Asher Nightshade's Arc

Chapter 7 of 7

Four days of the last blossom remained. Asher spent them trying to be worth choosing. He learned her hand signs. He kept the winged cat fed. He never once let his hunger show. Each night the woman smiled at him, and each night he counted the petals left in the brew. Then, on the fifth morning, she found him by the tall bookcase and pressed a folded paper into his hand. He opened it. Her writing was small and sure. *I have watched you fight yourself for weeks. You feed on rabbits so you won't hurt me. You beg magic from people who hate you. You never take what you want.* His hands shook. *That is love. So I choose it too. Turn me. Not from fear. From choice.* Asher looked up. The woman stood steady, her chin high. The luminous dragon coiled at her feet, pink eyes bright, scales shimmering white. It did not pull her back. It stayed, as if it had already agreed. "You said no," Asher whispered. "You said not forever a killer." She took his cold hand and placed it over her heart. He felt it beat, fast and warm. She met his eyes and did not look away. This time there were no wet eyes, no hand reaching for the door. Only her, walking toward him again. He wanted to shout that he was not worth this. But that was the old fear talking. She had made her choice with open eyes. To refuse her now would be one more way of deciding her life for her. Asher led her to the garden, where the cherry tree bloomed alone in the dead grass. He wanted the one living thing on his land to witness it. The dragon followed. The woman sat beneath the branches and tilted her head, baring her throat. She nodded once. He bit gently. He drank only enough, then he opened his own wrist and pressed it to her lips. She drank. Petals drifted down around them. Her heartbeat slowed, then stopped, then started again, cold and new. When she opened her eyes, they were red like his. She gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth, and Asher saw the fear he knew too well. Hunger woke in her, raw and screaming. She looked at him, then past him, toward the garden wall, toward the village beyond it. Asher grabbed her shoulders. "It burns. I know. Look at me. Only at me." She fought his grip. Her new strength nearly threw him back. The dragon reared, and the woman snarled at the scent of blood on the wind. Somewhere past the wall, a mortal child laughed. Asher held her and understood what he had done. He had won her heart. But now there were two hunters in his manor, and only four days of blossom for one. He had traded a lonely danger for a doubled one, and no one had taught him how to teach control to another.