Page 107 of Dance of Stars and Ashes

The smile of satisfaction on his face had definitely been worth holding out for so long. Though it really hadn’t been that long, but she was ignoring that fact. He had been very persuasive, and she was just one woman with needs—how was she supposed to resist?

Eventually, they’d finally fallen asleep, though that couldn’t have been more than an hour or two ago. It was going to be a long day in more ways than one.

Her hand slid over the swell of his shoulder and across his back, where she noticed a tattoo between his shoulder blades. A flower about the size of a lemon with six wide petals wrought in black ink so dark it seemed to absorb the light. Five of the petals were intricately decorated, but the sixth was left blank. When she looked closer, she noticed that each one represented a form of elemental magic—one for the earth with leaves and vines and another with flames for fire.

She traced the circumference with a light touch over curlicues of air, swirling waves of water, and points of light, pausing on the empty one. She recalled his words as they’d passed through the swamp.

Power, magic—they aren’t inherently evil. They are simply tools. What matters is how they’re used. It’s just a name. The darkness isn’t any more evil than water or air.

Who was this man?

“Mmm,” Rabin’s sleepy voice said. “How do I ensure I get woken up like this every morning?”

She smiled at the rumbling drowsiness in his voice. “Perhaps you could fall asleep next to me every night.”

His eyes peeled open, and he stared at her before she leaned down and pressed her lips to the strange tattoo before trailing a line of kisses down his spine, taking in every line of perfection. He shifted, and the sheet covering his hips tugged down, exposing a mass of scars on his lower back.

Not ordinary scars.

But jaggedly carved letters—angry and violent.

The raised flesh spelled “Freak”.

“Who did that to you?” she demanded as she sat up.

“My father,” he answered, the tone wry with derision.

“Why? Why did he carve the word ‘freak’ into you?” Her voice was stretching into panic. She would destroy Gopal Ravana.

His lips pressed together. “Because of my dragon.” The words struggled out of him like he was trying to shove through a wall.

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Rabin sighed. “You remember when Dhawan said to be dragon-born is a gods’ gift? Well, he was fucking wrong.”

“Explain this to me. Please,” she said. She couldn’t stand the idea of anyone hurting him; a fierce need to protect him swelled in her chest.

“As the professor said, I’m the only living dragon shifter, and my father believed me to be an aberration,” Rabin said. “He nearly killed me the first time I turned.”

“How old were you?” she asked, placing a hand on his arm, barely able to get the words out.

“I don’t remember exactly, but I was a child. Maybe six or seven.”

“That monster,” she hissed.

“He beat me every time I shifted, but when our magic is young, we don’t always have the best control over it. I tried so hard to please him, but nothing I did worked.”

“Why did he hate it so much? Why is being the only dragon so bad?”

“Because it made me stand out, and therefore drew negative attention to our family. My father is obsessed with appearances and proving to everyone the Ravanas are the most powerful and influential rakshasa family. But dragons aren’t creatures of the earth, they’re creatures of the sky. He said it tainted me and, in turn, our entire legacy.”

“You know that’s not true,” she said.

His answer was a rueful look. “It took me a very long time to realize that. I think he might have been jealous because it proved that I’m stronger than him. It did make me stand out. It has made me different, and he never liked that I had more magic.”

She ran her fingers gently across the letters, and he flinched.

“Sorry,” she said, pulling her hand away. “I didn’t mean…”