Page 37 of I Dream of Dragons
“Just so we’re clear.”
“But you didn’t want me to get eaten,” he insists.
“You were needed alive to tame the drak.”
“That was the only reason.”
Yes, I want to say,of course that’s the only reason.
But I can’t say it. Because it’s not true.
And his grin softens. A black moth flutters over him, landing on his shoulder. “Rae…”
No. No, no, no.This can’t happen. I take an instinctive step back. “No.”
His smile fades. “No, what?”
“No, I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“You said you don’t really want me.”
“Isaid that? What the fuck?”
“That speech about only having one mate? Does it ring any bells? And you hid things from me.”
“The speech.” He frowns. “But…”
Is he seriously having trouble recalling what he told me?
“Let’s get out of the arena first,” he says, his frown deepening. “Finish this game. We have a lot to talk about, about the king and that mark he put on you. About us.”
Us.The word snags inside my mind like a thorn, because it’s not real. There is no “us.” So I ignore it.
My gaze moves to that dagger, so incongruously still stuck in his flesh. “And that?”
“Yeah, that.” His tone is rueful. “I don’t normally stab myself quite so violently. It was a desperate move.”
“If you pull that dagger out, you may bleed to death.”
“I know. I’ll use shadows to bind the wound.”
“Practical uses,” I mutter. “I approve.”
He shoots me a funny look that manages to make my heart somersault inside my chest. What’s up with that, right?
Then he grabs the hilt of the dagger and rips it out of his flesh. A sound escapes him, and blood wells up in the jagged wound, running down his leg and splashing to the ground.
I hiss in sympathy. Fear grips my chest in a vise. This moment reminds me of Phaethon’s words, about Jai dying, and I realize it hadn’t occurred to me that he’s mortal, despite his powers.
After an endless moment, or at least it seems that way to me, his jaw unclenches and he waves a hand. Shadows gather and start wrapping around his thigh.
Useful, I almost hear Remi’s voice inside my head and can’t help but crack a smile.
“All done,” he grunts.
My hands itch to touch and prod, make sure he’s stopped bleeding out to death, to check he’s all right. To help.
