Page 71 of Spark of Sorcery
Halfway across campus, I doubt my decision to leave our thrall alone with a newborn dragon. It looked helpless and tiny. What if it’s not? What if I return to find her badly burned or scorched alive?
I flex and fist my fingers.
I’m catastrophizing. The girl has already survived far worse. Beaufort described the scars on her back. Beaten to a pulp, were his words. If she withstood that, she can handle a dragon.
I hope.
Five minutes later I’m heating milk on the stove.
“You’re back,” Dray says, bounding into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of sleep pants. “What was it the little kitten wanted to show you?” He grins. “Was it her pussy?”
I stir the milk. What do I tell him? Dray is my bond brother. We haven’t kept secrets from one another since the bond between us activated – the day Dray, the youngest of the three of us, turned eighteen.
But I promised Briony. I made a scared promise. I can’t break it.
“Her room,” I say. He isn’t convinced.
“Her room. Right,” Dray says, still grinning. “Sure she did, pal.” He jumps up onto the counter, legs swinging and watches me stir the milk. “What the hell are you doing?”
“She wanted some warm milk.” At least that isn’t a lie.
“Oh man, I knew it. You are gone for this girl.”
Tiny bubbles appear in the milk around the edges of the pan.
“Aren't you?” I say.
“Fuck, yeah, totally.” He sweeps his hand through his long hair. “I didn’t expect it to be this strong. Did you?”
I shake my head.
“Beaufort has to be right,” he says, “even though …” He lifts up his arms and peers at his wrists. Then drops his hands back into his lap. “Do you think she feels it?”
I consider his question, switching off the heat and pouring the milk into a hip-flask.
“Yes,” I say, “yes, I think she does.”
“Man …” he mutters, the grin on his face stretching even wider. “Maybe I’ll come back to her room with you.”
“No,” I say abruptly, screwing on the top of the flask with more force than necessary.
“We’re bond brothers. That means sharing, Thorne.” He pouts like a kid who’s had a toy snatched away.
“Does she want that?” I point out.
I’ve been told over and over again by Dray that we are every woman’s walking fantasy. Three powerful shadow weavers bound together by our bond, forced by fate to share a mate. Every woman, according to Dray, wants to be that mate. But Dray talks nonsense. I’m not sure Briony would want that. She’s only just coming round to the thrall idea.
“I spoke to her about it,” his eyes twinkle, “you should have smelled how wet she got at the idea.”
“Not tonight,” I growl and stomp out of the kitchen, hoping he doesn’t decide to follow me. You can never tell with Dray.
I find Briony lying on the bed, curled round the little dragon.
She presses her finger to her lips. “He’s sleeping,” she mouths.
I nod and place the flask of milk on the floor by the bed. Then I return to my spot by the door.
Briony strokes a forefinger over the dragon and my gaze flits from her to the little creature and back again.
