Blakeshire by Jamie Magee Page A

him away. That he had been hurt too often by too many people that he trusted; so hurt that one more blow to his fragile heart would end him. Which meant the people he adored, his kingdom, would lose the one man that would rule them with an honest heart, the one man that would raise them above the torment that they had endured.
    I made up my mind that even if I closed my eyes tonight and woke up in the hell that I had lived through just yesterday, even if fear were the only emotion I was forced to feel, I would face it. I was going to figure out who that woman was that haunted me my entire life, what secret—for better or worse—she was keeping me away from.
    I was going to figure out who every single traitor in that kingdom was and personally ensure that I was responsible for the last breath that left their vessels. I was going to figure out what the seven deadly emotions were and what or if that had anything to do with me. I was going to protect this boy I loved. I may not have the courage to tell him any of this, but sometimes…actions speak louder than words.
    Somewhere in the night, I moved out of his arms. I found a black sharpie in my bag.
    I was a bit of an eccentric artist, meaning that sitting in front of a canvas poetically painting an image while music softly played in the background was not my style. When I created, really created, I used nearly every inch of my body. It was messy and consuming, so much so that no one had ever once witnessed the act. Well, maybe my mother, but I wasn’t counting her in the ‘anyone’ category simply because it had been her idea originally that I express myself that way.
    Around others, around my friends, I sketched, drew like a proper artist—but in my mind that was very basic.
    Right now I was craving some erratic release, but I doubted Olivia would care for me to redecorate her home. So, I opted to use Drake as a canvas; his arm anyway.
    He had to have been exhausted simply because as I adjusted his arm so I could see my project, he never moved, didn’t even bother to furrow his brow.
    I didn’t have words before when he explained this tattoo to me. The grief I could feel coming from him was too much to handle at the moment. Now I wanted to say what I couldn’t before.
    This tattoo was an elaborate willow tree, one that was identical to the ones that we could both remember. Around it, a very detailed dragon was clinging to the branches, making it seem as if it were both protecting that memory and finding shelter within that lost moment.
    Along the base of the tree in the most elegant script I could manage I wrote: first, last, forever. Along the branches that moved in every direction I wrote my name, and every name I could remember from my past lives.
    I grinned when my work was done. For a split second, I thought about washing off my artwork—it would be humiliating if he caught me doing this, and just as bad when he saw it in the morning. Just as I decided that this was doing nothing but toying with his mind and that I’d crossed a line that didn’t need to be crossed, he pulled his arm away and firmly placed it against his chest.
    His brow furrowed. “Madison…”
    I swallowed nervously and waited for the humiliation to begin, but he never stirred after that.
    I stayed still as a statue, watching him in the dim light. He would flinch every now and again. More often than not, a sultry smile would come to the corners of his lips. When I focused, I could see flashes of what he was dreaming about. Every flash produced an image of me. Heat absorbed my skin as I saw how real, how vivid, and how sensual his dreams were. It was almost like he had taken our past and merged it with some as of yet unclaimed future.
    Sure that he was deep in REM sleep, I leaned closer and in his ear whispered, “I do love you, Drake Blakeshire. I’m going to fight for you. No one is ever going to hurt you again.”
    Right about then, the heavy scent of mint filled the air. It was so