31. Maya

31

Maya

Maya lay on her stomach, exhausted and content. Corin drew patterns on her back with his magic.

“How did you know my magic wouldn’t hurt you?” he asked, his voice reverent. “My whole life, all I’ve known is that the duskfire destroys. That’s all I’ve ever seen it do.”

She turned her head to the side, her gaze fuzzy with contentment. “Your wings only come out when you’re trying to protect people.”

“My wings come out when I want to threaten people,” he corrected her.

“No. You can make them come out for that, sure. But when you’re with me, or when the Dans first arrived here and started kicking up trouble—you wanted to help them, not torture them.”

“I might want to torture them a bit,” he grumbled. “And Maya—that isn’t much to base a theory on. I could have wanted to protect you and my magic still might have injured you.”

“But it didn’t.” She rolled over and pulled him into a kiss. “It’s the safest I’ve ever felt. Your magic understands hurt. It … fuels it, you said. Maybe that’s why.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t it? Don’t people who’ve been hurt the most want to save others from being hurt?”

His eyes darkened. “If they’re good people.”

“You’re a good person, Corin.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

“No. Take it as true, and keep working on it. Your magic isn’t what you thought it had to be. You don’t have to be, either.” She cupped his face in her hands. “You asked me what I wanted, Corin. It took me a long time to accept I could let myself want anything. What do you want?”

She already knew. When he hesitated, she told him, certain as though she was reading the words directly from his soul.

“To be a different sort of dragon. One who guides, instead of threatens. The sort of dragon who would pretend to steal a hatchling’s treasure to get him to bed.” She traced a long line along his shoulders, where his wings grew from. “The sort of dragon who wants to protect his idiot cousins from their own idiocy.”

“Nothing can save those three.”

“I said wants to, not succeeds. ” She sighed. “If anyone could benefit from using their magic to protect from harm instead of returning it, it’s those three dumbasses.”

“They’re not all bad,” he mused. “Don’t get me wrong. They’re the bane of my existence, and more trouble than they’re worth, and on occasion I’ve wondered whether it would be so terrible to lock them up in a dungeon somewhere and throw away the key…”

“No need to throw it away. Toss it to ’em and let them fight over it. I give it ten seconds before one of them swallows it to keep it away from the others.” She let her fingers play along the stubble on his jawline. “In their defense, they did get us back together. Maybe we should be thanking them.”

“God, no. Never thank a dragon. They’d never let us hear the end of it.” His eyes softened as he gazed down at her.

“I can’t believe we stayed apart for so long.” The admission took something from her—a hard knot of unhappiness that had twisted over and over on itself so many times it felt like a bone, lodged in her throat. As soon as it was gone she breathed easier. “It was torture. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. The gold was just an excuse. I needed to see you again. To breathe the same air you were in.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing, letting you go. I know better.” He pulled her towards him. “You’re mine. I’m going to keep you.” The draconic triumph in his voice made her soul thrill.

“I never was able to conquer my magic. You showed me I don’t need to. And it’s beyond time I claimed you as my own, my love, my world.” His eyes blazed with black fire. “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to my hoard.”