A dragon shifter novel Chapter 44

Thornhill Academy

Autopilot

Evander

After lunch, we move back towards the school. The bell rings shortly after, and bodies spill into the corridors, noisy as hell. I lean toward Allison before she

can get swallowed in the tide. “Mind if a walk you?” She gives me a look like she wants to argue, but then nods. Small victories. Tessa peels off down

another hall, and Kael heads in the opposite direction, leaving me alone with her. Perfect. We walk in silence for a while, her steps steady but cautious, like she’s carrying weight no one else can see. I shove my hands into my pockets and ask, “Do you want a mate?” Her sigh tells me I hit a nerve. “I just don’t think that’s in my future. My fate or whatever.” That stings more than want to admit. Why not?” She flicks her eyes at me, then away. “I’ve been alone for so long, I just don’t think the fates would pair someone like me with anyone.” I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean, someone like you?” Her laugh is sharp and humourless. “Don’t act like you don’t see it. The way people look at me. The way they treat me. I’m different… I’m… just a stray.” That word burns inside my heart. She thinks she isn’t enough. I want to grab her shoulders and shake the truth into her, tell her she’s more, so much more than she can see.

Instead, I keep my voice even. “Why were you alone for so long? What about your parents? Who took care of you out there?” I see it happen, the wall that

she builds quickly, brick by brick, as she clips out her reply. “I never knew my parents, and I took care of myself. Fate deemed it so that I’m better off

alone.” She slows and glances at the classroom door we stop in front of. “Thanks for walking me to class, Evander.” Evander. Not Kael. Me. She gives me a

half–smile that’s small and tight, and slips inside before I can say another word. For a second, I stand there, fists jammed in nty pockets, dragon–sized frustration chewing at my ribs. Then the bell screams again, and I sprint the length of the school with shifter speed to make it to my own class. It doesn’t

matter. The ache in my chest says it’s worth it, worth every stolen second to be near her.

Divination is never my strongest class. Reading the stars, listening to omens, trying to interpret cryptic nonsense, it all feels like smoke and mirrors

compared to the weight of steel or the heat of dragonfire. Still, I sit with a round crystal ball glinting on the table in front of me, the whole room washed in

violet candlelight. Professor Vale swans about like she lives on starlight alone, her long braids jingling with charms that clink softly whenever she moves.

“The crystal does not lie,” she says, voice pitched just above a whisper, as if secrets sit on her tongue. “It only shows you what might be. The future is a

river, always moving, always splitting. It is your intention that decides which stream you see.” She demonstrates, palms brushing lightly over the orb until it

glows faintly gold, then steps back with a theatrical flourish. “Now. You try.” Around me, classmates lean in, whispering and laughing nervously as they

extend their hands toward their crystals. I press my palms together, the surfaces smooth, and let my focus sharpen. I know what I want to see. Her. Allison.

My dragon rumbles low inside me, curling tighter with restless urgency. Show us. I push all of it into the crystal–the need to know. The gnawing pull in my

chest. The question I’ve been circling since the riverbank. What is my future with her? The surface clouds: shapes swirl, bend, flicker. For a moment, I see

the curve of her face, pale and bright, her blue eyes, soft cheeks, and her black hair that she tries to hide behind. But then it warps, splintering into two

paths. In one, she stands at my side, light in her blue eyes, power threading between us like silver fire. In the other, the light fractures, her back turns, and

the shadow swallows her whole. My brow furrows. None of it makes sense. Professor Vale drifts over, silent as a ghost, until her presence presses against my

shoulder. Her hand steadies against the orb, and the swirling stills enough to sharpen the edges. She hums low, her voice curling cryptic but certain. “The

future you are seeking is not set in stone, Evander Drayke. It bends. It breaks. It could go one of two ways.” Her dark eyes cut to mine, gleaming with something that feels like knowledge I’m not ready for. “But one thing is clear. Truth will be the torch that lights the path you want. Without it, you will lose what you seek.” The words land like a stone in my gut. Truth. Does that mean I’m supposed to tell her? Tell Allison what my dragon already swears? That

she’s his, ours, mine? That he claimed her before the festival, before the laws, before the world would allow it? I clench my fists against my knees as the

crystal dims, leaving nothing but my reflection staring back. Truth, she said. All I can think is, if I tell her, would she even believe me? Or would it drive her further away? Would she even want me? What if she rejects me? Class ends, and I wander off, lost in thought, to defensive training.

My brain runs on autopilot as I head for the girls‘ change rooms to leave my shirt for Allison. I don’t even realise I drift past the point of no return until the

air shifts, warm, scented faintly of lavender and steel polish. My boots scrape the edge of the tile, and I look up, frozen. She’s there. Allison. Standing in

front of the mirror, her back half–turned, shirt in her hands, bare from the waist up. Time stops. Every shred of thought I’ve been drowning in, crystal balls,

fractured futures, my dragon snarling mate, burns away like paper in fire. All that exists is her. Pale skin kissed with faint bruises, scar–lines on her back like

someone tried to break her and failed. My throat dries–my chest locks. My dragon slams so hard against my ribs it almost cracks them. Mine. Her eyes lift

and find me. They’re blown wide, startled and furious. My body stutters back a step, muscles clumsy where they’re usually perfect. “Shit.” My voice comes

out rough, strangled. “I didn’t…I wasn’t…”