Bloodlines: Dragon Rider Book 2

Chapter 19: Words To Live By

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Night cloaks the living room in total darkness as I lay on the couch, face buried in a pillow. My nose no longer picks up the smell of the Holland's house and there are no words to put what I smell into words. Just feelings.

Home.

Comfort.

I hug the blanket around me tighter and sigh into the pillow. Black blankets wrap around me like a burrito protecting its meat and beans. It's safe and warm and if I press myself against the back of the couch hard enough, maybe Holland won't notice me and let me sleep in. Rima certainly would.

Unlike Riveta who usually wakes me up with a nudge and murmurs soft words, Holland chucks a pillow at me. I throw it back, of course, but he always catches it and pushes me off the couch if I refuse to get up.

But not today. Riveta was called into work early this morning, which means Holland is alone, sleeping in his bed. And I'm awake.

Hating every second, I sit up and plop my chin on the back of the couch, staring at the shadows of the stairs before grabbing my pillow. I tip-toe up the stairs, yawning into my hand when I'm not wincing at the whining wood floors or at my sore muscles. I find Holland's room, navigating through the darkness with the house's layout ingrained into my head.

Quietly, I push open his door and peer through the crack to the bed against the wall. My heart races and my senses sharpen at sight of the lump under the covers. He's still sleeping, completely buried under the blankets. I bite my lip and make my way in, raising the pillow over my head and launching it at him.

"Good morning!"

Something soft hits the middle of my back and I'm thrown forward. My knees hit the bed and I fall, hearing Holland laugh in the back. I groan, wrapping the blanket around myself in defeat as I wiggle into the center of the bed and pout.

"Was I walking too loud?" I sigh, exasperated.

He's still laughing and has to take a second to collect himself. "No," he says. "I was just coming to get you when I saw you on the stairs so I shoved some pillows under the blankets and hid behind the door."

"Yeah, I always thought you looked like a pillow," I tell him. "Put the two of you together and it's like looking in a mirror."

He snorts."The shit that comes out of your mouth. Come on," he says suddenly growing solemn.

With a long, loud groan, I slip out from under the sheets and follow him downstairs, yawning again. There's a brief thought about pushing him down the stairs but death this young in my semi-immortal life is not something I want for me.

Still, in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, I make myself some oatmeal with fruit and peanut butter. I slouch over my bowl, eating it slowly as Holland makes toast with avocado and an omelet. The food sizzles in the pan, filling the house with savory smells but I don't think his quality of food meets Riveta's standards.

"How'd you sleep?" I ask between bites.

He shrugs, grumbling, "Fine."

My lips purse, waiting for him to elaborate or ask about my night, but he only gathers his food onto a plate and says nothing more.I frown but he's too busy slicing the avocados to notice. For three days, since the first training, he's been acting like this; a grumpy, broody man who isn't as engaged in my conversations as he normally is.

Okay then, be that way.

When his food is made, he sits beside me and sighs down at his plate before getting back up to make himself a glass of water. I straighten, glancing between him and his food and then snatch a bite of his toast. By the time he sits back down again, I'm nearly halfway through my oatmeal and look away.