Page 16 of Visions of You
Keegan wanted to ask Mordyn to stay out of this, but by the look on the other vampire's face, he knew his friend would never listen. "Just leave me alone," Keegan said. "I need to get some sleep."
"You're not going to taste it?"
Keegan shot Mordyn a hard glare. "If you don't leave this room in the next ten seconds, I'll predict the next ten times you and your mate are going to be intimate and I'll make sure that someone or something is going to cockblock you every single time."
"You wouldn't," Mordyn said.
Keegan started counting.
Mordyn held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll leave you to your brooding." He turned to go, but not before throwing one last teasing remark over his shoulder. "Don't think too hard, Keegan. Sometimes it's better to just go with your gut."
Keegan waited until he heard Mordyn's footsteps recede before he turned his attention back to the bottle of blood. He hesitated for a moment, then picked it up again, uncorking it and bringing it to his nose. The scent was even stronger now, rich and heady, making Keegan's mouth water.
Keegan's fingers tightened around the bottle as he stared at it, his mind warring with itself. He shouldn't drink it. Tasting Jaron's blood would only complicate things further.
But it smelled so damn good. Like a five-star dinner, and Keegan washungryfor it.
Before he knew what he was doing, he'd brought the bottle to his lips and taken a sip.
The moment the blood touched his tongue, something inside of Keegan broke—while something else snapped into place. It was the strangest sensation. The blood was the sweetest he'd ever tasted, and as he gulped it down, he slowly realized that the thing that had broken was his self-restraint. He couldn't stop drinking, couldn't make himself pull back and put the bottle down.
Dragon blood had always been his favorite. He'd expected to enjoy this blood, but he hadn't expected it to be this good.
It was as if every single drop he swallowed awakened something deep inside of himself.
The thing that had snapped into place.
A craving for more than just blood. But while blood was all he had, he took it greedily until the bottle was empty and he was licking the last drops from his lips.
As he set the bottle down on the desk, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He braced himself against the desk, his vision blurring and then sharpening with a clarity he had never experienced before. But instead of seeing the future, he found himself looking into the past.
He saw a young dragon-shifter, no more than seven or eight years old, standing in a courtyard surrounded by other dragon children. They were all taking turns breathing fire, but when it was this child's turn, only a weak puff of smoke escaped his lips. The other children laughed and pointed, their voices cruel and mocking.
"Breathless!" they chanted, pushing Jaron around. "Breathless Jaron can't even breathe fire!"
Jaron's face was flushed with shame and anger, his small hands clenched into fists at his sides. He opened his mouth,trying to summon even the tiniest flame, but nothing came out. The other children only laughed harder.
Keegan's heart ached for the young Jaron, and he found himself wanting to reach out and comfort him. But before he could do anything, the vision shifted and changed, and he saw Jaron, only a little older, being scolded by his parents.
"You must try harder, Jaron," his father said sternly. "You're a Tymera and you're supposed to excel, not embarrass your family."
His mother shook her head. She didn't say a word, but her disappointment with her son was clear on her face.
Jaron looked like he wanted to say something back, but he didn't dare. His parents continued lecturing him for several more minutes, and Keegan watched helplessly as Jaron's shoulders sank lower and lower. By the time he was dismissed, he looked utterly defeated.
"You're not worthless," Keegan murmured under his breath. He'd known the dragon for all of two minutes, but he already knew this much. There was a kind person hidden in the hoodie. The sad thing was that Keegan could not reach into the past and tell him that.
As the next vision materialized, though, someone else told Jaron in his place. The elderly witch Keegan had seen in another vision when he'd done his deep dive earlier that day. Malkira, the woman who would eventually open her home to Jaron.
Jaron was maybe twelve or thirteen in this vision. He sat on a bench with a teenage scowl on his face.
Malkira approached him with slow but steady steps. She had long, white hair that flowed down her back, and her face was lined with wrinkles that spoke of a life well-lived.
She sat down next to Jaron and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "What's got you looking so sad?"
Jaron shrugged, not looking up. "Nothing," he mumbled.
"It doesn't look like nothing to me." Malkira reached into a bag at her side and pulled out a handknit scarf, the yarn a soft, muted blue. "Here," she said, wrapping the scarf around Jaron's shoulders. "Take heart, Jaron. It's not your fault your family is so narrow-minded they can't see the bright future ahead of you."
