Page 22 of Rejected By Dragons

"Of course you are," he assures me.

But does he really believe it? Does anyone in this awful town?

My voice trembles, but there's strength inside me. Untapped, but flowing close to the surface. "I have to call her. I have to stand for the trials."

"But if she doesn't come..."

And I don't have to listen to this. I won't. "Fuck you--"

"No--" He snags my hand again as I turn to go. "Ember, I believe in you. I know your dragon is inside you."

I face him full on. "Then how can you tell me to ignore her? Could you leave yours buried beneath your skin?"

He visibly recoils.

"It's exactly the same for me." Except mine's been dormant for even longer. There's some key I haven't found. Some opening inside of me that I can't seem to unlock. But I can't stop trying. I won't.

I won't resign myself to some sort of a pathetic half-lived life in this hellhole. I'm already unhappy enough. The idea of it stretching out forever and ever, with these beating wings stifled inside me...the elites of this town never letting me forget my place as the most wretched, despised creature...

It's unbearable.

The only thing that even competes is the idea of a life without Storm.

"Don't make me choose," I beg him.

"But you are." His voice is gravel and blood. "You're choosing exile."

For a moment, there's only static in my brain. He may say that he believes in me, but deep down in his heart of hearts...

Storm thinks I'm a lost cause, too.

His eyes widen as the implication of what he's just said sinks in. "I mean--"

"I know what you mean."

Damn, but I do.

We stare at each other in silence for moments that seem to stretch on and on. The sounds of the celebration going on outside filter in, but it's just noise. My heart is breaking, and there's nothing I can do.

But say goodbye.

I'm not sure if he moves first or if I do, but we crash into each other with force. Our connection has always been passionate. An illicit affair between a reject and a prince can only live in stolen moments. Desperation and urgency are nothing new.

And yet the clash of tongues and teeth is on another level. He kisses me hard, and I tug at his clothes.

His hands are everywhere, pawing at my waist and hips and breasts. He pushes me backward, and I go without argument, trusting him even after he's betrayed me on the deepest, most emotional level possible.

There's not much to work with, here in this empty tent, but we find a folding table that seems sturdy enough. He sits my ass on its edge, and I shove everything off of it. Papers and signs and extension cords land in a heap on the ground, and I don't care.

"I can't," he growls, pushing up my dress. "Ember..."

"I know." I get the buckle of his belt undone and pop open the button his pants. There's no time to do more than pull his big, thick cock out. I give it a stroke, and he groans.

Wet and aching, needy and sad, I spread my legs for him. He steps between them and cups my eager cunt, shoving the panel of my underwear out of the way. He strokes up and down my gash, but neither of us has the patience for foreplay. I'm slick enough, and we both know it. I bite at his lip with the rough press of his fingers inside me.

My eyes roll back in my head for a moment, but it's not enough.

"Come on." I pull him in, brushing aside his hand and lining him up.

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