Page 47 of Dragon Fires Everywhere (Witchlore #4)

“These pipe dreams are almost cute,” he says, and he pretends like he’s addressing all of us, but I know it’s just me. “ Togetherness. You’re the first to think of it, I’m sure.”

It takes everything I have not to scowl at him. “We’ll be the first to make it work.”

“We tried that once.” And now he makes no bones of staring at me and only me. “I believed in it. Once. And I was killed for

the trouble.”

“How noble,” I say, pulling out my bright, bubbly Georgie smile.

A lick of flame shoots out of his mouth, but his imprisonment keeps it from being more than the end of a lit match.

“Why don’t you fly after your little crow friend, since you have become so close?” he suggests, but it’s in a vicious tone

that hurts more than fire or claw ever could. “You can tend to his wounds. Listen to his crow lies. There’s a reason they’re

called an unkindness at best. A murder at worst. But do not take my word for it.”

It occurs to me he must misunderstand the connection I feel to Gideon. “You don’t have to be jealous.”

Azrael snorts at that. “I am not jealous , Georgina. I am worried for your welfare. And mine . The last time we trucked with crows, we were both punished for it. I remember it well. You do not.”

“Maybe not, but I know how to learn a lesson, Azrael. Do you?”

He steps forward, and I recognize that there is a deep well of hurt here, one I did not fully understand before. But he is

projecting it onto the wrong people, and for that, I’m angry instead of sympathetic.

Also, I’m hurt myself.

“I would not have cared if I had died in the blaze of war, or in saving you—or who you once were. I would not hold a grudge

against this king if we had died on the battlefield.” He shakes his head. “But I was his brother-in-arms. And he betrayed

me.”

I hold his angry gaze. I see a million hurts in his onyx-and-gold eyes that I realize he has never dealt with. His soul might

remember all the lives he’s led, but he tries to leave them—and each death—behind.

Perhaps that was why it was so easy for him to jump into life with me in the beginning.

And so easy for him to pull away when he was reminded how it ends.

How it always ends.

“We aren’t talking about the king you knew, Azrael,” I remind him. “We are talking about his grandson .”

I don’t say mine , because Gideon isn’t my grandson. I know that once, he was. But I don’t remember past lives—it seems I can only occasionally feel them. And while a piece of my soul was there, it does not make up who I

am, or at least all of who I am. I have more lives, including this one.

“You have a world to save,” Azrael tells me. “If my brethren are freed, I will not stand in your way. I will not decry your

ill-advised alliance with the crows. I will not be a hindrance.” He leans a little closer. “But I will not be a part of it.”

“You’re our fabulae.”

“You can find another.”

If I could shoot flames from my mouth, I would.

He moves closer now, lowering his voice so only I hear him. “It would be best for you all. I have lived this life you’re trying

to re-create, Georgina. I was killed, and you lived with that monster till the end of your days. Do you wish for history to

repeat itself?”

I study him and realize what I’m really seeing. Not stubbornness for the sake of stubbornness. Not even old grudges.

Fear.

And it all started at that river. When I was harmed. And even though he saved me that time, he has lived through failing to

save me. And not just me, but the Wilde Historian who came before me, old Linus, who walked into the river himself one morning.

He even failed to save himself in the crow war.

For a moment, all my anger softens. Because I remember how lost we all felt when Lillian died. How Zander became a shell of

himself when he lost his mother. Grief is a terrible thing to bear, and Azrael’s had to do it over and over again.

We both have, but mine is wrapped up in the forgetting, and feels like longing. His, I see, stays sharp. Because he remembers .

“Azrael.” I try to find the words to get through to fear. To hurt and grief. I’m not sure I have them. “There are risks we

must take in this life. And in my life—no matter how short or long—I want to know I did the right thing. So all you’re doing

right now is hurting me.”

“Will you always do this? In every life? Put everyone above yourself? Have you not finally learned, Georgina, you really are

special . But it means nothing if you die .”

I don’t remember every life, but I know he’s wrong. “Sacrifice for the right cause is not a mistake, no matter the outcome.

When will you learn that?”

He scoffs disgustedly and turns away from me.

I realize something with a harsh pain. It has not occurred to me until this moment. We might be soulmates, that red thread tugging us from life to life, and I might like this current version of him—hell, I’m in love with him, for all that matters right now, but...

“This is not love,” I say.

He whirls around, looking stricken. Then furious. “I remember every second my soul has loved yours. I know what love is.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t need to remember to know. I just know.” I reach over to thump my finger into his chest and instantly regret it, because

touching him just makes me want to touch him more. But I don’t. I make myself go on. “You are only worried about you . How you’d feel if I die. How it will hurt you .” I am so tired of crying in front of this dragon, but I can’t stop myself. I am so tired of letting him hurt me, but he

can’t seem to stop either. “What about if I live knowing I failed my coven? I failed myself? If I am special— ”

“I have roamed this earth waiting for your soul to return to me again and again,” he roars. But he calms, quiets. Serious

but fierce. “And I will not be a part of watching you throw that life away again . For crows .”

But it isn’t for crows, or him, or me. It’s for... everything. “You’re really cutting me off because I won’t sacrifice

everyone else to save myself?”

He is decidedly quiet then.

“You’re pretending this is about a crow who did nothing to hurt you, even if his grandfather did. But it is nothing but selfishness.”

I thump him again, and say it. “Cowardice.”

Still he says nothing. I want to think the words are penetrating, but I can tell from his stubborn expression they’re not.

“Maybe our souls were meant to be in some other lifetime, but if you think I can be the woman who would turn her back on what she knows is right because it’s dangerous, because there might be suffering or sacrifice, you don’t know me at all. And you really don’t belong in the Riverwood coven.”

Something flashes in his eyes, but he says nothing. And I’m not going to wait around and see if he will.

I walk out of the cemetery, realizing when I see my friends standing near that tree that they must have retreated outside

the gates when Azrael and I started fighting.

But they didn’t leave me. They’re waiting for me .

I don’t look back at Azrael, because I know I’m right.

This is love. Right here. Standing up for one another, with each other, time and time again, no matter how things get tough. No

matter how we disagree.

Because love is not about outcomes . It is not a weapon or armor.

Love is the answer.