June 9 – Third day of observation. I can’t stop thinking about when the lights went off. The way his hand felt up my skirt. The way his lips felt against mine. The rasp of three-day stubble against my cheek. The way he tasted faintly of mint and smoke. The sound of his dragon growling and the hungry look in his eyes when the guards took me away from him. The way he immediately asked in my head if I was okay when I left his line of sight. The way I have five perfect fingerprint bruises on my thigh, and I think he did it on purpose just so I would think about him later. I should be terrified of that man, and not just because he could burn me, but because he feels like trouble. To my heart. And I can’t conjure up the fear I know I should feel because all I keep thinking about is how rough his hand was, but how soft his kiss turned at the end. I’m in trouble.
June 10 – Stayed up all night talking to a cute boy with red hair, and now I’m exhausted. Vyr is really, really different from what I thought he would be. I’m three coffees in. I just went into the cell, which Emmitt is now calling “The Lair,” but Vyr popped off that this hellhole wasn’t his lair. When Emmitt asked him what he meant, Vyr smiled like a demon and told him he should visit his mountains sometime. That his crew would probably welcome him right in. I had this vision of a silverback and a grizzly ripping Emmitt limb from limb, and I’m pretty sure that was Vyr’s imagination in my head. That was new. He projected into me. Am I getting more powerful? Or is he?
It's after lunch, and they aren’t feeding him right. Every time I complain, Emmitt points out that Vyr has somehow put on ten pounds of muscle since he’s been locked down there, which kind of blows my mind. The dragon gets weaker, and the man gets stronger. At least that’s what it looks like to the casual observer. Vyr had another nosebleed right before I left. It started as a trickle down his lip, and I pointed it out. I handed him a rag from his bathroom station, but a minute in, and the rag was soaked through. He asked me to leave, and I wanted to cry because I knew how it was going to be for him. I saw how it was on that video, and I don’t want him alone with the guards. They’re too rough when he’s weak like that. Vyr asked the guards to take me away when I refused to go, and they did. And now I’m sitting here looking at this ham sandwich, wishing I was eating in Vyr’s cell with him, splitting my lunch, giving him half my sandwich and half my chips and half my orange Fanta. And a potato. I wish I could give him a potato. He’s been hungry for starches lately. Craving them, and I think there is some serious nutrition missing from his diet. I think Emmitt is trying to weaken him with malnutrition, but it’s not working. Tomorrow they are going to let him Change. I say “let him” but it’s really “force him” to Change. They like him to Change in a controlled setting, if anyone can really control the Red Dragon. Everyone is bustling around preparing for the Change in some place they call ‘The Dungeon,’ and meanwhile I annoyed Emmitt enough to do a surprise for Vyr when he’s done.
Sometimes I want to tell Vyr to burn this place to the ground.
I shouldn’t write that, shouldn’t even think it, but it’s there in the back of my mind. This constant, buzzing wish that grows bigger every time I see him mistreated. I wish he could escape and hide forever, but where on this planet can the Red Dragon stay a secret? He’s too big and too destructive. I can see why his father wanted him in here. I’m pissed that he helped, but I understand Vyr has to serve this sentence if he wants to have a shot at living a life where he isn’t on the run.
Clara just texted the burner phone. I don’t understand what “Incoming” means, but it feels big. And yep, I’m now writing my notes on my tablet because, apparently, I can’t stay professional with Vyr, and I need a secure way to write down my thoughts on all of this. His notes have gone from professional observations to what looks like my middle-school-self’s Hello Kitty diary when I had a crush on Gus Naydor.
“Who’s Gus Naydor and where does he live?” Vyr asked in her head. His voice was a little too careful.
With a grin, Riyah checked that the hallway outside of her office was clear, leaned back in her rolling chair, and flicked her fingers. The blinds closed instantly, and on her desk, a pen stood upright and began scribbling a heart onto a yellow notepad. “Jealous?” she asked in a low murmur so no one walking by outside the office would hear her. Shifters had impeccable hearing though, so she set the phone right beside her just in case she needed to fake talking on it if anyone barged in.
“I told you, I don’t feel. Jealousy is a feeling, therefore no. I don’t want to burn Gus Naydor and devour his ashes.”
She snorted and shook her head. “Beast.”
“I wish I could take you out.”
The admission was sudden, and Riyah sat up straighter in her chair. “I haven’t been on a date in over a year. What if I’m a total bore, and you don’t like me anymore?”
“I would give a helluva lot to have you bore me over dinner. We both know I’m not getting out of here, though. Forget it. I was just talking.”
She moved the pen’s rhythm to make a crack down the center of the heart. “If you do get out, will you ask me out sweetly?”
“What, like writing it across the sky? Hot air balloons and signs?”
“No, not something expensive. I don’t care about that stuff. Just ask me sweet.”
There was a mental sigh and then, “Well, it’s good that money isn’t your love language because this dragon is broke as hell. The government froze my accounts when I burned Covington, and now they’ve drained them all for damages to the town. I was a rich boy, and now I’m a—"
“Regular guy. Lucky you.”
“Regular guy. Who turns into a dragon. Who watches guards run themselves ragged to plan my Change for two days before they shoot me full of drugs that force a Change and make my dragon sick the entire time. There is nothing regular about my life.” There was a pause. “I used to be fine with that, and then I met you.”
Riyah frowned and changed the pen’s rhythm again, drawing a bubble-letter I above the broken heart, retracing it over and over. “What do you mean you aren’t fine with being yourself anymore? I don’t want that. I want you to be happy with you.”
“I mean that I can’t…”
“Can’t what, Vyr?”
“Never mind. I’ll be back later.”
“Vyr!”
But she couldn’t feel him there anymore. Couldn’t feel the dull ache behind her eyes that said he was present.
Runner.
Sadly, she waved her fingers gently through the air, and without touching the pen, she changed the rhythm again and drew a bubble-letter U under the broken heart. She shouldn’t feel so strongly about someone this fast. She should be questioning it and running away, but he was here, steady, listening to her, caring about her, wanting to be a part of her day. It wasn’t that she was avoiding loneliness either. She hung on every word Vyr said because each seemed important. Like the rest of her life was blurry, but when she and Vyr were together in her head, he was drawn up in fine focus and everything else could burn for all she cared.
The headache came back with a vengeance and she startled when Vyr said, “I can’t have you. Because of what I am, where I am, and all the messed-up parts of my life, I can’t have you.”
“Why not?”