Chapter 13

thirteen

SAMMY

I know exactly where I am when I wake up. It’s warm, so warm, and I’m pressed tight against the cream-colored scales of Zak’s belly. His arms are wrapped around me, the tips of his claws resting gently on the surface of my skin. My knees are bent so that I’m straddling one of his haunches, as if he’s fully ensconced me. His long neck is curved around my head so I can see his face in my peripheral vision.

That’s how I notice the moment his eyes open. Those strange, lovely eyes, huge and yellow with those reptilian pupils... how have they become so seductive to me?

His eyelids lower when he sees me, and a gentle smile crosses his big snout. He squeezes me ever-so-slightly, and his long tail wraps around my thigh.

“Good morning, Sammy,” Zak says, voice barely above a whisper. I just want to kiss him all over, to hold him close to me, to stay wrapped up in him forever. I want to wake up like this every morning, his gentle fire burning close by, his arms and legs curled around me .

But we have an agreement, and this is already much too intimate. I’m getting attached—so very attached to him, and it will only make our separation more painful when this is all over.

I think of his parents, how they lived and loved and then died, and I pull away. Zakarion furrows his brow and raises his head as I clear my throat and start looking around for my clothes.

“They’re up in the main hall,” he says, as if he can read my mind. But he still looks concerned. “Are you all right, Sammy?”

“I’m fine!” I say, too brightly, too cheerily. I don’t want to bring down the good mood by telling him we’ve gotten too close, that I’m falling for him hard and I need to get out of here before I burrow back into that nest with him and tell him every last truth I feel.

That he’s mine. That I’m his. That I don’t want to live without him.

Professionalism.

“I’m going to get my clothes, then,” I say, getting up to my feet. But before I can shuffle away, Zakarion wraps one big, clawed hand around my arm.

“Wait. Please.”

The please stops me in my tracks. I glance over my shoulder, worried by the solemn tone of his voice and the frown on his face.

“What is it?” I ask, keeping my wide smile on.

“Do you...” He swallows, his long throat undulating. “Do you care for me, Sammy?”

I’m completely taken aback by his question. Of course I care about him. This one dragon’s happiness means the world to me. That’s the only reason I’ve done this, after all. I care about him and about his species .

“What do you mean?” I ask, feeling affronted. “Why else would I be here?”

Zak flinches. “That is a different kind of caring,” he says, his grip loosening. “Me, as Zakarion. How do you feel about me ?”

Oh. I think I understand what he’s asking now. And I don’t have a good answer.

Regardless of how I feel, I can’t care about him that way—the way he’s asking. The kindest thing I can do for him is to give him a long and fruitful life with his future child. I have to stick to the plan.

“You are a wonderful friend,” I begin. That’s what he is: the best friend I’ve ever had. I’ve gotten closer to him in these last few months than I ever have with anyone, and I hope that when the hatchling is born, we can stay in touch.

I see the moment the words strike him like a blunt weapon. Zakarion’s eyes squeeze closed, and his hand falls away. I try to backpedal, reaching out to him, but he flinches backwards.

“I really do care about you,” I say, hating the look on his face. “I enjoy all of our time together, Zak. But we made rules about this, and we can’t?—”

“Stop calling me that,” he says suddenly, turning his head away, eyes still clamped shut.

I fall still. “Stop calling you... what?”

“That nickname.” He fixes his gaze on me again, and it frightens me. I’m afraid of how hard and steely those reptilian eyes have suddenly become. “I don’t like it.”

“Zak?” I ask, and his shoulders rise up stiffly around his neck. “Oh. I’m sorry. I...” I blink back the hurt. He doesn’t like it? Why didn’t he tell me before? “I won’t call you that again.”

“Thank you,” he says, but his voice is rough. He goes past me, out through the curtain that keeps his bedroom walled off, and doesn’t look back. “I’ll fly you home now.”

It’s not a question. I watch Zakarion stalk away, and then I follow him, biting my lip so I don’t cry. I’m just trying to do what’s right for both of us, but I know I’ve hurt him.

We fly in silence, me sitting atop his back with my arms wrapped around myself because I’m freezing. I don’t lean forward and cuddle into him like I did on the way here. No, I keep a polite distance between us, because Zak—no, Zakarion —has made it clear that “polite” is where we stand now.

I try to make friendly conversation for a few minutes, but when he gives me monosyllabic answers, I give up. We fly for some time in silence, and I let a few of my stopped-up tears flow. I’ve never seen Zakarion so... cold. It’s like a wall of ice between us.

But I’m annoyed at him, too. What did he expect? We had an agreement when we began all of this, to protect us from this very thing.

Ahead, the wilderness gives way to civilization, and I know that I’m almost home.

Zakarion easily finds his way to my house and lands in my front yard. I slide off his back without any help or fanfare. When I peer up at him, his face is expressionless and impossible to read.

“I’ll call you,” I say meekly. “When I take a test next week.”

He gives a sharp nod. “That would be ideal.”

That’s it. That’s all. I bite my lip as he looks up at the sky .

“I had better go before these clouds move in,” he says, though I have a very hard time believing that a light snow would affect a dragon’s flight.

“Oh,” I say stupidly. “Okay.”

He lets out a deep sigh, and when he peers down at me, his eyes look infinitely sad.

“Thank you for doing this for dragons like me,” he says. “Be well.”

And with that, he flaps his huge wings, and the gust almost knocks me over. He rises up into the sky, then zooms away—leaving me with nothing but an emptiness in my chest.

ZAKARION

I decide to stay close by to wait for Sammy’s phone call. Most likely I’ll have to sell off this house soon, but I will keep it until my hatchling is born so I can be near her while she carries it.

That will be torture, but she has made it clear that “close by” is all she wants from me. That was what we both agreed on. When I land, though, I am irrationally angry. Rarely in my life have I felt true anger , but right now I can’t escape how monumentally unjust it is.

Why would Sammy have been placed in front of me that day, on that bench at DreamTogether, if this is how it was supposed to turn out?

Friend. That is how she sees me: as her friend. Despite everything we’ve done, all the ways we’ve connected, how I’ve felt her heart beating so close to mine, I am not an option for her romantically.

This shouldn’t come as a surprise. She’s human. We have very little in common. Surely once she’s finished with her obligation to me, she will move on with her life, find a human companion, and perhaps have a family of her own. One day, she will have a child who sits on that swing set out front of her house.

At the idea of someone else in Sammy’s life, the flames have built up so fierce in my chest that I have to let them out or risk hurting myself. I blow a hole straight through my wall, and someone outside shrieks as my fire shoots out into the sky.

Fuck. I can’t afford to get that fixed.

I wish I’d never met Sammy, so I didn’t have to know what it was like to love her and not get to keep her.

I sleep and sleep, the way dragons do to pass the time. I plan on continuing this way, until my hatchling is born, and then my life will be consumed by raising my new offspring. Then I can devote all my waking hours to caring for it.

When my phone rings, I already know what Sammy is going to tell me.

“Zak!” she cries. “I mean, I’m sorry, Zakarion! Guess what, guess what?”

“What?” I ask, although I’m quite sure of the answer I’m going to get. We’ve managed to conceive.

“It’s positive!” she crows. “You’re going to have a baby!”

I should feel absolutely elated. This is what I was after, since all of this began. This is why I went to DreamTogether, why I met Sammy, and why I’m here now—for my someday-hatchling, who would complete a life that felt half-empty.

Instead, my chest is hollow, and all my emotions feel dulled. I nod my head as if Sammy can see me. You’re going to have a baby.

Me , not us .

“That’s wonderful news,” I say, hoping I sound more excited than I feel. “I am... so glad to hear it.”

There’s a long silence on the other end, and I check the phone to make sure the call hasn’t dropped.

“Sammy?” I ask, concerned.

“I’m here,” she answers, her voice quiet. “I thought you would be happier.”

Oh, hell. I cringe at how flat I sound. “I am ecstatic,” I say, trying to put as much feeling into my words as I can, but even I know it doesn’t sound real. “Truly.”

“Okay.” She sighs. “Well, I’m happy it worked. Should I give you monthly updates?”

Monthly? I would only hear from her once every month?

It feels like the bottom has fallen out of my stomach. But what did I expect? Our business together, in that way, is concluded now.

“S-sure,” I answer. “Though we’re no longer going through DreamTogether, you should still be receiving regular health check-ups. I can attend those with you.” And I’ll need some way to pay for them. She can’t take that on, too.

“Okay, sounds good!” Her too-enthusiastic voice is back, the one she uses to hide her real self. “I’ll make an appointment and get these results confirmed.”

“Thank you, Sammy,” I say, meaning it with all my heart. She is doing something selfless and marvelous for me. “Thank you so much. ”

“You’re welcome, of course,” she says in her peppy tone. “I’m glad I could help. I’ll talk to you soon!”

The phone immediately goes dead. I stare down at it, and suddenly, the glass screen cracks. I drop it, realizing that I was squeezing it so hard that I broke it.

Wonderful. Now I have to get a new one so I can keep getting Sammy’s calls. I’ll definitely have to sell the house, with the hole in the roof and all, so I can pay for her doctor’s appointments. That will mean a lot of commuting from my mountain, but I find that preferable.

At least at home it’s easier to sulk. It’s quiet and lonely, a perfect reflection of how I feel inside.