Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 29

The Rule Book.

Kael lunged for the satchel the coach tossed him like it was second nature and cupped it in one hand while the other reached for the med–tools. I watched him work with a kind of stupid, furious focus that had nothing to do with my dragon and everything to do with the fact that those hands were on her. My talons twitched, a phantom itch under my skin, but I forced myself to stay still. Every inch of me wanted to close and keep her safe; every inch of me hated the idea of anyone touching what felt like mine. Kael pulled out bandages, vials, a roll of gauze, a small corked bottle glowing a faint turquoise, an enchantment, then. The smell of herbs hit me, sharp and clean. It made my jaw shift. Kael took a breath, glanced up at me with something half–apology, half–command in his eyes. “I’m going to clean her, Ev. Calm yourself.” His tone wasn’t asking.

He ripped at my shirt on her small frame. The motion was almost violent, one hand on the collar, the other tearing the fabric with claws that had never been gentle in combat but moved like surgeons now. The white shreds fell away, exposing the pale expanse of her back and the ragged, angry dark lines of the wounds. Mud clung to them, dark as old bruises. The sight of raw flesh hit me harder than it should have; I felt unreasonably possessive and fiercely protective, like a beast with hot coals behind its ribs. My dragon’s instincts flared, and my wings expanded and then curled around the three of us. Privacy.

Kael’s hands were clean; he poured warm water from a small vial over a cloth and gently pressed it to the worst of the grime. He murmured as he worked, soft, steady sounds that weren’t exactly words of comfort but had the same effect. The cloth came away darker, the mud lifting and leaving angry, raw skin behind. The smell of rot and river and ash clung to her hair, memories of whatever terror had happened in those trees, and I swallowed. The dragon in me seethed.

“Hold on, Ally,” Kael said under his breath. He didn’t say her name to me; he said it to her, small and personal. He worked with the steady, quiet patience of someone who’d saved more friends than he’d liked to count. With one hand, he propped her up and with the other, he uncorked the little glowing vial. The salve inside winked like a captured star.

When he touched the salve to the open flesh, it steamed, bright blue mist curling up and licking the air. Tiny runes unfurled across the ointment’s surface

as if the jar itself were breathing. I felt the ward’s warmth like a small, kind promise. Flesh that had looked shredded and raw began to knit at the edges as

the salve sank in, closing tiny capillaries, turning the wet red to a cleaner, steadier crimson. Kael hummed approval at the shift. My dragon didn’t like it. He

rumbled a low, dissatisfied sound that vibrated through my sternum. But something else, something because of Kael sliding a bandage under my fingers and

looking up at me, tempered the animal’s hunger. Kael’s face was calm, hard with the kind of concentration I’d come to respect. He didn’t preen for praise.

He didn’t gloat. He stitched and bound as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, and his hands never once faltered.

“Satchel’s got stitching wire,” he said without looking at me. “Wrap tight at the seams but not strangling, right? We don’t want to cut off circulation.” He tacked the gauze down with clean, careful folds, tying knots with fingers that steadied as the world swam. When he finished, he lowered his voice and said something to her that I couldn’t quite hear. I wanted to listen to it, wanted to know the small, private thing he’d said into her ear, but I didn’t deserve that. The dragon’s grip around me loosened a fraction as if Kael’s steadiness had told it something in a language older than speech: she would not be taken, not by force. The dragon settled into watchfulness rather than belligerence. Kael scooped up the remaining kit and rose, wiping his hands on a strip of my shredded shirt. He met my eyes for a long second. “She needs to get warm and stitched properly inside. Help me carry her?” There was no question there, just the expectation that I would do the right thing.

My dragon’s rumble softened, a careful, almost wary sound, like a hunter easing its grip when it realises its prey is already safe in another’s hands. I felt the shift under my skin before I understood it: the talons that had held her tightened once more, then, with the strangest, most humiliating gentleness, nudged her toward Kael. It was a gesture. A push. An admission dressed up as an order. My dragon handed her over. Kael slid into position without hesitation, quickly pulling off his own shirt and placing it over her, as he eased her into a cradle. He took her, like a man taking something precious and fragile, and I realised I’d been holding my breath the whole time. My body took over, doing the rest on autopilot. The shift released me like a leash snapping. Scales gave way to skin, claws to fists, muscles folding back into place and when I hit the grass on two feet, I felt absurdly small. I swallowed past the dry, hollow place in my throat and forced my posture into something hard and watchful, because my dragon had left a mark that didn’t wash off with form.

Kael met my eyes as if to anchor me. No words, just a look that said go with me. I fell into step at his shoulder, keeping close enough that my shadow touched her wrapped form. We moved as one slow, deliberate unit; the medics cleared a path, coach falling mute behind us, students scattering like startled birds. I wanted to ask the dragon what mine meant. I tried to press claws into my ribs and drag the animal out, showing it the rule–book: bonds form at the Moonlight Festival, under the council’s wards, not in a muddy riverbed, not because an old hunger decided it. But the words stuck in my throat. There was no language for the thing that had blurted itself out of my beast and laid a claim I didn’t understand. Instead, I did what I could. I kept my stance tight, chest forward, shoulders squared, an obvious, dramatic wall for anyone who wondered whether they could step too close. The protective pose was almost theatrical; I realised later it probably read as something much simpler to everyone watching: he’s scared and furious and not fucking around,

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12:17 Mon, Dec 29 GR

Thornhill Academy.

Let Fate Deem It So.

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The infirmary doors sighed shut behind us, and the world narrowed to antiseptic light and the steady clack of tools. Healers moved with the kind of efficient calm that comes from having seen too many broken things to panic over any single one. Kael lay her on the bed and stepped back to stand beside me. We

watched without crowding as they rolled her over and peeled away the shirt.

“What did this?” one of the healers asked, voice flat with business, eyes already scanning the damage. I swallowed, the taste of river and iron thick on my tongue. My mind slid past the question to the thing in the trees, the wraith–beast, and for a second, the right answer felt dangerous to speak aloud.

“I’m not sure,” said before I even thought twice about it. It wasn’t a lie. It was careful.

The healer hummed under her breath and bent to work. Kael and I took seats a short step away from the table, close enough to be useful, far enough to give the healers space. He leaned his elbows on his knees and studied the girl. Then, soft and low enough that only I could hear, he asked, “Want to tell me what was up with your dragon back there?”

I looked at him, and of everyone in the world, it was Kael who could say those things and not have them land like accusations. We’ve been best friends since we were born. He knew me, I knew him.

I let out a breath and said the only thing true and small enough to hold. “He says she’s his.‘

Kael’s fingers tightened on his knees. A faint sound left him, half a laugh, half a curse. “He says what?”

“He said…” I tried to shape the animal’s words into something less absurd. “He said she’s his. As in…” I hated how my voice dropped to explain the impossible. “As in mine. As in he claimed her.”

. Kael’s eyes slid to the healers and back to me. He was careful with his expression. “Ev,” he said, “You sure you’re not losing it?”

I wanted to bristle. Instead, I told the other truth. “I’ve felt… something since the first time I saw her.”

Kael’s head tipped, curiosity raw. “Something? Like interest?”

“Curiosity,” I corrected. “At first.” Saying it felt like spitting a shard of glass into the room. “She walks differently. She looks like she’s been dragged through everything and kept breathing. That kind of stubbornness gets my attention.” I gave a humourless half–smile. “I told myself that was all it was.”

Kael listened, every line in his face attentive. “And then?”

“And then when I saw her on the ground…” There it was, the knot behind the throat that I’d been carrying all night. “When I had her in my talons, when he had her in his, something snapped.” The word felt poor and violent. “It wasn’t just curiosity. The dragon named her, and the feeling in me wasn’t a human thing. It was… absolute. No question. It felt like a thing older than my words had decided.”

Kael was quiet long enough that a heater in the room clicked like a metronome. “You think she’s your mate?” he asked finally, soft and incredulous.

“Not the Moonlight Festival kind of mate,” I said fast. “Not official. That’s the law; fates are revealed at the Moonlight Festival, with wards, witnesses, and ritual. I know that. We grew up on those rules. But something in my chest, my dragon, that’s what he says.”

Kael let out a low whistle. He arranged his face into a careful neutrality. “So the dragon decided, not you,” he summarised. “And the dragon isn’t one to be argued with.”

“It’s not…I don’t…Fuck man…” I scrubbed a hand down my face. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

His hand landed on my back, steady as ever. “Then you just wait until the festival. Easy. If it’s true, then you’ll be called to each other.”

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