Page 79 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood (Tales So Wicked #2)

I never sleep. Not at night, anyway. Despite the efforts of the man with the glowing eyes.

I feel him each evening, working to slide into my mind and fill my head with sand.

His voice rumbles out, calling me under.

Even if I wanted to follow him into the darkness, it rarely works.

I’m too drawn to the sky, the stars. Something about the midnight blue and the quiet of the town below energizes me when it should lull me into a dream-filled rest.

Which is why I’m wide awake, soaking in the Mūn Springs, when the first horn sounds. Dragons .

I freeze, dropping the moon flower I’d been swirling just beneath the surface of the jewel-blue water.

That sounds like Mayden. The tinny quality of the slightly older horn always gives it away.

Twelve dragon watchtowers run across the island from one end to the next.

Each sentry is under strict orders to only sound the alarm when a dragon is within their sights. Mayden is only five towers away.

I practically leap from the steaming water, landing naked and barefoot on the chilly rocks that line the springs.

It’s not a terribly cold night, but everything feels colder when you’ve been neck-deep in hot water for the last two hours.

I fumble with my clothes. I was careless when I undressed.

My socks and pant legs are inside out. It takes a painstaking extra few seconds to get them straightened and on.

It’s an infuriating reminder that wet skin and fitted clothes are not friends.

The prolonged sound of the horn spurs me to act faster.

Get moving . I take off in a run, still topless, struggling to get my shirt over my mass of tangled wet hair as I sprint back to the castle.

I’ve never been known for my modesty. Not that it matters if I’m about to be devoured by a dragon.

My boobs may be the last thing someone sees.

I’d be doing them a favor running tits out all the way to the castle.

After what feels like forever, I finally work my shirt down and over my torso.

Now I can focus on my pace. It’s a good thing I’m fucking fast. A second horn blares.

I know that deep rattling tone. Brockin.

My muscles swell as adrenaline-stacked blood pumps through my body.

My mom always complains that my thighs are too large.

“ Ladies should not have such thickness below the waist .” My masculine—in her eyes—quads serve me well as I tear across the land, hurtling over the boulders of the lava fields that separate the springs from the castle.

I’ve raced the village boys for as long as I can remember.

I’m competitive as hell and taller than most girls I know. It makes me a damn good sprinter.

I’m known for making bad decisions. Or reckless, at least. So, of course I would be caught outside castle walls, naked, during the first dragon attack in a hundred years. My lungs are working overtime, my breaths coming in heaves by the time I make it to the castle walls.

Lockdown protocol goes into effect the second there’s a dragon sighting.

Lucky for me, Jonas is working the wall tonight.

He recognizes me well before I reach the gate.

It rises halfway. I duck, throwing one leg out and sliding underneath.

We exchange a quick nod as I power through the courtyard and into the castle itself.

I pass a mass of castle guards as they assemble. Armor clangs through the halls as warriors spill out into the perimeter. I’m shaking so badly I can hardly function. Breathe. It might be a false alarm .

“Princess, you must get to a bunker!” someone shouts.

“I will,” I toss back, but I don’t head underground. I have to get to my room first.

Busting through my door, I race inside. A third horn sounds.

It’s the high-pitched whine of the Evuhsberg tower.

The dragon is coming this way . I make a beeline for the fireplace.

The first rule of any dragon attack? All fires go out.

The bucket of water that’s kept by my hearth at all times sizzles as I toss it over the flames.

Steam billows out, hitting me in the face, momentarily stealing my sight.

It’s a new moon. Without the glow of the fire, I can’t see a damn thing.

Footsteps pound down the hall. While the others run to safety, I can’t leave just yet. Fumbling in the dark, I search for the small satchel that holds my life within it. Even if I make it to the bunker before the dragon obliterates our kingdom, I’ll never survive without it.

It’s not on my dresser. My breath-stealing panic amplifies.

It was here. It’s always right here. I grasp at the surface, patting both hands across every inch.

A new fucking moon. I can’t see anything.

With the light of the full moon or even waning moon I would be able to see vague outlines of my belongings. It’s too damn dark.

Do the dragons know we can’t see? Can dragons see in the dark? Of course they can. That’s why they attack at night.

The overly loud horn of Ettinthe blasts into the night. I drop into a crouch, gripping the corner of the dresser. It’s almost here . Shifting onto my hands and knees, I bump into something soft.

“Thank Lukken .” I snatch up my satchel and crawl toward the door.

What type of dragon is it? Fire and ash?

Or one of the others? Those with unique gifts.

They’re terrifying. Many of the tales of the dragons who have extra abilities come from survivors who are so stunned by fear they can barely speak.

The storm demon is legendary. But the night is quiet aside from the horns and the sounds of human panic.

It’s unlikely he’s roaming the skies. What about the ice maiden?

I haven’t felt the temperature drop. I’d rather be underground when her rain of ice impales the world above.

Could it be him , the King of Dragons? I’ve heard stories of lands eternally trapped beneath his glass. Will he do the same to us? The thought of being entombed beneath my home makes me sweat.

Regardless of who or what is coming, I have to get to the bunker. I’ve just yanked my door wide when the horns fall silent.

I stand there, clammy palm clutching my doorknob. My heart feels large enough to press against the back of my tongue. The comforting seven dings of the castle bells confirm it. False alarm. The beating in my throat lessens.

Recovering from adrenaline dump is brutal. It takes another hour of staring into my relit fireplace and three cups of fire mead before my body stops shaking and my anxious sweating ceases.

False alarms always leave me feeling guilty.

There’s a quick beat after the castle bells ring when disappointment flickers through me.

Do I want my kingdom destroyed by dragon fire?

No. Do I want the villagers and my family eaten alive?

No. But a small part of me, so small I would never admit it to anyone, ever, is desperate to see a dragon.

Desperate to know how large they truly are, not to guess from the faded drawings in an old book.

To see the sun glinting off of scales the colors of rubies and emeralds.

To hear the sound of wingbeats on the wind.

I have been told too much curiosity is dangerous.

I have an unhealthy affinity toward danger.

The softness of my bed brings my weary body little comfort.

The second my head hits the pillow, he starts whispering again.

Those glowing eyes like beacons of power.

They’re so tempting. Despite the warm haze from the fire mead, I remain awake.

It can’t be healthy to survive on daytime naps alone.

Nevertheless, I keep my eyes open until the dawn breaks.

No dragons, no dream man. Just unfed curiosity and a feeling that something is coming my way.