Page 72 of Spark of Sorcery

I can’t decide which is more fascinating. Dragons havebeen extinct for hundreds of years. This may be the first dragon born in centuries, nestled in Briony’s bed.

And yet, as fascinating, as crazy as that is, my eyes are drawn back to the girl.

She’s even more fascinating. The way she curls around the dragon like a cat. The way the firelight dances in the golden strands of her hair, the way her body falls and rises in curves – nipped at the waist, rounded over her hips and her backside.

She’s taken off her academy blazer now it’s warm in the room and rolled up her sleeves and her skirt has risen up her thighs. Inches of bare skin, milky white turning pink with the fire.

Does she have any idea how much it’s killing me, tearing me up inside, shredding me to pieces, that I can’t touch her? It’s all I want to do. All I can think about.

Just to rest my ungloved palm on the flesh of her thigh, to feel the heat of her skin, the softness of it.

I’ve cursed this stupid affliction before. Railed at fate and my inability to touch. But not like this. I’ve come to accept it over the years, to come to terms with my fate.

Only now it’s so much harder.

She must feel something in my magic because she looks up from the dragon to me with curiosity and then she smiles.

A genuine, sweet smile, like she’s happy in my company, content.

People smile at me. But it’s not often. Not often at all.

When they do, it’s with a greed in their eyes. They want something from me.

This smile is different.

“He’s so cute, isn’t he?” she whispers.

Fascinating maybe but I would not describe the bony scaly creature as cute.

Beaufort has wondered aloud over and over again why fate has picked this girl for us, what it can mean. He told me about the torture, about the scars that riddled her back. She clearly has no hidden powers. Yet, all along she had a firestone, a firestone that called her to it, a firestone which has now hatched into the first live dragon in centuries.

This must mean something. What did Beaufort see in that flash of a vision and what can it mean?

Briony’s words stir the little thing and it mews and nips at her fingers.

“I think he’s hungry,” she says.

“The flask is right there,” I tell her.

“Could you pass it to me please?”

“You know I can’t.”

“We can be careful,” she says.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” I don’t want to hurt you like I hurt them. I don’t want to lose anyone else precious to me. I refuse to let it happen.

“You won’t,” she says. “I trust you.”

The girl is incorrigible.

I walk back to the bed, pick up the flask and place it on the mattress. She’s still smiling.

“See, the world didn’t end.”

“This isn’t a joke,” I say.

Her smile fades. “I know. I’m sorry.”