A Shade of Dragon by Bella Forrest Page A

happened. I still don’t have my phone; he has no way to reach me.”
    “You can tell yourself whatever you need to maintain your faith. I know it’s important to you to think that I’m an extraordinarily bad person, and most people don’t treat each other so selfishly in relationships. Like I said, Nell. You’re growing up. It won’t be long before you realize.”
    I wanted to be sympathetic; it was possible that he was just lashing out, still aching over Zada’s possible betrayal, but I couldn’t stand the way he was speaking about relationships. Because he was talking about me. He was talking about Theon. “If everyone ends up trampling each other and abandoning what they’ve built, then why would I ever bother?” I hissed, coming to a stand. “Mom had the right idea about men. Just swear off them.”
    With that, I whirled and marched through the darkened beach house, winding my way up the stairs and onto the second floor. There was a glass door up there which opened onto a widow’s walk, so that the lover of a sailor could observe the ships on the coast, watching for her beloved on the horizon. It felt somehow appropriate.

Chapter 18: Nell
    A s I stepped out onto the widow’s walk, frigid December air sank its barbs into my flesh. I settled on one of the two patio chairs which had been placed on either side of a small glass table. Rather than staring down at the beach below—and perhaps subconsciously begging Theon to manifest—I angled my gaze to the sky. Beggar’s Hole was no metropolis, and the beaches here were private. There was no glare of city lights to bleach the sky. An entire universe of stars splayed out above me, and down its center was painted the hazy stripe of the Milky Way. I wound my arms tighter around myself and exhaled. Everything’s going to be okay, I promised myself. That’s something Dad always forgets to tell you.
    A snowflake landed on my nose and melted. Another pelted my cheek and dissolved.
    Unlike Dad, I yearned for this: a sense of tranquility, even stability—not the turmoil of passion, not the excitement of conflict. If I couldn’t find such solace in romance, then I would find it elsewhere.
    Maybe he was right. Maybe relationships were a blood sport, and I was better off holding my head above the fray.
    Even as I had the thought, a tear crested the bottom of my eyelid and spilled. Another budded in its place. It would be lonely. No one ever said it wouldn’t be lonely from time to time, but—
    A flutter across the waning moon caught my eye, and I started up from the patio furniture, rushing to the ledge and gripping the frosty iron railing. I forgot my tears, forgot Dad, and forgot about Theon standing me up.
    It looked like a bird—but a massive bird. It couldn’t possibly be an eagle. I tracked it across the sky with my eyes narrowed in concentration.
    A sudden shudder traveled along the widow’s walk, in conjunction with a thump.
    I turned and gaped.
    It was Theon.
    He wore stiff, woolen pants of a caramel shade, and a thick white turtleneck, with the same blue suede moccasins from yesterday. His hair was more wild than usual, and his amber eyes were bright and intense. He had a long, thin scrape down the left side of his cheek, and his lip was swollen and busted.
    “Hey,” I breathed, striding to him as a magnet moved to its counterpart. I reached out to touch his wound, but then hesitated. I didn’t know if we were like that. “Hey, are you okay? What happened?” And why didn’t you come through the front door like a normal person?
    “It’s nothing.” Theon dismissed the marks with a shake of his tousled curls. “You look like a queen.” He reached out to touch my cheek, wiping away the icy tear I had forgotten was there. “I hope that wasn’t for me.”
    “I just—I don’t know, Theon,” I told him, feeling stupid now. “I guess it was, maybe, in a way. I mean—men stay for a little bit, and then they go. They want to touch your hair,