Page 43 of Heavy is the Crown
If he comes home, my dragon huffs.
He will,I respond, but I think we both know I no longer have the same conviction in that statement that I used to.
“You think he’ll come home?” Ava moves up behind me, looping her arms around my stomach and burrowing her face into my bare back. My dragon preens at the contact, and I allow my eyes to close briefly. Her small fingers splay across my abs and draw tiny circles over the muscles as we stand in the large window. After the call from Jax, I moved us to my home, the one where it all started with Ava.
“If you had asked me a month ago, I would have said he would never have left to begin with. But now, I have no idea,” I reply honestly. She continues to draw on my stomach, her breath leaving small puffs of warm air against my skin. “We need to make a plan, Ava.”
Her movements pause for a moment but resume before she replies, “He’ll come home.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
Her movements pause again, and this time, she pulls away from me. Turning, I watch her walk over to the coffee maker. “Both?” She offers a tentative smile over her shoulder.
I cross my arms, and feel the sweats I have on shift a little lower on my hips. Her eyes track downward, her tiny pink tongue licking her bottom lip. “You need to feed, Ava. Complete our bond. I can't lose you, too. We’ve been fucking lucky so far that The Order hasn’t caught up with us here.”
She huffs out a breath and turns away, pouring herself some coffee and adding a pound of creamer to it.
“Jesus, Ava, could you get that coffee sweeter?”
She smiles at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Probably.” Moving past me, she walks over to the large leather couch and plops down, pulling the fuzzy blanket over her lap. Samhain flutters down from his perch, settling next to her.
Silence descends upon the room as we each retreat into our own minds.
“He’s out there alone, Drago,” she says quietly after a few minutes. Her voice breaks. “He’s hurting, and we can’t help him.”
“I know. I fucking know he is, Ava, and it kills me. But I can’t control what he is doing. So, I’m choosing to focus on you. I can keep you safe,” I respond as grief settles over us again.
Neither of us acknowledge what might happen if I can’t keep her safe. Instead, we sit in the silence, drinking our liquid gold and hoping it’ll heal that space that's so raw in our chests.
TWENTY-FOUR
The future is fickle. Having the ability to see the future is a curse.
-Hansley Mori
Shadow
(“Let It Go (with Lø Spirit)” – Chandler Leighton)
“Why the fuck do we have a dragon in our yard?” The female voice pulls me into awareness. My sight is still through my dragon, but my mind is slowly coming back online.
This is where I leave you. Figure your shit out, my dragon says before forcing the shift back and dumping my naked body in a pile at Astrea’s feet. She cocks her head, assessing me as her long burgundy-and-white hair blows in the breeze. The cool air sends chills over my body.
She offers me her hand, a dark snake peeking out from her sleeve. When I hesitate, she grumbles, “Jesus, Shadow, just fucking take my hand so we can get in the house.”
A smile breaks my face, and I grab the outstretched hand, hauling myself to my feet. She quickly turns her back to me, allowing me some privacy.
“Do not tell Ciaran I’ve seen you like this. I have no interest in having the conversation with him about whose dick is bigger,” she mutters as she walks forward, motioning for me to follow her.
I take in what’s around us as we walk. The woods are thick with evergreen and spruce trees, and the air has a chill to it that indicates mountains. Mist gathers in the air and fog billows through the trees, making the woods eerie. She’s dressed in thick leggings and a long flannel, boots covering her feet as she walks over the frost-covered grass toward a small cabin. Not dissimilar to the one she left behind.
When she pushes open the door, the porch is flooded with warm light before I hear a hiss and the scurry of nails. “Fucking hell,” I growl as Poppy flings herself out of my way, her fur standing on end. Astrea laughs, grabbing a blanket and throwing it at me. “I hate familiars,” I grumble.
“The feeling is clearly mutual,” she says, laughing. “Cover up. I’ll grab some of Ciaran’s clothing.” She moves with ease through the front room into a dark hallway.
“Where is he?” I ask as I pull the thick green blanket around my shoulders. I move over toward the crackling fireplace. The hearth is large, with a fur rug in front of it. Pillows piled up around it indicate it’s been used for a bed at some point. A wine glass sits on a low wooden table stationed between two large high-backed chairs. The room adjoining is a small kitchen. A pot on the stove lets off steam, and the aroma of food hangs heavy in the air.
Astrea comes back into the room holding a pile of clothing. “He’s out getting supplies. He’ll be home soon.” She tosses the clothing at me, causing me to fumble to grab them without dropping the blanket. “Now, get dressed so you can tell me why the fuck you are here and my best friend is heartbroken in the city.”
