A dragon shifter novel Chapter 34

Sweet Dreams, Asshole

Kael

By the time we reach the dorms, Evander looks less like a firestorm and more like a man again, though smoke still lingers faintly on

his skin. I shove my door open with my shoulder, wave him in, and shut it behind us. The silence settles heavy between us, broken

only by the scrape of chairs as we drop into them. “How is she?” he asks finally. His voice is rough and stripped bare, like he’s afraid

of the answer. The question twists in my chest. For a moment, I see her again in my mind. Mud–streaked, bloodied and so damn

small against my chest as I carry her through the halls. Then I remember her eyes that were sharp, even half–dead, with her mouth

spitting venom about Cage. I lean back, forcing my face into a casual mask. “She’s fine,” I say, tossing a hand like I can wave the

memory away. “I got her back to her room. She’s tough, Ev. Stronger than she looks. Probably stronger than she knows.” He nods,

eyes fixed on the floor, jaw working like he’s chewing on words he can’t say. I should tell him. I should say that when I carried her

up those stairs, when she rolled her eyes at me and thanked me in that small, quiet voice, it did something to me. It lit something I

didn’t expect to burn… But this is Evander–my best mate. The one person I’d bleed for without hesitation besides Mumma, and his

dragon has already claimed her. So I swallow it down. “She’ll be alright,” I add, softer this time. “You got her out when it counted.

She owes you her life.” His gaze flicks up, molten gold simmering under the surface, but he doesn’t answer, he doesn’t have to,

because the truth presses at my ribs anyway. She isn’t mine to want.

Evander finally scrubs a hand down his face and pushes up from the chair. “I should get some rest,” he mutters, grimacing. “And a

shower. I stink like smoke and blood.” I snort, leaning back and tipping my chair onto two legs. “You’re not wrong. Thought I was

going to choke on dragon breath the whole way here.” That earns me the ghost of a smile. It’s Ffaint and worn, but real. He shakes

his head, already moving for the door. “Get some sleep too, Kael,” he says over his shoulder. “We’ll need it.” I give him a lazy salute

and watch the door click shut behind him. The room goes quiet, save for the creak of my chair when I drop it back onto all fours. I

don’t let myself think about her again. Not with him so close. Not when my best friend’s dragon has already called her his.

Allison

The door clicks shut, and the sound of Kael’s boots fades down the hall. Finally, I let out a breath I was holding and sag back

against the chair. Every muscle screams. My skin burns where it’s been torn. My head feels packed with wet sand. I hate it. I hate

feeling weak. Hate letting anyone carry me. Hate the way my body betrays me. I’m not weak, not really. I need a refill. I force myself

to crawl, literally crawl across the rug, palms dragging over the soft weave until I find the faint bumps where the vent covers press

through. I slide one cover back, the metal screeching faintly, and press my face close enough to peer down. A warlock sprawls on his

bed below, shirt discarded, breathing even and steady. His magic shimmers around him like heatwaves. Nice and ripe for picking. I

reach, and the siphon tug comes easy and familiar. Power rushes up my veins, warm and buzzing, filling the empty places that feel

like open wounds. The ache in my head dulls first. Then the sharpness in my ribs eases. Then the fire across my back cools. My body

remembers what it feels like to be whole again. The broken parts knit together under borrowed strength. I don’t take too much, just

enough. Enough to stitch myself back together, or close enough that no one can call me fragile. Sliding the vent cover back into place, I push up onto my knees. My reflection catches in the stained–glass window. My hair wild, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with stolen magic. I’m not weak. Never weak. And now… now I’m ready to find Cage and show him exactly what happens when you push me off a bloody gorge.

I crawl along the floor, checking each vent, mapping who’s whore, and searching for one in particular. I find the smug bastard easily, sleeping in his bed and utterly unaware of the predator lurking above him. I count down the vents, mapping them in my head. One. Two. Three. His is the fourth. A grin slides across my face before I can stop it. Perfect. I push away from the carpet and head to my wardrobe. Thank you, Tessa, for being such a good friend and making sure I bought every different style known to man. I pull out a

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Sweet Dreams, Asshole

black hoodie, black pants and sneakers. It’s a quiet, quick, forgettable outfit. I tie my hair back into a knot and pull the hood over it

until nothing shows but my eyes. Then I pad down the winding staircase, watching for every creak that sounds too loud. With every

stèp, I sift through the store of magic humming under my skin. There are only small remnants left from a few different magicals

besides the warlock from before, and I consider using that… Until I find something else, something hidden deeper. The echo of the

wraith. I freeze mid–step, testing it, feeling it, letting myself wield it. A thread of shadow curls up my arm, slick and heavy. The

power burns dark; it feels alien and raw. I didn’t mean to take it. I didn’t even know I had… But oh, isn’t this just perfect? By the

time I reach the dorm corridor, my smirk is sharp enough to cut glass. Cage’s door looms ahead. Plain wood with his nameplate

bolted crooked at the top. He lies behind it, smug and comfortable, after trying to kill me and after nearly succeeding. I flex my

fingers, feeling the wraith’s shadow curl tight, eager now. “Sweet dreams, asshole,” I whisper. Then I raise my hand to the door.

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