Dragon's Isolation - Miranda Martin Page 0,11

of fuel long ago. I have a clay bowl that I fill with flammable kindling and two stones that spark when I strike them. If I do everything right, hold my breath for the exact length of time, and the gods of fortune smile, I can start a fire relatively quick.

Normally it takes me a while, and today, unfortunately, is normal. It’d be easier to ask Shidan to come in and do his breathing fire trick, but I can still hear him and Malcolm laughing. I don’t want to interrupt them, so I bang the stones together again. And again. And again.

“Damn stones,” I mutter under my breath slamming them together with more force.

“Ouch!” I yell, as I smash my thumb between the stones. I drop them both but at the same time the kindling catches fire. Of course.

“Amara?” Shidan calls emerging from the bedroom. “Are you okay, my love?”

“Fine,” I call. “Trying to light the stove.”

“Let me help,” he says.

“I got it now,” I say, then turn back and see that the kindling I had lit has burned out, leaving me back at square one. “Uh, maybe I don’t.”

“I will help,” he says, striding into the kitchen with his sexy, arrogant confidence.

Malcolm tumbles along behind him, doing his best to imitate his dad, but his tiny legs aren’t steady enough yet to match up.

Shidan kneels in front of the opening beneath the stove and inhales deeply. He belches, loudly, and a burst of flame shoots from his mouth into the opening. There’s a loud whoosh as the poo catches on fire, but something happens. A ball of orange flame blasts out of the hole back into Shidan’s face.

He stumbles backwards exclaiming loudly, patting at his face. The scent of singed hair fills the room, and I run over to him.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Fine,” he snaps, running his hands over his face.

“Let me see,” I say.

“I said I was fine!” he snaps.

I take a step back and bump up against Malcolm. Malcolm grabs my leg and squeezes tight. I pick him up, swing him onto my hip, and take another step back from Shidan. He’s never, in all our time together, snapped at me like that.

My lip trembles, and my throat is closed tight. He doesn’t seem to even notice. He shakes his head, runs his hands through his hair, then at last turns to look at Malcolm and me.

“What is the matter?” he asks.

I swallow, working the lump out of my throat before I can speak.

“You’re okay?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says. “That was surprising, though.”

“Yeah,” I agree.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, frowning as he takes a step towards us. Instinctively I take a step backwards, and Malcolm clings to my neck tighter. “Amara?”

He looks confused, and there is no hint of the anger in his face or posture, but it doesn’t change what he did. That which he’s never, ever done.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.

“Of course my love, what is the matter?”

“You snapped at me,” I say.

“I did?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“Shidan, don’t you remember? It happened a minute ago.”

“I was surprised, that’s all,” he says. “The fire blew into my face. It was nothing.”

“Sure,” I say, but I’m only being agreeable.

It wasn’t nothing. It was a long way from nothing. Cold fingers stretch out from my core.

“Mommy,” Malcolm says.

“It’s fine honey,” I lie. “Daddy was surprised, that’s all.”

I can’t quit staring at Shidan, but the remorse on his face is so clear, and this is so out of character for him, I don’t know what to do or say.

“I’m sorry,” Shidan says, shaking his head. He runs his hands over his hair again, frowning. “That really shocked me.”

I set Malcolm down. “Go play.”

Our son runs off to his room, and I walk over to Shidan. I place a hand on his forehead and one on his chest.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I don’t know what that was, but I’m okay.”

“Right,” I say. “Shidan, this isn’t normal. Something is happening. I want you to get checked out by Addison.”

He frowns then nods. “I will. After I check on the bivo and take the delivery today.”

“Fine,” I say. “But do it. I’m worried.”

I drop my voice before I say the last, not wanting Malcolm to overhear me.

“Of course my love,” he says, kissing my forehead. “I am sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say, stirring the food in the skillet. The tangy smell drifts out as it warms. “While you’re gone, I’m going to check on Calista. I can’t imagine what