Chapter 7
Bianca
I didn’t want to go inside, and I couldn’t explain why.
The cabin door loomed in front of me, heavy and unyielding, and when ísarr pushed it closed behind us, the darkness seemed to fall like a curtain.
My breath caught tightly in my chest, in the beginnings of a panic that hadn’t fully set in yet.
There was no glow of the fire yet and no window-light seeping in; the shutters kept everything locked away.
It shouldn’t have bothered me; I knew, logically, he was moving around the hearth, stacking wood, lighting the fire. My chest squeezed tight anyway.
It was too much like the dream—the darkness that pressed in, suffocating, filled with whispers I couldn’t quite remember.
The sensation made my hands tremble, though I clenched them into fists to hide it.
I forced myself to breathe in deeply and get it together.
Out of everything that had happened this morning, this was what got to me?
Really? But it lasted longer than I thought it would, and even when flames began to lick at the logs inside the wood stove, I did not feel better.
“ísarr,” I whispered, giving in to the need for more light. “The darkness… I know it’s silly, but I had this really bad nightmare last night.” My voice cracked as I said it, betraying my weakness. Damn it, I felt like I was six years old again, wishing to crawl into bed with Mamma for comfort.
He was there in an instant, faster than I expected, his presence cutting through the dark like a torch.
It was so unexpected when he wrapped his arms around me—hard and sudden—pulling me into his chest. The shock of it melted into something else: heat, strength, safety, all the things a hug should offer, and more.
His body was firm, solid as the beams of the cabin, and all around me was his scent: smoke, snow, pine, and a wild crispness that filled my lungs until it felt like I could finally breathe again.
My forehead pressed against the warm skin at the base of his throat, and for one dangerous heartbeat, I didn’t want to move.
Who was I kidding? It was easy to linger there as long as he wanted to hold me.
Why was he holding me? That was the last thing I ever expected my most ungracious host to do.
Then my mind flashed to earlier that morning, to the sight of the dragon who, at first, seemed just a sculpture of snow and ice.
Then he’d blinked, and I’d learned that either I was crazy, or the world was crazy.
He was a dragon. He wasn’t just the grumpy, flannel-wearing hermit who scowled at me like I was a stray cat he couldn’t shoo away.
No, I had seen the truth: the massive ice dragon crouched in the aftermath of a storm, wings spread wide, scales glinting with frost. I’d seen him fold that impossible shape down into this broad-shouldered man, horns no longer badly hidden under a helmet, his breath curling misty in the morning air.
What was bigger than seeing the truth was the fact that he hadn’t denied it. He hadn’t tried to trick me: a dragon. A real dragon, and I was in his arms.
I should have been terrified. My mind screamed it, cataloging every reason I was intruding, every reminder that I didn’t belong here.
But my body betrayed me. I wanted to burrow closer, wrap myself around him, stay in his arms forever.
Forever? The thought jolted me. Whoa, that was too much, and way too fast. Yet my heart whispered that it was right.
His voice rumbled low against my cheek, and it shot a shiver down my spine, a pleasurable one.
“I had the same dreams,” he said, words tight, rough.
It was the same voice from before—the one who told me no, who grunted at me—and yet, it was kinder somehow.
“Something was whispering in my sleep, calling to me, but I chased it off. You have nothing to fear. I’ll protect you. ”
The words should have sounded ridiculous, but instead, they sank into me like a vow. I felt my lips curve despite myself, a shaky laugh breaking free. I believed him, but I was struggling to make all of this fit into my world, fit with what I knew of this guy, which was frighteningly little.
“Sure, okay, you had the same dreams. That’s not any weirder than the fact that you turn into a giant blue dragon.
..” My throat bobbed as I pulled back just enough to look up at him, his pale eyes catching what little light filtered through the shutters.
“I need to get back home. My mom must be worried sick.” He was probably eager to get rid of me, considering the way he’d acted last night, and yet his arms tightened around me, holding me just a little closer.
Now I was the one who wanted to get away.
To make sense of this, I needed something normal: familiar walls, my own bed, my mother’s fussing.
A craving for steadiness after all this madness.
Yet, as I leaned into him again, my ear pressed to the steady, thundering beat of his heart, I realized something I didn’t want to admit: that rhythm—that warmth—felt steadier than anything I’d ever known.
I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to leave it behind.
Light flicked on then, though my host still held me, and it didn’t seem to me like we’d moved—not enough to reach a light switch.
It helped to see the warm wooden floors, the artful handcrafted furniture, and the colorful quilt on the back of the armchair.
It chased away the shadows and chased away the remnants of the dream that had caused me to panic in the first place.
Then my eyes caught on the bluish sail, speckled with frost, crawling up the edges.
It had a sharp hook on one end—dark blue—and an arch like a tent pole, or rather…
a batwing. That’s what had tapped the light switch.
It felt like it took me seconds to trace that odd shape to ísarr’s shoulder before I came to the startling conclusion that it was a wing.
“A wing,” I heard myself mutter out loud, stunned.
Then, much more incredulously, “Okay, okay, show off. You’re real.
You’re really a dragon. Cool. Is that why you didn’t want me here last night?
Because I’d find out?” My eyes flashed to his horns and the blue hue of his skin I had tried to pretend wasn’t there yesterday.
His expression was grim, and he began to retreat.
I felt cold as his arms slipped from around me and he stepped back.
His wings rustled as they tucked against his back and then vanished without a trace.
Those, apparently, he could hide, but not the horns.
“Yes,” he growled, with a good dose of anger, but I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me or at himself.
Then he stalked away, across his living area, back, and abruptly out the door.
I was left staring at the doorway, confused about what had just happened.
Where did I stand with this guy? I still barely knew him, but he’d hugged me, and I absolutely believed him when he said he’d protect me.
There was a kind of faith in his promise that I simply could not shake.
The sound of something thumping preceded the wash of light streaming in through one of the windows.
He was opening the shutters one by one. I kept getting glimpses of him as he moved around the cabin, and I could not resist following his progress.
He was scowling fiercely and kept rubbing one of his horns as if it bothered him, then glanced over his shoulder, possibly in unease.
By the kitchen window, I saw him spot an ice sculpture of a deer huddled low, and his face went absolutely white.
Like he’d seen a ghost. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but then he vanished around the corner of the cabin, and I could no longer see him.
My gut twisted. Did he not know that sculpture?
Was he not the one who made it? One thing I did know: despite how little we talked, it was still obvious he was a good guy—from the way he’d made sure I was warm, even though he didn’t want me here, to the fact that he let me have his bed and hugged me when I was scared.
Still, even if I wanted to linger a bit longer and find out all I could, I had to call my mom and let her know I was okay.
Knowing my mamma, she was probably out of her mind with worry and had the police out in force looking for me.
My phone was in my coat pocket, but, obviously, the battery was dead.
I’d have to ask ísarr for a charger, he had to have one, because he definitely had a cellphone.
He’d used it to call the sheriff last night.
Oh, maybe that meant they knew I was unharmed.
I hoped so. I didn’t want my mamma to be sick with worry, she’d blame herself, too, for insisting I go with Kevin in the first place.
His cellphone was on the kitchen counter, a clunky one with an extra-strong protective case against dropping it. Maybe he needed it, considering the woodwork he was into. There was no doubt that the partially finished—but already lifelike—wooden bear in the corner was his handiwork.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when he thumped back into the cabin a moment later, stomping snow-covered boots and frowning so deeply it was surely going to leave a line imprinted in his forehead forever.
His pale eyes flashed my way, then dropped, as if he was avoiding looking at me now, and I got the distinct impression that the soft touch was gone.
He was back to wanting me out of here, right away.
I crossed my arms over my chest, popped my hip against the counter, and waited to see what he’d do next.
Yesterday, I would have been apologetic, as eager to go as he was to see me leave.
Yesterday, I would have felt guilty for imposing, for taking his time when I was uninvited.
Today, though? It was a whole other ball game.
That hug, the knowledge that he was something that wasn’t human, that changed things.
The hug more than the dragon thing, actually.
I wanted to know more, and I had a feeling he wanted to know more too; he just didn’t get it yet.