to a stranger just yet. “If I couldn’t promise you forever—would you still want me for a night?”
His entire bearing eased, only to tense again—this time in a way that feltstartlinglyhungry.
“Yes,” he growled, leaning forward but still holding himself back, just like she’d asked.
So she reached out, hesitant at first, brushing her fingertips over the curve of his lips before trailing them down his neck, tracing the line of an old scar. He exhaled slowly, his eyes slipping shut like a leaning cat, as if the simple act of being touched was enough.
For a moment, she wondered who he was seeing—if he was remembering someone else’s hands on him, someone else’s fingertips—but then his eyes opened, his gaze was steady, and she knew she didn’t need to fear.
He was seeing her.
And then he hung his head to watch her hands scroll down his chest, reading all of his pain in the scars that were laced upon him. “No one has touched me like this in eight hundred years,” he whispered, as his palms resolutely stayed on the ground.
