Touch of Flame

Ares thought he heard wrong but the way Aletta lifted both her brows in surprise assured him he didn’t hear wrong. Was she serious? This wasn’t why he brought her here.

Just as quickly, Nazneen broke into a fit of laughter. “I was joking,” she clarified, reclaiming her seat.

Ares didn’t find the humor in it at all. He understood that Nazneen was testing Aletta, and possibly him, which he didn’t appreciate. He had proposed this discussion in Nazneen’s presence to maintain transparency and comfort, and she had agreed.

Aletta appeared as taken aback as him, and the air between them grew thick with awkward tension. To alleviate it, he quickly switched topics. “Well, we wanted to discuss the implications of drinking human blood and how it might have affected me. Have you found anything that could be of help?” Gesturing for her to take a seat across the table, he joined Nazneen on her side.

Aletta complied, the levity from earlier replaced by a grave expression. “I have been exploring every avenue of information, but the crucial detail is whether your first transformation was only a few weeks ago. If that’s the case, it might explain why you fell sick, or rather, sicker, post-transition. The people I spoke to suggest that a newly transformed Arozak needs to feed for his body to adapt, or it will suffer. But…” she hesitated, her eyebrows furrowing. “I can’t explain why you were suffering from the same symptoms even before your transformation. Despite consulting numerous knowledgeable sources, this remains a mystery.”

Ares did his best not to be disheartened. After all, his health had improved, and the feeling of well-being remained. He hadn’t fallen ill again. “Perhaps the initial transition happened earlier,” he proposed, thinking back to the scene the witch had shown him in the mirror.

“I don’t believe you could have survived for so long if that were the case,” she countered.

This raised questions. Had the witch lied to him, or was he simply fortunate to have survived so long? Something was off. He needed to confront Sylas.

“I am sorry,” Aletta said, disappointment clear on her face. “But if consuming human blood is keeping you strong, you should continue doing so.”

He nodded, forcing a smile on his face. “Thank you for your help.”

She rose from her seat. “I’ll leave you two be, unless…” she cast a lingering glance at Nazneen, “you still want to share him.”

Nazneen gave a slow nod, as though she had discovered a new facet of the woman. A knowing smile passed between them, leaving Ares utterly puzzled, before Aletta made her exit.

“What was that?” he inquired, still baffled.

“We were planning when to share you,” Nazneen quipped.

Ares was relieved to see that she wasn’t unsettled by Aletta anymore. Her hand slowly found his, and her expression turned serious. “Don’t be discouraged. I can already see all the color that has returned to your face. You look healthier than I’ve ever seen you. That must mean something.”

He nodded. “I’m sure it does,” he affirmed, not wanting to cause her any distress.

His gaze traced the lines of her hands, her fingers intertwined with his own, and then he lifted his eyes to meet hers. The thought of dying, of leaving this world behind, of leaving her seemed so dreadful now. 

He craved life, to be with this woman in all her varied moods, her jealous fits, and her burning passion. She was his, and he longed for that bond. He yearned for a partner, a companion, someone to belong to and who would belong to him in return. He found himself envisioning a future, a more mundane one with Nazneen by his side and perhaps… children. Their children.

“What are you thinking about?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“You. I am thinking about you and… me. About us coming here every summer, enjoying the beach on this island with… our children.”

He watched her face closely for a reaction, and noticed her eyes widen ever so slightly. “Children?”

A twinge of regret struck him. Perhaps it was too soon to dream of such things, when he didn’t even know if he would survive, but the image was so vivid in his mind, he couldn’t shake it off.

“Would you like to?” He pressed on, despite his better judgment. 

The amber in her eyes seemed to glow for a brief moment before it dimmed. She chuckled nervously. “It’s not that easy for dragon females… we don’t conceive easily.”

Ares chuckled in response. “That’s not what I asked. I asked if you would like to have children.”

“Yes.” Her eyes met his once again. “Many.”

His heart swelled with happiness at her response. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. “We’ll have to work hard for that then,” he murmured, leaning in closer to her.

She responded by leaning in to kiss him. When she finally pulled away, she said, “Then you will have more layers of clothes to peel off tonight.”

“I look forward to it,” he husked, his hand sliding up to cradle the nape of her neck before he leaned in to steal another fervent kiss from her before they would have to return to the party.

Ares decided he needed to have a word with Sylas in private once he escorted Nazneen back to the party hall. The witch seemed to be wallowing in boredom, so perhaps a conversation filled with riddles and cryptic nonsense would amuse him. Well, at least until Ares put a pistol to his head. He had prepared him for tonight’s confrontation. 

They decided to speak in the relative privacy of the garden. “You have a nice home,” Sylas remarked casually. “An entire island to yourself.”

“But what’s the point if I’m dying, right?” Ares retorted.

“Well, you can enjoy your remaining… time,” Sylas countered. 

Ares narrowed his eyes at him. “Is that all you have to say?”

Sylas furrowed his brows in confusion. “I’m not sure I follow?”

“My first transition… you showed it to me through the mirror. It never happened, did it?”

Sylas tilted his head curiously. “What makes you think so?”

“If that was my first transition, I would have fallen ill much sooner since I never consumed blood.”

Sylas nodded as though impressed. “It seems you have learned a few things. Indeed, that wasn’t your first transition.”

Ares kept his rising anger in check. “Why did you lie about it?” he asked calmly.

“I didn’t, and the mirror doesn’t lie either. Whatever you saw held some significance.”

Ares gave him a tight smile, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “What could it possibly mean?”

“What did you see exactly?”

“I was on the beach, I had scales, and people threw stones and other objects at me because I was… different.”

“Did that never happen?” Sylas probed.

Ares frowned as a fragmented memory stirred within him. There had been an incident where he survived a near-drowning, and afterwards, he had been accused of something. He couldn’t recall the specifics, but they had thrown things at him, and as a young boy, he had retreated into the safety of the sea. 

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The details were hazy, but a dull ache took root in his chest at the recollection.

“The mirror doesn’t lie,” Sylas reiterated. “I could, but the mirror can’t.”

Ares fixed him with a hard stare. “Then what did YOU lie about?”