Thread of Darkness

Ch. 27: i've always liked to play with fire

He sighed. "Sounds like Mum."

Seraena could hear the fondness in his voice, and a stab of envy hit her. It wasn't that her parents were bad people, but she didn't, well, know them; her mother spent most days sipping tea with ladies at the palace, and her father — Ambassador to the High Lord — was always travelling for work. Arlo had been the only real parent in her life.

And her uncle was gone, now.

"Makenna looked happy," Flint said, reclaiming her attention. "I thought she might cry when you placed."

"Makenna's got a good heart." Seraena fiddled with her earring, feeling the dragon's sharp teeth. "I wish I could say that she's like a sister to me, but you don't make many friends in this family. Not when they're your biggest competition." She dropped her hand. "What about you? Do you have siblings?"

Immediately, Seraena knew she'd said the wrong thing.

Flint's expression shuttered. "I had an older brother. Rourke. He died three years ago. My parents..." His throat bobbed. "It was part of the reason we moved here."

She could have kicked herself. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank-you."

"What was he like?"

It was one of the questions Seraena wished people would ask her about Arlo: not how he had died, but how he had lived. Flint's face turned thoughtful.

"Kind. Protective. Anna — the girl I mentioned — was his best friend. I was always running after them, trying to join their games of knights and devils." His lips twitched. "Most brothers would hate that, but Rourke included me. Even if I had to be the knight's donkey."

Seraena's lips quirked. "Well, you are kind of an ass."

Flint splashed her. Her smile grew.

"Kidding." She drifted closer. "For the record, I think you would have made a very cute donkey. All big ears and lanky limbs."

Flint raised an eyebrow. "Seraena Agnirian. Are you calling me cute?"

"Only the donkey version."

"Well," Flint said, "it's a start."

His blond hair was curling slightly in the humidity, his cheeks flushed with heat. His shoulders — freckled, toned from riding — peeked out from the water. Her mouth went dry. She wanted to touch those shoulders. To feel the slick skin under her fingers.

Seraena drifted closer. And slowly — ever so slowly, the way she might touch a frightened hatchling — she placed a hand on his forearm.

This was a sympathy touch.

Kane had to remind himself of that over and over again, even as hot blood roared in his ears. Seraena's delicate fingers rested in the crook of his elbow. His elbow. Good gods, if that was enough to set his heart racing, he didn't want to know what would happen if those fingers moved elsewhere.

He dragged his mind away from those thoughts.

They led in a bad direction.

Very bad.

She's touching you because you just told her a very sad story about your dead brother, idiot. This is pity. She pities you.

But Kane couldn't make himself believe it.

There was something in Seraena's eyes; the warm amber seemed to flicker, a honey-coloured flame. Her breaths were fast and shallow, her lips slightly parted. He wanted to melt into the heat of her. To draw her closer to him.