Origin Exposed: Descended of Dragons, Book 2 (3 page)

“
W
ow
. When I pursued you as a suite mate I had no idea you’d be famous,” Timbra said, her wide eyes blinking innocently.

“Oh. Shut. Up.”

Timbra Redfern was not only my suite mate at Radix Citadel for Supernatural Learning, she was a valued friend. My best friend. That she had adorable furry ears and knobby knees was of no consequence. We all have our little issues. Mine, of course, was that I didn’t just turn furry; I also grew scales. Tough, armored scales of auburn and copper covered my body when in one of my new-found animal forms. In my other, I became a massive red wolf.

I only knew one other person who had more than one physical form, and that was my…lover, Rowan Gresham. ‘Boyfriend’ wasn’t a good descriptor. Gresham was decidedly
not
a boy. We hadn’t known each other long enough to be partners. Lover would have to do.

Timbra’s black eyes eyes were alight with mischief, her long lashes fanning across her cheeks with each blink. “I’m serious! Look around. Every person in this place either wants to
be you
or to
do you
. And I’m definitely going to have to change panties when I get back to my room.”

My burst of laughter was accompanied by an involuntary snort.

“Never mind. Not everyone. No way I’m screwing a snorter.”

Timbra Redfern was witty and hilarious, but very few people knew it. On the outside she was stunning. Her willowy body looked flawless in any outfit, and she walked with grace. Her presence was always known, and she didn’t even try. But on the inside she was quite shy. She preferred blending in. The most striking thing about Timbra, though, was her ears. The velvety pointed things always protruded from the top of her dark honey hair and twitched whenever she was nervous or upset.

Grins were still pasted on our faces as we made our way to the back of On a Roll sushi bar where Boone, Ewan, Layla, and Mari were toasting tiny cups of saki.

Timbra was right; gazes darted and eyes widened as I passed, and my keen hearing picked up fragments of whispers. “That’s her!” and “You think it’s all true?”

There were a few comments on my appearance that set my spine a little straighter “I’d give a canine for an ass like that,” or “That hair; that skin. So exotic.”

I caught the end of one “…scrawny whore” and wheeled around, my gut clenching and face reddening as my temper flared at the insult.

Livia.
Dean
Livia Miles, head of Radix’s Department of Craft and Ritual. Not my biggest fan. It had been Livia, a talented clairvoyant, who’d alerted Gresham to my existence in the first place. Her visions of me in his bed had been the cause of much contention between the two of them. That Rowan Gresham’s bed is exactly where I had ended up lent her psychic abilities real credit. Not that she lacked credibility—she was dean of one of Radix’s most important departments, after all. A fact she’d made miserably clear to me at every opportunity.

When I first met her, I thought Livia Miles sophisticated and lovely. Now, heartache and bitterness pinched her features and she looked thinner, older. I did feel some regret for the way things had ended between she and Gresham. On the night of their breakup she found me in Gresham’s home dressed in nothing but his white button-down shirt. The circumstances had been innocent enough, but Gresham let her believe we’d been intimate. I thought this a fairly callous move on his part, but Livia Miles was nothing if not calloused already. She could handle it.

In fact, it looked as if she was on a date. With none other than the sandy-haired Sabre Bar playboy and bartender Knox Mahon. Livia made a big show of rubbing her fingers playfully over his and then focusing her undivided attention on his every brogue and burr.
Message received, Livia
, I thought.
You’ve moved on. I’ll be sure to tell Gresham. Like
hell.

“Ah, here comes Dragon Lady now,” quipped Boone as we neared the table. “Take my seat, ma’am. Please.”

“Oh, you guys are freakin’ hilarious, aren’t you?” All of the attention, good-natured ribbing or not, made me uncomfortable. I didn’t like having a spotlight shone on me. I much preferred to blend into the background—especially among these people, whom I’d come to love and trust.

“I told her that everyone here wants to do her or be her,” said Timbra. “She thinks I’m exaggerating.”

Enthusiastic ‘mm-hmm’s’ and ‘I know dat’s right’s’ erupted, but one face remained stony. Ewan. He turned his dark head from me and mumbled something almost inaudibly. He’d been in such a bad mood lately.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Ewan Bristol’s shiny black curls fell in layers almost to the top of his shoulders in back, and just around his temples in the front. No hair was in its proper place, but it was perfect just the same. Big, dark-brown eyes with nearly-curly black lashes topped the slender slope of his nose, which skimmed over slight nostrils and into cheeks that looked downy smooth when contrasted to the perpetual five o’clock shadow that ran the length of his jawbone. A hint of a mustache brought attention to his lips, which thrust out in an almost child-like pout.

“I said, ‘My nose never lies. Someone’s already doing her.’” He finally raised his chestnut eyes to mine and his rugged jaw thrust forward with determination. He stared me down, his expression revealing such disgust that I jerked, horrified.

The restaurant went silent. It wasn’t just quiet, but as if all of the sound in the room had been sucked out by a solar system-sized gravitational pull—a black hole, an absence of sound. My ears roared as humiliation pumped blood to them, and my cheeks flushed so quickly they stung. Words escaped me and my mouth fell open in surprise. Ewan had always been so reserved, so polite.

I darted glances to Timbra, to Layla, to Boone. They all showed varying degrees of shock. Boone’s sharp jaws sat agape, Timbra’s fingertips hastily shot up to cover her mouth, and Layla’s lips formed a perfect “o.” Ewan’s comments were so out of character he’d stunned the entire table.

As the blood slowly drained from my face and my shamed haze cleared, I found the other patrons weren’t hanging on our every word, but were eating, having their own conversations. My humiliation was mitigated to our table, at least. I avoided any further eye contact with my friends and fiddled nervously with a napkin. Several deep breaths did nothing to help me calm down, to move on, so I excused myself and raced toward the bathroom.

I’d gotten nearly twenty feet when I heard a strained voice call, “Stella, wait.”

Ewan, who’d followed me, grabbed for my elbow, but I shook him off and increased my pace.

“Stella. Please. I’m sorry I said that.”

I slowed and turned, letting him see the hurt, the questions in my eyes.

“Well, how the hell did you expect me to feel?” He shook his head, his handsome face pinched into something bewildered and angry.

“What are you talking about,” I hissed.

“The last we saw each other, I—I thought we had something real.” His infinite gaze searched mine. “Hell,
you
pursued
me
. You kissed me. You felt as strongly as I did the connection between us. I know you did. Then, out of nowhere, I smell Gresham all over you. And Boone confirmed you’ve been seeing him.”

“Oh, what does Boone know?” I scoffed. “He knows nothing.”

“He knows what Timbra knows.” That hurt. I hadn’t expected she would share the details of my love life. “Surely you’re not denying it?”

“No, I’m not denying it, Ewan.” I circled a thumb along my temple to ease some tension. “We…we got to know each other during my metamorphosis training. We’ve been through a lot together. It just happened. I don’t know.”

“And you’ll continue to see him?”

“Yes,” I admitted, and he flinched ever so slightly.

“Didn’t you think you owed me some kind of explanation?” he asked, his voice growing lower in pitch with each word until it was almost a growl. “Did what was between us ever cross your mind?”

I huffed out a breath. “Of course I thought about it. I did. But I heard you were seeing Pippa and I chalked our make-out sessions up to…I don’t know…drunken flirting.”

He didn’t just flinch that time. He balked. Ewan had deeper feelings for me than I’d realized, that much was obvious.

My insides turned over in shame and I snapped my eyes shut, unable to meet his gaze again after comprehending how thoughtless I’d been. The restaurant’s small dining room expanded and stretched until I was forced upon a tiny dais for all the world to inspect. I felt minuscule. More than just an insensitive love interest, I had been a bad friend. A bad person. While it was no defensible excuse, my treatment of Ewan was probably the result of being so used to the hook-up culture of my college town before coming to Thayer. He didn’t deserve that, and he obviously hadn’t expected it of me.

I finally looked up to find Ewan’s face strained. His deep eyes held anger, rejection, pain…and restraint. A lot of restraint.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” he offered again. “It was crude.” Then he stood to his full height, using the significant advantage to drive home his next point. “For what it’s worth, I thought we had the potential for something legendary.” He leaned in close to me, his breath a puff on my forehead beneath my scattered hair. “And Stella?” he said, barely above a whisper as he ran a finger from the top of my shoulder down my bare arm.

“Yes?” I managed before a compulsory swallow.

“I still do.”

With that mic-dropper, he turned his back to me and stalked toward our friends.

In the restroom, I attempted to compose myself, trying and failing not to feel like a real asshole. My mirrored reflection revealed too much. It seemed to amplify my flaws, which had stacked so high I might never reach the top in order to clear them. But improving myself was necessary, no doubt about it. I had mistreated Ewan. Badly. I couldn’t feel sorry about Gresham, but did regret my gross insensitivity.

I liked Ewan, who’d proved to be an exceptional person. It might take a while but I hoped I could regain his trust. Eventually, maybe he could even forgive me.

Resolved to be a better person, my true image was reflected in the mirror once more. Someone once told me I looked like a Scot and an Italian had been thrown into a blender. My auburn hair was long and a little wild. But rather than pale or freckled skin, mine was olive. My face was filling out my big features as I grew older. I’d been a gangly kid with a big mouth and over-large eyes. Cute, but never pretty.

After reapplying lip gloss, I made my way back to our table. It took a lot of effort; quite a bit of humility, but I smiled at my friends to show that all was well…or that it would be.

R
elief flooded
me when the waiter arrived to take our orders and broke the tense atmosphere. “Ah, Ms. Stonewall,” he said and pushed his smeared glasses higher up on his nose. “It’s a pleasure to have you. Whatever you like, it’s on the house.”

“No! Thank you for the gesture. But no. I enjoy your food and I’m happy to pay.”

“I insist. My mother’s people were Fae. My parents told me the tale of the Steward Massacre, just as I tell my children and they will tell their own. Each generation must know that we lost many in those days. Mothers cleaved to babes in cellars while caves were set afire by those demon dragons. We lost much.” A lock of gray hair fell over one eye and he brushed it aside with his pen. “Too much.” His milky eyes came back into focus and found mine. “Whatever you like. It’s on the house. Anyone who takes on Brandubh is honored here,” he said with finality.

I felt humbled. And beyond saddened to hear of his loss. It was clear that arguing further would only be taken as ungracious, and lord knew a lack of grace was one of my flaws.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said with appropriate gravity. “And thank you for your generosity. I would love a Shiso Crazy roll and some edamame to start, please.”

It was several strained moments before the group moved past the awkward tension between Ewan and I, and the horrific tale of the waiter’s ancestors. But Boone, bless him, took up the charge.

“Ah, I hate to kill the vibe we’ve got going here,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm, “but Timbra and I have some news.”

Heads swung in his direction. Everything about Boone Adder was big. He was very tall, his rounded eyes and slim nose over-large. His big mouth housed strong white teeth. But it all worked together to form a gentle puppy-face—likely no coincidence since his animal form was a dog. His forbearers evolved from ancient Greek Molossions, massive sandy-colored guards charged with protecting flocks and families.

“We’re together,” Boone informed the group.

The same heads swung again but toward each other with brows wrinkled in confusion, each reaction echoing the same thought.

Mari was the one who spoke up. “I thought that was common knowledge. I mean, we’ve all watched you flirt for weeks, but lately you’ve been, well, schmoopy. You can’t stop touching. She looks at you like she depends on you for breath. I’ve caught you grinning like a fool twice already tonight.” She shrugged good-naturedly. “Of course you’re together.”

“What she said,” concurred Layla, whose pixie-short hair was currently died a lovely shade of pink that complimented her brown skin. She wore a thin tank top, no bra, and distressed jeans with barely-there heels. Layla always made a statement. Tonight her ensemble said, ‘The only thing sweet about me is the hair.’ The white tank was low enough that the black and aqua tattoo spanning her chest was on full display. A two-headed raven began at her collarbone and extended down into her slight cleavage. The ravens’ heads stretched, open-mouthed, toward her shoulders as if cawing before taking flight upon a pair of outstretched wings.

“I guess—I guess we just wanted to make it official.” Boone would not be deterred from his grand announcement.

“What’s official?” Bex had decided to join us. The stunning lioness knew how to make an entrance; I’d give her that. She threw her long caramel hair behind her as she took a chair with great ceremony.

“Boone and Timbra are together,” said Ewan.