Chaper 15.5 The Kiss
Quickly, I think of a way to change the subject, to hide my disappointment—though I can't perfectly account for why I should feel disappointed. I land on a subject I know will distract him utterly. "I think your Headmaster might be a Lycan."
Marton chokes on air, sputtering. "What!?"
"I think—"
He acts as if he doesn't hear me speak. "You—don't—He can't—He isn't—There's—"
"Marton." I grasp him by the wrists, stilling his wildly gesticulating hands.
He sucks in a breath. And holds it and holds it and holds it. Exhales. "No. Nope. What? He can't be—"
I stroke my fingers against the soft skin under his shirtsleeves, meaning for it to be a soothing gesture. Marton practically cringes, and I immediately drop my hands, stepping away.
I turn back to face the desk, full of confusion for a moment—why did I touch him?
I crossed a boundary, obviously—but I put the thought away just as quickly, focusing on the subject at hand.
"There is something about him. Something.
..unusual. I don't know what it is, but you know how Vakh once said—or started to say, before I interrupted him—that all protectorkin have a—a sixth sense?
I think I...sensed something. It wasn't as strong or alarming as when I met the wyverns, but it was more than when I met Vakhrin.
I don't think I was used to using my...other sense then.
Because I had spent so long among human dangers.
But meeting the Headmaster right after meeting several new humans.
..the feeling was obvious. He was different. He is something different."
"And you—think—the Headmaster—"
I pivot to look at him, leaning against the edge of his desk. He stands a few steps away from me, hair mussed as if he has been running his hands through it...
I wrench my eyes down to his face, which is bloodless with worry for the tenth time today.
"I wouldn't let anything happen to you," I assure him. Is that what he worries about? That the Headmaster will be an evil Lycan who attacks us?
But Marton just shakes his head, turning to pace the room. He reaches the bed and plops down on it, as if his legs will no longer hold him up. He drops his face into his hands. "Why a Lycan?" he speaks through his fingers, voice distorted.
"Why...what?" I'm distracted by his tense posture, muscular thighs outlined beneath his trouser and his shoulders straining against his tunic.
I notice, not for the first time, that he is very.
..fit, for a scholar. For a moment, it is hard for me to think of anything else, and my dress feels too tight, constricting my lungs. I want to touch him.
What is happening to my brain right now? I've been around him for weeks without feeling distracted like this.
But that was before he held me while I cried. Before he told me about his parents and why he came to the Academy, with a hurting heart. And about how he left the Academy, like a daring thief. I know him better now. And I...want him in a different way than I did before.
"Why do you think the Headmaster is a Lycan? Specifically? Out of all the other types of protectorkin?"
"Well..." I make myself spell it out. "I've met Dragomira and Chimera now. I like to think I would recognize those if I saw them again... That just leaves the Lycan and the Kraken, right? And the Kraken all live in and around water, so he can't be that."
"Equira," Marton mutters.
"What?"
"You forgot about the Equira. The...the pegasi and hippogriffs and kelpies? Although, the kelpies are supposed to live near water, too."
"Oh." I had forgotten about them. "But Lycan were once the dominant protector species in Philostia, Vakhrin said. And we're so near the Werewood where they're meant to dwell now."
"Near for a dragon, maybe. It's hundreds of miles for a human. Or anything else without wings."
"It's hundreds of miles for me too." I roll my eyes. The time it takes to travel the distance may be relative, but the distance isn't. "But there were...what was the species of Lycan that were meant to be more civilized than the others? The ones who once ruled this kingdom?"
"The wargs."
"Sure. That's right. So what if he's that?"
"I don't know," Marton breathes, looking a little lost. "What if he is?"
"I—" I frown. I don't know either. "Maybe...we could...talk to him?"
Marton instantly frowns. He doesn't like that idea. I don't understand why not. All this time, he's been overeager about magic and finding more of the kin.
Is it not as exciting for him now as it was before the wyvern attack? Has it gotten too scary? Is he appalled by us? By me?
You know that he's not, whispers a small, unconvincing voice in my head.
I know that he doesn't act like it. That doesn't mean he doesn't feel it. He's endlessly kind, but maybe not endlessly blind.
We are monsters, all of the protectorkin. I am one. I can't help but wonder when he will finally see it.
"That sounds...dangerous," Marton says.
"I wouldn't let him hurt you," I reassure him. Maybe he won't believe me, after what I let happen to our friends.
Marton frowns further. "I meant dangerous for you."
Oh.
Is that truly what he's concerned about?
"I can't think he'd have any reason to attack me. I'm protectorkin. Like him. If he is one, that is."
"And if he's not?" Marton stands suddenly, eyes boring into me.
"If you're wrong about him and you've told him you're a dragon?
Then your secret's out and you're in danger.
" I start to reply, but he barrels on ahead of me.
"Or what if he is kin, and he has some reason to hurt you that you're not aware of?
Like the wyverns did? It's too dangerous, Tarah. "
I'm annoyed by his tone, which seems to insinuate that he's in a position to tell me what to do. "That was different. That was about Cherry. We just need to—"
"What we need is to stick to the plan. Gather information on the Trove, and leave this place."
"But he might know something that could help."
"Or he might try to kill you, for one or a hundred reasons. No. We're not asking for his help."
"You're not in charge of us, or of what I'll do," I fume.
"If you think I'm going to let you—"
"How do you plan to stop me!?" I'm practically shouting by the end, my chest heaving like a bellows, skin sizzling with anger. We've drawn closer together without my realizing, until we're nearly standing toe to toe as his eyes blaze down at me. Angry again, face vividly alive.
Touch him.
He doesn't speak. Instead, he grabs me by the nape of the neck and crushes his mouth to mine, bending his head and placing one hand on my hip, lifting me up on my toes to make up for our height difference.
And I forget how to move.
Forget how to think.
How to breath.
I'm being kissed.
For a moment, I forget everything, from the reason we were arguing to the fact that we were arguing at all.
My body goes sort of...boneless, dissolving into his chest as his arms hold me up.
He turns his head slightly, deepening the kiss.
Caressing his mouth against mine. His lips slide apart, and my own part on a gasping breath.
His tongue grazes my lower lip, slips into my mouth to brush against my own.
An embarrassing, inarticulate sound escapes me, and Marton inhales sharply, fingers tightening in my hair.
The dragon in my chest purrs, rumbling with hot desire.
And I remember suddenly. The dragon. In my chest. I remember what I am and all the reasons—that have nothing to do with what Marton wants—why I can't have him.
I wrench away so fast I'm stumbling backwards, trying to keep my footing. Marton's arms release me immediately, and I can't tell if it's because I'm stronger than he is or because he didn't try to hold onto me at all.
He stares at me with wide eyes, cheeks and mouth flushed red, panting.
I wipe my own mouth with the back of my hand as if I can erase the feel and taste of those lips. I can't. The flesh memory is burned into my skin.
My hands are trembling when I look down at them. "You—aren't—you can't—you can't ever do that again," I gasp, sick with horror.
Marton's mouth presses into a line. "Why not?" The question comes out unsteady from lack of breath.
"Because—" Because I'm a monster. Because I'll hurt you, one way or another. "Because you don't—really want me."
"I don't want you?" he repeats in a tone that is equal parts irate and disbelieving.
"You want—you want someone. You want magic. You only like me because I'm a dragon—" My flustered thoughts refuse to come out coherently. To explain what I mean.
"I only like you because you're a dragon?" His volume increases. "What. . .ludicrous. . . That's like me accusing you of only liking me because I'm human."
"I do like that you're human," I say, mullish.
His entire face blazes with frustration.
"And I like that you're a dragon. But I do not like you because you're a dragon.
I like—I like the girl who listened to me talk about globes as if she thought it was as interesting as I thought it was.
" My brows draw down in confusion at this proclamation—because how is the memory of that long ago conversation relevant?
But Marton goes on. "I like the girl who never mocked me for wanting to believe in magic.
The girl who sacrificed everything to go and become the protector of a child she hardly knew—and then fought so hard—for years—to do that job.
I like the girl who was willing to fight a manticore to protect us—and then invited that same manticore to join us, just because he was alone.
I like the girl who took on three wyverns, and even when she lost, started making plans to get our friends back.
I like the girl who never gives up, who always wants to try harder, to do better.
To do the right thing, the good thing. That's my favorite—of all your magic.
The kind that comes from who you are, not what you are. "
"That's not—" Me, I want to say. That's not what I'm really like.
"It's true." Marton draws closer to me, gazing down into my face.
He touches my trembling hand. His voice softens.
"I never knew before. What it was I was looking for.
But it wasn't dragons, and it wasn't...myths and legends.
It was just you. Just you and your incredible, fierce heart.
" His hazel eyes are brown in this moment, warm and sweet like melting sugar. "You're the best person I've ever met."
"I'm—Marton." I pull my hand out of his grip.
Take several steps away from him, turning my face to the side so I can't see his expression.
"You're wrong." My voice comes out as cold as I could wish.
"I'm just—doing my duty. To Cherry. To the king.
That's what this is about. I'm not like you, trying to let everyone in. I'm just doing my job."
His breathing sounds harsh in the silence. "You're lying. I know you are doing your duty to Cherry—as a friend. But that isn't all this is."
"That's all I am," I tell him. "That's all I've ever been—all I've ever been good for. Killing and fighting. That's the truth about the magic you've been looking for. Happy? We're all killers and monsters! You found us out."
"You're not a killer—"
"Really!?" I cry. "Because I've killed a lot of people. And I might have killed Vakhrin, and I would have killed all three of those wyverns, if I'd been strong enough."
"To protect—"
"To protect my princess! She is what matters! She is all that matters."
"So you wouldn't fight to protect me, then?" His voice is quiet.
"I...would," I choke out the words. "Because I need you in order to find the Trove."
Marton's expression goes shuttered, sealed up beyond all emotion. "Very well," he whispers. "Let's find the Trove."