Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Turning the pages, I read until I reach the end, where the missing entry should be. My fingers stroke over the rough torn edges as I wonder why she ripped it out. What it would have said.
Then, finally, the Vega juice must have worn off, because the fog I hadn’t even realised was sitting over my mind suddenly lifts.
What the hell am I doing?
I can’t just lie here with my heart hammering in my chest, trying to distract myself from breaking apart over Neeve while I wait and hope for Ahria to come back and the bond to seal.
I need to find her.
I know Lucien told me to stay inside, but he's back and so the Veils should be up now, and it’s not like sitting here is any less risky. If Ahria decides to break the bond, I die anyway.
My grip tightens around the soft leather of the journal as I stare at the canvas above me.
Screw this.
Throwing back the covers, I drop the book onto the bed and shove my boots on. Then I grab Talen’s flight jacket, and slip out before I can talk myself out of it.
Pulling the jacket higher around me, I move quietly through the moonlit campsite toward where Lucien’s sleeping. I have no real plan, no idea what time it is. Just one thought, circling hard and desperate: if I can find JC, maybe I can talk her into taking me to find Ahria.
Loud snores drift through the gap as I approach the second tent. Peeking inside, I find Lucien sprawled on his back, fully clothed, the teapot tipped on its side beside him, empty.
But I can’t see JC.
Fuck. Where is she?
Breath coming too fast, I drop the canvas back down and look around the campsite, but the moon’s lower now and the darkness is thicker.
“JC,” I mutter. “JC.”
Goddamn it, why the heck do dragons have to be so bloody small?
Spinning on the spot, my boots scrape across the dry earth as I keep searching, scanning over the scrubland—until something blue glints in one of the lone trees just outside camp.
Careful not to trip over any tent ropes, I start toward it as a gust of wind presses in from above.
My head jerks up as a shadow of wings sweeps overhead. Too small to be Cal. Too large to be Ahria.
Cold air lodges in my throat, and I stay motionless, holding it there as pressure builds behind my ribs while the creature circles once overhead, then disappears into the night sky.
Shit.
I exhale hard. Maybe this was a bad idea. But JC’s Veils must be up, keeping us hidden, and I’m already halfway to the tree. I can’t give up. Not yet.
My footsteps quicken, matching the pace of my pulse as I push on—only for my shoulders to drop when the glint turns out to be nothing more than a metal mug that someone must have left hanging to dry.
Hands flexing in frustration, I turn to head back when another gust races through the camp. A second later, something massive slams down behind the tree, the force of it rippling through the ground and straight into my knees.
Instinct takes over and I shove myself back against the trunk, fingernails digging into the bark, because unlike JC’s landings, this one doesn’t sound clean. There’s no controlled sweep of wings, no neat scrape of claws finding earth. This is messy. Heavy. More fall than landing.
A deep, broken growl drags up from the creature behind, reverberating through my bones.
God, there are only two ways this goes. Either it’s Ahria or Cal, hurt badly enough to need help, or it’s the dragon I just watched cut across the sky—and I have no idea if that thing was a scout or unbonded, only that I’m out here alone, with no magic and no plan.
Another strangled noise rolls through the gloom behind me, followed by the rough drag of claws over earth, a leathery scrape, then a heavy crash like it’s trying—and failing—to push itself up.
Unable to wait any longer guessing, I cautiously ease my head around the tree and a gasp escapes me as moonlight slides over dark orange scales.
Cal.
He’s hunched low, one wing tucked against his side, his whole body curled around it.
Every few seconds, his claws flex in the dirt and another strained rumble vibrates through his chest as he tries to spread the injured wing out.
The movement barely lasts a heartbeat before it folds back in with a sharp twitch.
“Talen!” I step out toward him and immediately regret it as Cal’s head whips toward mine at terrifying speed, the gold in his eyes blazing so bright they look like flames against the darkness.
My whole body contracts in around itself as the scales around his mouth pull back, revealing row after row of perfectly sharpened teeth. Then he snarls, and the heat rolling off him hits me in a powerful wave, forcing me back a step as my palms lift between us.
“It’s okay,” I stutter, each word coming in short, broken pants as he stalks toward me. “It’s me. Lyra.”
But he doesn't stop coming, blood leaks from a fresh gash across his face, catching in the grooves of his scales, seeping between his jaws as he moves.
He won’t hurt me, I tell myself, he knows who I am. He has to know who I am, but fuck do I wish I had that talisman right about now.
Magic sparks at my fingertips, faint but stronger than before as my back hits the tree.
I push myself into it as much as I can, sharp bark digging into my bare legs as Cal keeps prowling forward, his face lowering closer, nostrils flaring.
So close now that I can see myself reflected in his eyes, his pupils long and thin like arrow slits, locked on me.
“Talen...?” The question barely makes it past the pressure in my throat. “Are you in there?”
Swallowing hard, I lift my hand toward the red gash. Cal growls in warning, the sound so deep it makes my pulse stumble, but I don’t pull away. Slowly, I place my fingers just below the wound.
Instantly, his pupils blow wide and something shifts.
One moment my fingers are pressed to Cal’s hot rough scales, his massive body shadowing over me. The next, everything gives way at once, scales smoothing into warm skin, bone and muscle folding down until Talen’s cheek is cupped in my palm.
Before I can pull back, he moves. Fast. His hand closes around my wrist, tearing it from his face and pinning it above my head as his body moves in, crowding mine against the tree.
“Thorn…” he murmurs my name in the same deep growl as Cal, and my body doesn’t seem to understand that he’s human again because every muscle goes taut against the trunk behind me.
“What are you doing here? I know Lucien told you to stay in the tent.” The gold in his eyes burns so bright against his black training uniform I can barely see the hazel beneath it.
“You’re hurt.” I reach my other hand toward the wound on his face, but he catches that one too, dragging it up beside the first until both my wrists are locked above my head and his full weight is pressed against mine.
“It's nothing.” His head cocks. “Just a run-in with a scout on the way back.”
Looking me up and down, he drags his gaze over me, like a predator assessing prey. The way his jacket hangs off my shoulders, the bare skin of my legs beneath it, the tight pull of skin at my neck where my pulse is flickering far too fast.
His tongue slips over his bottom lip, and my thighs press together.
“You shouldn't be out here. I have limited control in the Outerlands at the best of times. But right after shifting…” His nostrils flare and his grip tightens slightly on my wrists. “My sense of smell, my sense of touch, my sense of taste…” His jaw flexes. “Everything is on fucking fire right now.”
The warning settles deep in my stomach, and my fingers twitch against his.
“I need to find Ahria.” I reply, bracing my legs, trying to steady the tremor growing in them. “Every second I wait here is another second the bond might not seal. I thought JC could take me.”
Warmth floods through me, bleeding across from the closeness of his body and my breaths start coming too fast, each inhale catching like I'm starved for air—or maybe just for him—and when I drag in another, my chest rises and brushes his. The contact draws another deep sound from his throat.
“JC would never leave Lucien's side,” his voice is rougher than normal.
“And even if she did, the sky is heaving with scouts tonight.
Scouts you are currently in no state to face, so whether you like it or not you're stuck here. Now please,” he orders through gritted teeth, “go back inside the tent.
I'll meet you there in thirty minutes and we can talk about everything that happened today.”
The edge in his tone sends a shiver through me but I force my chin up and shake my head.
“No, I'm done having people tell me what I need tonight. I don't want to spend another moment alone in that tent. Thinking about Neeve, thinking about Ahria. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to risk falling apart and the bond not sealing.”
“Thorn,” he snarls. “You need to walk away.”
“Or else what?” I push back. “You're going to carry me over?”
His gaze darken. “No, you need to walk away because otherwise I’m going to let go of your hands, slide mine under that arse I know is bare beneath that pretty little nightdress, lift you up, and fuck you right here against this tree until you come so hard you forget your own name.
” A white-hot rush races up my thighs, settling high between them in a sharp, aching throb. “And you don’t need that, not tonight.”
The words barely leave him before he forces himself back an inch, just enough for our bodies to stop touching. The loss hits immediately as cold night air slips between us, and I hadn't realised how much of his warmth I'd been stealing until it's gone.
I swallow hard. “Maybe that's exactly what I need.”
Arching my back, I shift my weight back toward him. Talen catches his bottom lip between his teeth but his fingers fold over mine—restraining himself and keeping the thin, aching distance between us in place.
“After what happened today,” he states, “your body won’t know what it needs. Fear, shock, wanting not to be alone—they can all feel the same when you’re this far past yourself.”
“I know.”