Page 20 of Rejected By Dragons

Namely, shove a funnel cake in my face.

I make it over to the stall unaccosted. As I munch on my sweet, sweet fried goodness, I wander around the festival. It's gorgeous as always--exactly as romantic as Brynn hoped it would be. Twilight is closing in, and strings of lights flicker on, creating a soft, almost magical glow.

I finish my snack and go searching for a trash can to ditch the plate. I find one over by the tent where royal guard members seem to be setting up for King Zephyr's big entrance. I nod at one or two of the guys working, but they ignore me. Typical.

Wiping my mouth with a napkin, I put my back to the tent and survey the crowd. My gaze catches on the handful of young faces milling about. The ones a little younger than me--the ones with stars in their eyes and a restlessness in their bones. They've felt their dragons stirring. Hopefully, tonight, they'll take to the skies.

Hopefully, I'll be with them.

I give myself just a moment to envision it. To really believe that maybe this could be my time. For a second, I can feel my dragon, sleeping deep inside. Fire rises in my lungs. The flapping of vast wings replaces the beating of my heart.

And then it's gone.

Only I don't have time to mourn.

At that moment, there's rustling in the tent behind me. Out of nowhere, the flap flies open, and a hand reaches out.

"Hey--" I start.

Big, rough fingers curl around my arm.

Before I can so much as scream, the person inside there grabs me. And I'm yanked, backward and into the dark.

Chapter Six

EMBER

The one thing I'll say for getting stuffed into gym lockers and jumped by girl gangs about a million times is that it's given me some pretty damn good reflexes. I twist around in this asshole's grasp and slam my head backward, clawing with my nails at the guy's arm. Something crunches.

"Jesus Christ, Ember--"

All at once, I stop. That deep rich voice pulls me out of the red haze of fight or flight. The warm scent of skin and sandalwood soap and ash hits me.

Shit.

"Storm?"

I pull away, and he lets me go. It's dark as hell in here, but enough light seeps in from the gaps in the fabric that I can make out Storm's handsome face. He wiggles a hand at me in a half-hearted wave. His other hand covers his nose, which is bleeding.

"I'm so sorry--"

"It's fine." He shakes his head, half his mouth curling up into a wry grin. "Pretty sure I deserved it."

As the adrenaline starts to wear off, I let out a shaky laugh. "I mean, grabbing a girl like that is kind of a dick move."

"Sorry, I just--" With his free hand, he gestures at the opening of the tent. "I saw you, and..."

He lets go of his nose. The bleeding seems to have stopped, but he's still a mess. I reach for my bag and find a couple of tissues. Without thinking too much about it, I snag one and close the distance between us. I dab at the blood.

He puts his hand, gently this time, on my wrist.

All of a sudden, I realize the position we're in. I'm all but on top of him, my chest grazing his. The undeniable connection between us sings. His scent surrounds me, and it doesn't matter that I'm mad at him. I've only seen him at a distance these past two weeks. I've missed him.

"Ember..."

My knees wobble, the low timber to his voice having its usual, irresistible effect on me. I glance up, meeting his gaze.

He looks like shit. Even with the blood more or less cleaned up, there are hollows beneath his eyes. Shadows flicker inside them, too. There's a wildness--a desperation to him that I've never seen before.

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