Chapter Eight

Madison

C allum’s dragon was not blue. I saw his dragon in the cave, and though it was dark and brief, I knew that much. I was fairly certain it was red, though it could’ve been more orange. Either way, it wasn’t the color of the fist-sized scale adhered to the skin above his chest.

He looked down, following my finger, and tapped it twice. “It’s a scale,” he said as if having to analyze it first.

I didn’t bother to hide my irritation at the lame joke. “Obviously, thank you very much. I’m sure you look down on all humans, but I’m not that stupid.”

As always, there was a magnetic pull dragging my eyes toward his, but I fought it hard this time. I didn’t know what it was about dragons, but I was not interested in falling into the abyss for a third time. Twice was more than enough until I understood what the hell it meant.

There was so little I actually knew about dragons. Did they have the same experience when they looked at one another? Was it because I was female? There had to be something.

I’d looked into people’s eyes before. Sometimes, even longingly, when tensions and sparks were high, and while I’d gotten lost in their gaze, I’d never experienced anything remotely on par with this.

Some sort of magic, it had to be. But with Callum acting like nothing was amiss, I didn’t want to bring it up. Was he even experiencing the same thing? Or did I just look like a crazy person staring at him so intently? I just didn’t know, and that bothered me.

“It’s not your scale,” I said, wishing he would just elaborate without me forcing the point.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, returning his attention to fixing the sandwiches. He appeared to be building three of them. I hoped one was for me, though he hadn’t yet said so.

I waited for him to say more. He didn’t, keeping his back to me as he reheated the steaks and sliced them thin before piling them high on the fresh bread. My mouth watered.

“Whose scale is it then?” Some of my anger made it through. It was like pulling teeth to get answers. “Why is it attached to you?”

Callum ceased moving, still facing the counter. A low growl filled the room, and I noted the knuckles on his fingers turning white.

Maybe this wasn’t a wise conversation to push.

“I was mated once,” he said through an obviously clenched jaw, his words clipped and short. “When dragons find their mate, they bond one of their scales to that person.”

I mulled that over. “So, it’s like a tattoo of the other person’s name, but dragon-esque? Fun. Sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be letting you do that to me or vice versa, though I’m not sure what I’d use to help you add to your collection.”

The growl became a snarl. Callum’s left hand slammed down with a sharp smack onto the countertop. “It is not,” he said, slowly turning, “a stupid tattoo. Besides, she died, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh.” Frustrated that he was being such a dick when elaborating instead of forcing me to push would have solved everything, I snapped back a bit. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. So, it’s like a memorial then, I guess? Or is there no laser scale removal for bad decisions?”

It wasn’t a nice comment. I knew it. I didn’t care. After all, I was still his prisoner, freedom to roam the palace or not. I couldn’t go home, and that was what mattered in the end. It just so happened my prison cell was larger than most.

“It’s more than your stupid tattoos,” Callum snarled, lips pulling back in anger. “Dragons don’t flit from person to person thinking they’re happy like you humans. When we find our mate, we know it. We mate for life because that sort of thing means something to us. Unlike you people.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.

“Bonding our scales to one another is more than a mark signifying the other person. It creates a literal, tangible bond between us.”

Scoffing, I waved him off.

“Ah, the ‘expert’ on dragons doesn’t believe me. How surprising. Well, it does. You become linked with your mate, feeling their emotions, their heartbeat. You are as close to becoming one as possible. Your human brain could never comprehend that, though, but just so you’re aware, you don’t just remove that. To tear off the scale is to die.”

“But you said she’s already dead.” I crossed my arms, challenging his rhetoric.

“You’re right, I did,” he hissed. “And I should’ve died with her. But I didn’t. Now, thanks to that unknown reason, I’m stuck here, explaining the basics of our culture to a human who has no respect for our ways and thinks they’re just the cheap, trashy markings of skin that humans are so fond of because they hate the way they look so deeply they have to change it.”

I swayed backward under the vehement onslaught of his words, but only so far. The last sentence spiked my own anger, stiffening my spine.

“Okay, now, who has no understanding of the other person’s culture? Tattoos are a means of expressing ourselves, of showing the world who and what we are. It amplifies the person inside, taking much of what can’t be seen and making it visible.”

Callum didn’t look like he believed me, but neither did he argue. Instead, shrugging, he grabbed some plates and stacked them high with food. Then he shoved one my way. I eyed the sandwich, trying to hold back my drool.

“It’s not drugged, I promise,” he said when I didn’t initially reach for it. “Just eat.”

I looked at his plate and the sandwiches, steak hanging out between crusts.

“Unbelievable,” Callum hissed, setting the plates down and allowing me to pick which sandwich to take.

I took the biggest one, earning a snort.

We moved to the table and sat, eating in silence for several minutes. My stomach thanked me.

“So, why are you still alive then?” I asked abruptly, speaking out loud the puzzle I’d been working on in my head. “You said you should be dead. Meaning your link keeps you alive? That if one mate dragon dies, they both do?”

“Yes,” he said through a mouthful of steak and bread, already onto his second sandwich.

“So, why not you?” I frowned, biting down again.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Nobody knows.”

“That’s not entirely true.”

Both of our heads whipped toward the doorway at the unexpected third voice joining our conversation.