Page 69 of Brambles and Bellflowers
“What in the world is his problem?” Julian asked Damen, but the onmyoji’s response was lost in the wind.
13
Bianca POV
Titus wasa fine companion despite our limitations in communication. I’d stolen a battery-operated lantern on my way out of camp, but there was no need for the extra light. The moon was almost full and bright, and the dragon’s size did an excellent job of keeping away the most unruly prickly branches.
Still, even though something was tugging at my chest—telling me that Miles was near—I had no idea which way to go. Titus, at least, seemed to have a better idea, and once he caught up, I followed him through the night.
Frustration began to swell through me, and I swore, on all the gods and goddesses above, Miles had better have a darn good reason for this escapade, or he’d never know the end of it. It was so inconsiderate that we had to travel like a million miles to rescue him.
We all had lives that we’d abandoned. Take Titus, for example. He probably had several violent things that required his presence, and he’d had to put everything on hold just for this. How many people had been left unmurdered in his absence?
Still, I’d never paid attention to Titus’s dragon form before. The last time I’d seen it was after I’d been shot and was bleeding from the neck. He was elegant and foreboding, but some part of me was slightly disappointed, although it should be expected.
Damen had said our history was based on traditional Chinese lore, so Titus wouldn’t have wings. I suppose it made sense. Still, they could still fly, right? Possibly.
Besides, even if Titus had the ability, who would have taught him to fly? He was the only dragon, so no parental dragon figure was available to toss him off a building. Neither his father nor mother had been the flying sort.
Were there flying shifters?
Still, it was probably good that he was a wingless dragon; otherwise, if the prophecy was true and I wasn’t completely broken, I might be faced with the unpleasant task of pushing our future children from a tall height. After all, our offspring must learn somehow, lest they become fodder in their weakness.
I wasn’t paying attention, and when Titus stopped, I walked directly into his face. He’d twisted his long neck to turn to me. Garnet eyes met mine once again, and I forgot to breathe.
He tilted his head, eyes unblinking, and it almost seemed like he was trying to tell me something.
“What?” I backed up and touched my chest. This was ridiculous. There was no reason for me to feel defensive.
A low sound rumbled from his chest, and his nostrils flared as he exhaled. A thin wisp of smoke curled in front of my face.
It was almost like he was offended, which was absurd.
At that thought, he moved back, unfurling wings previously concealed along his serpentine body. They emerged from where scales seemed to part and shift, revealing what had been perfectly hidden beneath.
“Oh…” I wasn’t sure how this worked, but this was an interesting development. I read that Chinese dragons didn’thave wings, so perhaps he was a mutant. Were we going to fly then?
Titus’s wings remained unfurled as he wrapped his tail around my legs, and I was pulled closer to him until my nose was even with a pure white wing.
I raised my hand, but then I paused and glanced at him—to make sure.
He lowered his head and nudged my arm with his face.
Even with his permission, my hands shook as I cautiously brushed my fingers over the smooth surface. Unlike the rest of him, besides his nose and eyes, his wings were not protected by scales. They were almost translucent, with an ethereal quality that seemed to shimmer in the lantern’s soft glow. My heart began to race with the swell of something unfamiliar.
With that thought, he straightened his wing over my head, shadowing me like a canopy, and I was momentarily speechless.
That was until, close to where his wing met his body, I saw something that caused my heart to race.
“What’s that?” I asked, and without thinking, I pressed my hand flat against the ribbon-like tears shredded through the tendons. Titus twitched in response, and I jerked away, touching my lips instead.
I should have known better—scars were a sensitive topic.
Of course, Titus couldn’t answer—not right now. But my question did seem to draw his attention back to the present. He moved then, wrapping around me until his humongous head nuzzled my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I said for the lack of anything better. But why I was apologizing, I didn’t know. It might have been because I, for some reason, felt guilty about my previous thoughts of him flying or even because I’d touched him without permission, and maybe it had hurt.
But my chest constricted. Neither one of those things felt right. What was this unsettling emotion?
