I arch a brow and ask, “Did you make this?”
Cairn sinks into the armchair across from the couch and nods. “I’m no artist, clearly.”
I let out a tired laugh. “I think it’s lovely.”
Then I look into my latte. And freeze.
“Um . . . Cairn?”
He sips his latte and looks into the fire. “Hmm?”
“There’s...” I look into my cup again, then back at him. “Something yellow floating in my cup.”
He laughs, and the sound is warm and rumbly. “I make coffee with dandelion root. The petals are good for you.” His brown-eyed gaze slides to mine. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid.”
A pulse of heat goes through me. “Of course I’m not afraid. It’s just a flower.” I look into the cup again, where the pretty yellow petals float atop the creamy frothiness dotted with cinnamon.
Okay, maybe just a little bit afraid.
Cairn stares at me and takes a very deliberate sip of his latte. Then one of his brows lifts in the corner. “Well?”
I swallow down my nervousness, lift the cup to my lips, and take a little sip.
The flavor is slightly earthy—probably from the dandelion root—but the vanilla and cinnamon soften the bitterness.
And the flower petals aren’t so bad after all.
“What’s the verdict?” Cairn asks. He tips his head at me, his horns and nose ring catching the firelight.
I don’t even have to lie. “It’s delicious.”
His smile is small and perhaps even a little bit proud.
We go back to sipping our lattes in the quiet, watching the flames as they dance in the hearth.
And as we sit there together, a weird feeling starts to pull at my chest. It’s a feeling of warmth, safety...belonging. It’s a feeling I think I’ve always subconsciously searched for—the knowing that someone wants me, that they’ll not abandon me.
Not like she did.
My gaze slides slowly to Cairn. He’s leaning back in his armchair, staring into the fire, sipping his latte like he’s got all the time in the world. Being here with him, in this little hut with the thatched roof, makes me want to never leave.
But as the sun starts to rise over the horizon, its golden fingers reaching for the windows, I know it’s time to go, even if it’s the last thing I want to do.
I finish my latte—it tasted better with every sip, and I’m already wanting another one by the time I rinse the hand-painted cup in the basin in the kitchen—then look down at myself and realize I’m still just wearing one of Cairn’s oversize sweaters, with no pants under it. And it’s not like I can wear my Samhain dress back to the castle; that would draw way more attention than a bulky sweater and some bed head.
“Um,” I say as I step back into the sitting room. Cairn looks over at me from his armchair. “What should I wear?”
He tips his head and regards me with a thoughtful expression. After reaching up to scratch his beard, he offers me a little smile. “I think I might have an idea.”
AND THAT’S HOW I END up trudging back to the castle in Cairn’s sweater, a pair of baggy trousers that are actuallyshortson him, and my black boots from the festival last night. Cairn let me borrow a knapsack, and my dress and new fireproof gloves are tucked inside. I know I must look a mess—his clothing drowns me, and I have to keep pulling the trousers up, because despite the twine Cairn tied through the belt loops, the trousers just want to slide down—but at least I’m not in a skimpy black dress, which would justscreamthat I never made it back to my room last night. And knowing my luck, I’d probably run into the headmistress on the way to my room.
I make it into the castle, and the hallways are quiet and still. The scent of breakfast from the dining hall twirls through the air, and my stomach growls. But I have to get back to the room first. I won’t be able to eat until I see Juniper and the girls and explain where I was last night.
On my way up the twirling stairs of the north tower, I pass a few students who seem to be heading out to exercise in the crisp air. They give me curious looks but don’t stop to talk.
Then I reach room NT33, and there’s a dragon standing right outside.
Raelan narrows his dark eyes when he sees me and immediately shifts his broad frame to face me, arms crossedover his chest. His piercing gaze quickly assesses the baggy clothing I’m wearing.
