I stood in the middle of my kitchen, frozen.
On my left, Miller was snoring on the floor, his brain probably convinced he'd just survived a freak gas explosion. On my right, a dying King was leaning against my refrigerator, his purple blood pooling around a box of eggs.
"Think, Ava. Think," I whispered, clutching my hair.
I couldn't call 911. What would I say? 'Yes, hello, a man from a dream melted my window and now he's leaking grape-colored blood on my linoleum. Also, he's wearing a crown made of bones.' I'd be in a padded cell before the sun was fully up.
I knelt beside Valerius. Up close, he was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous. His skin was pale, and he smelled like a thunderstorm—sharp, electric, and cold. I reached out, my hand trembling, to see if he was still breathing.
The moment my fingertips brushed the skin of his neck, a jolt of electricity shot up my arm.
"Ah!" I pulled back, but the mark on my collarbone flared with a blinding white light.
The violet blood on the floor began to move. It defied gravity, crawling back toward his wound like tiny, shimmering snakes. I watched, horrified and fascinated, as the jagged tear in his side began to knit itself together. It wasn't magic I'd seen in movies; it looked like the air itself was weaving new flesh.
Valerius gasped, his eyes snapping open. The gold in his pupils was so bright it cast shadows against the wall. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like a vice.
"You..." he rasped, his voice thick with pain. "You still have the Flame."
"I don't have a flame! I have a fever! Let go!" I tried to pull away, but he held me firm.
"Your soul," he managed to say, his gaze fixed on mine. "It is the only thing that can bridge the gap between our worlds. You are feeding me, Ava."
"I am not a snack!"
But even as I argued, I felt it. A strange, hollow feeling in my chest, as if a straw had been stuck into my heart and something was being sipped out. I felt lightheaded, the room spinning as the glow from my neck grew dimmer and the color returned to his face.
He let go of my wrist and sat up, his movements fluid and predatory again. The wound was gone, replaced by a thin, silver scar.
"The debt is partially paid," he said, standing up. He looked down at me, and for a second, I saw a flicker of something that wasn't royal—it was almost... regret. "But you are weak. This world has drained you of your power."
"I was never 'powerful,' Valerius," I said, leaning against the counter so I wouldn't faint. "I'm just a girl who's about to be evicted because her neighbor is unconscious on the floor."
Valerius glanced at Miller. "The noisy one? He will wake soon. His mind is already weaving a lie to protect itself from the truth."
"Good. Let it weave." I pointed toward the hallway. "Now, you need to leave. Go back to your dragon kingdom or wherever you came from. I can't do this."
Valerius walked toward the melted window. He looked out at the city—the skyscrapers, the neon lights, the honking taxis below. He looked like a wolf looking at a cage.
"The way back is closed, Ava," he said quietly. "The gate was destroyed the moment I stepped through. My kingdom is in ashes, and my enemies have already sent their hounds into your streets."
"Hounds? You mean that six-eyed thing?"
"That was a scout," he said, turning back to me. "A shadow-crawler. There will be more. And they aren't just looking for me."
He stepped closer, his shadow looming over me. He reached out, his gloved finger tracing the glowing mark on my neck.
"They are looking for the High Priestess who escaped the fire. They are looking for the woman who stole the heart of the Dragon King."
"I didn't steal anything!" I protested, though my heart was doing a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. "I don't even know how to drive a stick shift, let alone be a priestess!"
Valerius leaned down, his face inches from mine. "It does not matter what you remember. Your blood knows the truth. And until I reclaim my throne, you are the most hunted woman in this world."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
My alarm clock went off in the bedroom. It was 6:00 AM.
"I have to go to work," I whispered, the absurdity of the situation finally breaking me. I started to laugh, a high, hysterical sound. "I have to go serve lattes while a dragon-man stays in my apartment and waits for shadow-dogs to kill me."
Valerius didn't laugh. He picked up his broken sword and slung it across his back. It vanished into the shadows of his cloak.
"I will go with you," he said firmly.
"To the coffee shop? You're seven feet tall and wearing bone-jewelry! You'll stand out!"
Valerius closed his eyes. A shimmer of dark energy washed over him. When I blinked, the armor was gone. In its place, he was wearing a black hoodie and dark jeans that looked suspiciously like they'd been stolen from my laundry pile. Even the crown was gone, replaced by a mess of dark, unruly hair.
He still looked like a god, but now he looked like a god who went to a rock concert.
"Better?" he asked, his golden eyes still glowing slightly under the hood.
I stared at him. "Where did you get the jeans?"
"The closet," he said simply. "They are tight. Your 'fashion' is restrictive."
"Those are my leggings, you idiot!"
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