Page 84 of The Book of Legends
Maybe I am.
But the haze of what we just did begins to clear as the reality of my dorm room creeps back through the broken window.
“We don’t have long,” I murmur, chest rising and falling beneath the thin blanket. “My roommate could come back any second.”
Kainen doesn’t even open his eyes. But the corner of his lips curves—not quite a smile, more a smirk, like he's only ever known how to smirk in this world, and never smile.
“Then it’s time to go.”
I roll out of bed, legs shaky beneath me. My room greets me like a stranger. Outside, shadows cast by streetlamps crawl across the walls, touching the faded posters, half-finished coffee cups, the broken mirror withMidterms = deathstill scribbled on a post-it note.
It all feels too small now. Toomortal.
But then I see it—the worn book.
The Book of Legends.
The leather cover worn, the sigils dulled but still pulsing with power. I brush my fingertips over them reverently, and something hums inside me. A low, ancient sound.
“I found it,” I whisper, breathless.
Kainen’s already dressed, clad in his tunic tight over his muscles like a sleek coat of obsidian. Enough to pass for a college boy—barely.
I open my desk drawer and pull out the small wooden urn. The weight of it punches something low in my chest. “And this,” I say. “My aunt. I came back for her.”
He crosses the room, footsteps nearly soundless on the linoleum.
“That’s it?” he asks, gaze unreadable.
I nod, clutching the book and the urn to my chest like lifelines. “That’s everything.”
He studies me for a moment too long. “You’re shaking.”
“No,” I lie. “Okay—yes.”
He cups my jaw, thumb grazing the corner of my mouth like he’s addicted to the feel of me. “Thrazelene, it’s okay.”
“That name again,” I mutter. “Stop calling me that.”
He only laughs, low and wicked, and turns toward the window.
“You’re not taking the dragon?” I ask.
That smirk returns—danger and seduction all in one.
“I am,” he replies, “just... not the way you’re used to.”
A car pulls up. No. Not just any car.
A Lamborghini.
Dark red like the river in Nythia. Sinewed. Its surface absorbs the light. On the hood, glowing faintly in red, is a dragon’s eye.
“You turned into a Lamborghini,” I whisper, stunned. “Seriously?”
The car’s speakers purr in a familiar voice. “Your people call this... a flex. Get in.”
Heart still racing, I gather the book and the urn and slide into the passenger seat. The interior hums—hotter than it should be. There’s a low hiss as the doors close, sealing us inside.
