Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 253

Thornhill Academy

I Need to Provide

Evander

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Sleep tries to cling to me. It tries to pull me down and keep me there with pure khaustion. My body aches, my head thrums, my soul screams at me to close my eyes for just a moment longer. The bed beneath me is massive, soft, maybe even softer than Allison’s back in the attic. I want to mould myself into it and stay here forever, but I can’t. My dragon is awake, and he’s been pacing in my mind and demanding I move for a good half an hour now. She needs

things, and he’s not about to let it go until I provide those things. Provide, he presses, over and over and over again. Make her strong again. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, listening to the quiet rhythm of the room. Kael sprawled half off the bed, one arm dangling, already snoring softly. Rhaziel at my other side, still as carved stone, though I know better than to believe he’s fully asleep. Allison is between him and Cassian, curled inward, hair a dark spill across the pillow, breath slow and steady. She looks small like this. Not fragile, no, she would never be fragile… Just… softer. My dragon coils tighter. I slide out of bed carefully, moving slowly enough not to disturb her, and pull on a pair of pants. The stone floor is cool under my feet as I ease the door open and step into the corridor beyond. The Shadow Realm isn’t as intimidating as I once thought it would be. The air carries a faint warmth, like embers banked rather than roaring, and the halls glow softly with a light that doesn’t come from torches or lamps but from something I assume the place itself provides. It doesn’t take long to find signs of life. A demon rounds a corner carrying a tray of glassware and pauses when he sees me.

“Good morning, Dragon,” he says politely. “Can I prepare something for you?”

“No,” I reply, just as polite, already walking past him. “Thank you.”

Another tries near the kitchens, offering bread, meat, or literally anything I could want.

“No,” I repeat, gentler this time. “I’ll do it.”

They don’t argue, but they do give me a look instead, something between curiosity and understanding as they step aside. The kitchen is enormous, designed for hands with claws and tails that knock things over. Counters of dark stone, wide hearths, shelves stacked with ingredients I recognise and others I don’t. I take a moment to orient myself, then move on instinct. Pans. Batter. Heat. My hands know what to do even while the rest of me lags behind, muscles stiff, thoughts slow. I crack eggs, whisk, and pour. The smell of cooking fills the space and my dragon eases a fraction, satisfied for now. I’m halfway through flipping the first pancake when I feel her through the bond. Then I hear soft footsteps that pause in the doorway. I glance up, and my chest tightens.

Allison stands there barefoot, wrapped in one of Rhaziel’s shirts that hangs off her shoulder, hair a tangled mess around her face. Her eyes are half-open and unfocused; she looks like she followed instinct rather than direction to get here.

“What are you doing out of bed, my little pet?” I ask, frowning despite myself.

She blinks at me, slow and owlish. “I went to pee,” she says, voice rough with sleep. “And then you weren’t there.”

That’s enough to get me moving. I cross the space in two steps, scoop her up easy, and set her on the counter without breaking stride. I position her where I can keep one hip against her knee while I turn back to the stove.

She doesn’t protest; instead, her hands slide automatically to my waist, arms wrapping around me, forehead pressing briefly to my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she asks, yawning.

“My dragon needs to provide for you,” I say quietly.

She hums, pleased, and tightens her hold, pulling me closer until I’m standing beween her legs. Her chin rests on my shoulder, breath warm against my

neck.

“Hmmm,” she murmurs. “I can think of a few ways he could provide.”

Her lips brush my skin, a teasing kiss just below my jaw, and my body respondsstantly, heat flaring sharp and demanding. I close my eyes for half a second, grounding myself, flipping a pancake with one hand.

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Fri, Jan 23

I Need to Provide

“Not like that,” I say gently, though my voice has roughened. “Not yet.”

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She pouts against my neck, then smiles, wicked even through exhaustion. “You’re no fun.”

I turn my head just enough to press a kiss into her hair. “Tell me what you need. I murmur. “I’ll give you what I can without exhausting you further.”

Her answer is a soft sigh and the way she relaxes against me, tension bleeding of of her frame as if the question alone gave her permission to stop holding herself together.

“Food,” she says finally, “warmth… and you.”

That I can do. I stay between her knees as I cook, one hand flipping pancakes, the other resting at her thigh, anchoring her in place. She drifts in and out of

awareness, occasionally nuzzling closer, occasionally whispering something half-formed against my skin. When I lean in, when my mouth brushes her neck,

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