Hoarded by the Dragon (Monstrous Matches, #4)(81)

He asked me to stay.

Kalos whips back around, and the sight is horrifying. His body is shifting into something unrecognizable. Scales are taking the place of skin, and horns grow in size with his form. When he speaks, it’s a surprise I can understand him.

“My dragon is a beast with the self-preservation of a gnat. Mating you was merely a faulty instinct,” he snarls as his jaws elongate.

I stumble back at the vehemence of his words. This is Mean Kalos in a way I’ve never seen him. Either he’s speaking things to cause me to push him away…

Or he really believes them.

The transformation completes on that terrible thought, and a black dragon the height of the mansion above us stands before me. Any other time I’d be fascinated with the sight, but not right now.

His eyes glow gold, but there’s nothing I recognize of the man I wanted to take as a mate behind his slit pupils. The Kalos I lost my heart to has been devoured by the beast of his rage and confusion, and I’m only left with the barest part of him.

The adrenaline response in my body is instant. My biology wants to cower in front of this great creature. I tremble, but I stand strong against the fear.

This dragon is my mate. He will not hurt me even if he now regrets our mating.

The dragon opens his teeth-filled maw, and my certainty falters. There’s a glow of violet in his throat, and my tongue dries.

Is this how I die?

The dragon turns his head at the last moment and releases a stream of fire. Blues morph into purples, reds to oranges in organic swirling shapes. The sight is familiar from my dreams, but my paintings lack the stinging scent of smoke and the visceral fear of destruction. Rage and loss manifest and heat the rocks of the cavern with nothing to catch fire and burn.

I stumble backward. My flight response overriding my need to prove to myself that I trust his dragon… because I’m not so sure I do anymore. The metal staircase clatters when I scramble up the first couple steps backward.

The dragon stops the slew of fire with the snap of his jaws. His serpentine neck pulls his horned head back until I’m directly in his sights. I swallow at the abrupt silence, my heart thundering in my chest. My breath catches when he opens his mouth again, half expecting for his teeth to chomp down on me, but instead a torturous sound rends from him to the stalactites above us.

I clap my hands over my ears, but that doesn’t stop the bellow from striking the depth of my soul. The roar is full of fury and shattered pain. It’s a lament and mourning call all at once. It’s breaking my heart.

He’s keening.

Tears track down my cheeks, and the air presses in on me as if there isn’t enough oxygen in the room.

The cry dies out, and the dragon’s eyes land on me again. I open my mouth, but no words come. What can I possibly say? My limbs are stiff with a primal fear as my body shakes.

Kalos has said more than once that he’s broken… and I think I finally believe him.

His gold gaze flickers, and his giant body moves, turning from me toward where a portal spell must sleep in the wall because once the dragon is before it, a circle of pitch-black opens.

“Kalos!” I call, needing to do something but not knowing what. My chest is so tight that I can barely project, but the dragon looks back at me. I flinch, still trying to work through what fear is primal and what is reasonable. “Don’t go.”

I don’t know why I make the plea. It’s logical for this massive dragon to leave and get whatever pent-up emotions he’s dealing with out, but my memories of abandonment whisper that if he leaves now, he’ll never come back.

He twists the knife in my chest by turning away and launching itself through the portal without hesitation.

The taste in my mouth is bitter, and the portal closes. All that’s left are singed rocks and a sob building in my chest.

Kalos is gone.





36





KATARINA





KALOS DOESN’T RETURN by dinner or the next day.

It’s been two days, and I press my lips together. The stroke of paint on canvas fails to calm the burning pit of emotion in my chest, but if I’m moving, I’m less likely to allow myself to spiral into dark places or to give in to worries that threaten to drown me.

The visual of dragon fire is absent from my work now, probably the completion of what my dreams were waiting for. My current paintings feature glossy black scales and forbidding golden eyes.

There’s a tap at my open studio door.

Maggie stands there with a tray. “Care for some lunch? You must be hungry.”

The mild thread of nausea in the back of my throat suppresses my appetite, but skipping meals would be bad for the baby.

“Sure.” I start cleaning brushes. “Sorry for making you come up here.”

“Hush. This place offers you solace. I won’t steal that away from you right now.”

Solace. I wouldn’t say that, maybe distraction. My studio offers me more than the ugly emotions of Kalos’s bedroom. I’ve tried to sleep there since my ability to sleep in my bed has gone the way of my appetite, and Griffin prefers to hang out in the dragon’s bedroom, but his campfire scent doesn’t settle me the way it did before. It just reminds me that he’s not here.

“Do you mind if I check on the baby?” Maggie asks, setting the tray on the coffee table in the sitting area away from my paints. It’s always wise to keep a strong divide from eating and drinking locations when it comes to painting. I’ve gulped paint water only once, but that’s enough.