Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Went with Xavier to the Magic Box. Claire wanted to show us something.”
“What was it?”
“The decorations she set up to surprise Dawn for her hatch day tomorrow.” Damien grinned as we walked past a row of stained glass windows, the shards of purple and red and blue illuminated with whatever sun managed to break through the clouds.
“That’s sweet,” I said. “They seem to be pretty close, huh?”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that, too. I think we all have. Except for Madds.”
“Think he has a thing for Claire?” I asked.
“Maddox has a thing for everyone. But he wouldn’t mess things up for Dawn if he realized. Maybe I’ll chat with him later.”
“Or I could,” I said. “We had a little bit of a break-through earlier today. He’s got a really good heart.”
“He does, and he deserves to find someone who appreciates it.” Damien smiled at me, the glow in his expression nearly blinding me. His teeth were perfectly white and his lips so perfectly kissable, and those eyes… I could stare at him for an entire lifetime and never get bored.
“I’ll talk to him then,” I said. Damien put a gentle, warm hand around my elbow and then continued on. I followed him through the castle, already knowing where he was headed. He stopped there every time he arrived home.
Warrick’s room.
We reached it, silence falling over both of us. He gently pushed open the door. It was a single oaken block carved with vines and roses and roots, tendrils that went down toward the plush carpet, stopping right at the threshold. The lights were off inside his room, the thick curtains drawn. I could hear his struggled breaths, rasps that filled the room, a stark contrast to the peace that the flush of green plants gave.
I hated it. I was instantly reminded of the times I’d visit my mom in the hospital. When I’d hear those same noises from her, wondering if one of those rasps would end up being her last. How could anyone—much less a pre-teen—deal with those kinds of thoughts? I had to imagine that even dragons weren’t immune to heart-wrenching dread and sorrow. And in the three centuries that dragons can live to, Damien’s late twenties might as well have been baby years.
I put a hand on Damien’s lower back. It felt like there were two steel rods rammed around his spine, making him stand tall and straight even though I had to assume all he wanted to do was crumble.
He slowly closed the door, trying not to make a single sound. He looked down the hall but not before I could see a swell of emotion gleaming in his eyes.
“Come,” he said, still turned away from me. “Let me cook you lunch. You can tell me more about your theater kid days.”
It had been a topic of conversation that I kept Damien up with last night. We had been cuddling naked in bed, giggling and laughing at my slightly unhinged antics to land whatever roles I could. Those moments—the nights where Damien would hold me against him, his body flush against mine—had turned into my favorite times of the day, where all my worries would melt away and nothing existed but the constant and comforting warmth radiating from my dragon.
Those nights were a distraction, and I knew Damien badly needed one right now.
I walked up to his side, put my hand in his, and jumped right into a story about the time I arrived to my sophomore bio class method acting as Glinda the Good Marvel.
Chapter 22
Tip of the Tongue
Damien
The world’s end party—and our shot at stopping the dragon fall—had finally arrived. Same as when my mother was sick, the seconds seemed to have crawled by over these last few weeks, but the day had come. I had kept myself busy preparing for tonight, and I wasn’t the only one.
I watched as Robby started to train more and more, spending entire days with my brothers, either inside of the gym with Maddox or the yard with Xavier, where he learned how to spar and fight.
Occasionally, I would watch from my bedroom window. Dragons were prideful beings, but something about seeing Robby progress in his defensive skills made me feel more pride than ever before. He was still a slightly gangly and awkward guy, his long limbs needing a little extra finesse to get just right. But he was learning—I could already see the progress in such a short amount of time. He no longer flinched and fell when he was struck at, his balance steady and his stance strong. He learned how to dodge and duck, and his punches and kicks were also beginning to land more frequently. There was still a long way to go, but Robby appeared to be learning quickly, surprised at himself every time he landed a blow or dodged a hit.