“Let me walk you home, at least.” He raises one brow, his half-smile exposing a row of pointed teeth that glint in the dusk. They’d be intimidating except one of his fangs is slightly crooked, giving him an endearing snaggletooth. His pupils flicker almost like they have flames burning inside them. Maybe they do, now that I think about it.
“Can you breathe fire?” I blurt out as we head back toward my yard. I hope it’s not too personal of a question.
He chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, but I can’t show you.”
“Why not?”
“Fire danger.” He scuffs some of the dry pine needles and leaves that litter the forest floor. “Not allowed when it’s this high.”
So they can’t breathe fire when they want. Can’t shift around humans. Can’t hunt except in designated areas. I don’t like that he can’t be himself and do what comes naturally to him. “You have a lot of rules to follow.”
Another charming, crooked grin. “Safety first!”
I frown at his flippant response. “But the rules are foroursafety, not yours. That’s not very fair. It’s more like a punishment when you haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Better than the alternative, isn’t it?” he says lightly, holding a branch to one side for me. “We monsters can’t go around setting the world on fire.”
“You wouldn’t.” Funny thing is, it feels like he already has. My palm’s still warm from when he held my hand. Tingles zip through me, making my heart pound and my cheeks heat up. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met.
We reach the fence, and he pulls apart the wire for me to step through. It’s truly dark now, the only light coming from the rising moon, the windows of the house behind me, and Zed’s mesmerizing, flame-lit eyes.
I pause on the other side of the fence, sharp wire cutting between us. I don’t want to go inside yet. I want to make sure I see him again. “When it rains, will you show me?”
“Yeah,” he says roughly. “Any time you want.”
Chapter 2
Zed
Fifteen years ago
“Come on, dude.” Gabe elbows me in the ribs. “It’s getting late. Tomorrow’s a school day.”
I shrug him off, all my attention focused on the house on the other side of the fence. It’s late, but the lights are on in the second-floor bedrooms, so I know Cari is still awake. Her curtains are shut, but her silhouette sometimes passes by the window. “Go home, then. I just want to make sure her dad’s not going to blow up again.”
“What if he does? What are you going to do? Shift and get the cops called on you? Don’t be dumb.”
He’s right. I can feel my feral form pushing from the inside every time I think about how Cari’s dad yells her name. The way hespits it outlike it tastes bad. I have to stop thinking about it, or I won’t be able to keep it inside.
I’m the worst in my class at shifting. Poor grades in control, completion, speed. I could definitely get myself in trouble if I let my emotions run high over this girl I just met.
“I need to know she’s safe. As soon as her light goes out, then I’ll head home,” I say stubbornly. I don’t know why I’m so stuck on this. Maybe it’s her wide, blue eyes or the way she’s selflessly devoted to her puppy or the scent of her cucumber shampoo, but there’s something about her that brings out my protective instincts.
“Fine. Ruin your own life. But remember, she’s just another human. She doesn’tgetmonster stuff. If she knew you were out here watching her, she’d think you were a creep,” Gabe says over his shoulder as he melts into the trees.
He’s right, and I hate him a little bit for reminding me. She’s just a human, and humans are mostly trouble. They always assume the worst of us.
But Cari didn’t, I remind myself as I stare at her window.
Her innocent question—Do you breathe fire?—changed my view of her. It wasn’t the naïve question itself. It was her reaction to the answer.
Rather than taking it at face value and being glad that I’d keep my flames in check, she was upset that I didn’t have a choice about it. Upset for all dragons whose fire is suppressed even when they’d never cause anyone harm.
She’s different than other humans. Someone special.
Her bedroom light winks out. Time for me to head home.
But I don’t.
