Helena’s tongue was spellbinding. Tristan lost the ability to think clearly. Time stood still; the air was sucked from the room and a soft hum buzzed around him.

And then the attic door rattled.

“Helena, I—”

Her mother’s sharp cry ripped the couple apart.

Helena spun, her long braid hitting Tristan’s arm. He rested his hand lightly on her hip, supporting her weight when she nearly stumbled.

The dragon’s eyes darted to his hand before flaming with pale blue fire.

“Mother. Wha—I…” Helena’s breathing was rapid, not the sweet caper from before but panic-filled puffs that Tristan had never heard before.

Everything about her mother’s expression was sharp, from the dip between her eyebrows to the point of her chin. She had the same build and complexion as Helena, a blonde, pale angel, although this one rode a horse of fire and wanted to slash him in half with a blazing sword.

“Get your hands off my daughter.” Her voice rang with a low, hard edge, making her sound like a man.

It was damn intimidating.

“Sorry, ma’am. I…” He backed away from Helena, stepping around the quivering girl and thrusting out his hand. “I’m Tristan Parker. I—”

“Get out of my house.” The blue fire in her eyes was becoming dark with fury, her molten words hot in the air.

“Mother, please.” Helena touched her stomach, leaning forward as she implored, “He’s my friend.”

The dragon’s head snapped towards her, indignant puffs spurting out of her flaring nostrils. “How did he even get in here?”

“He…” Helena pointed over her shoulder at the open window.

“Are you out of your mind?” She stormed across the room, practically knocking Tristan over in her attempt to get to the window.

The pane slammed into place, making Tristan flinch. The woman spun back and snatched Helena’s arm, dragging her closer. “You don’t even know this boy. How could you be so stupid?”

“He’s a good person. He’s not going to hurt me.” Helena kept her voice even and sweet. Her milky white fingers rested on her mother’s cheek. “It’s okay. I’m safe. We’re safe.”

“He is not safe. I don’t know him and I want him out of this house!” She accompanied her shout with the point of a shaking finger, snapping her gaze to Tristan. “Get out! Get! Out!”

Tristan shuffled backwards and bumped into the doorframe.

“Mother, please.” Helena grasped the dragon’s arm, trying to stop her from going after Tristan.

She strained against her daughter and bellowed, “Leave!”

Helena lost the battle, her fingers slipping through the fabric of her mother’s blouse as the woman wrenched her arm free.

Tristan’s heart raced so hard and fast, he almost felt sick. His gaze shifted to Helena, who gave him a sad, desperate appeal. Her eyes shimmered with tears. The thought of leaving her with her psycho mother nearly killed him.

He stood tall and tried for another attempt at diplomacy.

“Please, ma’am, I don’t—”

The dragon’s steps were gunshots on the wood. “I will call the police. You’re trespassing. You were not invited into this house.”

“I invited him.” Helena’s shout was ignored.

“Leave now!”

“Please, Mrs. Thompson, I—”

“Out!” The wild-eyed woman snatched a book off the shelf and hurled it at Tristan. He raised his arm and batted it away, but had no choice but to bolt when she collected an armful and turned them into cannonballs.

Helena screamed, “Mother, no!” as he raced down the stairs, nearly slipping on the narrow wooden steps. They creaked and groaned beneath him, but the sounds were drowned out by the thump of ominous feet crashing behind him. A book crashed into the wall by his head before flopping to the ground and tumbling down the staircase. He jumped over it, nearly tripping on another book that shot past his ankles.

“Mother, please, stop!” Helena cried again.

Tristan lost his footing and stumbled out of the stairwell, landing in the corridor with a thud.

“Get out!” the dragon raged, her voice taking on a feral quality that was terrifying.

He scrambled up, ducking his shoulder to avoid another book, and took off down the next staircase. He scanned the house, searching for a quick exit. It was like running through a museum—shiny wooden floors covered with Persian rugs and antique furniture. Every picture frame was intricately carved, and every bookcase and piece of furniture looked as though it belonged in Cinderella’s castle.

Reaching the bottom stair, Tristan stumbled into a formal-looking parlor. A large harp rested next to an old-fashioned piano, a plush velvet footstool beside it. Shelves lined with hard-covered books and porcelain statuettes covered two of the walls, and above the fireplace rested a cased sword with an elaborately carved handle.

Tristan’s lips parted in confusion as he took in the out-of-era surroundings. Helena was living in a madhouse.

Helena.

He glanced over his shoulder, hating the idea of leaving her. But he wasn’t about to get bashed in the head with a brick of paper either. He had no doubt the crazy woman would call the cops if she felt like it. He had been trespassing, in a sense. He’d climbed in through a window, after all.

Another book sailed past his head and crashed into the wall behind him, marking the floral print wallpaper.

“Mother!” Helena’s voice was high and pitchy—a desperate sound that tore at Tristan’s insides.

He stopped next to an antique-looking china cabinet and spun around to face the dragon, lifting his hands as two white flags.

“Please, I’m sorry I upset you.”

“Leave! Leave!” The woman’s face was deranged with fear and rage. Her pasty white chin trembled, her forehead creased into a vicious scowl. Eyes that he assumed were normally bright blue were two swirling dark masses that Tristan couldn’t breach. The woman was certifiably insane. He had no chance of winning any kind of battle.

“I’ll leave.” He backed toward the main entrance. “Please calm down and I’ll go. I just need to know that Helena will be safe.”

“She’s my daughter! I know what is safe for her. Her well-being is my only concern, which is why you must get out.”

“I’d never do anything to hurt her. You have to believe that.”

“OUT!” she screamed, hurling another book. He ducked and the book hit the picture behind him, splintering the glass.

He spun to look at the destruction, taking in the photo of a happy family with carefree smiles on their faces. They were dressed like characters from a fairytale. A handsome king held his queen close while his blonde princess rested her head on his shoulder, her tiara askew and her smile radiant.

“What have you done?” Helena’s mother sucked in a horrified gasp, stumbling to the photo and reaching out for it with shaking fingers. Her breaths were rapidly turning into sobs. “You evil, wretched creature!” She turned to Tristan, her words dripping with venom. “You stay away from my daughter. You stay away from this house. You hear me?”

“Mother, please don’t say that.” Helena had tears running down her face, stark trails of sadness that marred her porcelain complexion.

“You have one minute to get out.” The woman’s voice was low and husky.

“Please, it doesn’t have to be this way.” Helena’s tears spurred Tristan into one final attempt, but it was pointless.

The woman looked ready to rip his head off. With an irate huff, she stormed into the parlor and snatched her phone off the coffee table.

She pushed three digits—beep, beep, beep—then held the phone to her ear.

Tristan’s time was up.

“All right, all right. I’ll go.” He backed away, clipping his shoulder on the solid doorframe before turning and walking for the door.

Wrestling with the locks, he flung the door back and jumped onto the porch, scuttling down the steps and heading for the gate.

“Tristan!” Helena raced after him.

He spun on the path, ready to leap forward, catch her hand, and make a run for it. But she stumbled on the stairs, a little yelp popping out of her mouth as she rolled to the ground.

“Helena.” Tristan sprinted back, crouching down to help her stand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her voice was weak and she hissed when she stood, glancing at her grazed elbow.

“Helena!” The woman’s voice was near hysterical, desperate fear lacing each syllable as she stood on the porch. Her skin was stark white, her chest heaving. “Please!” she cried. “It’s not safe. It’s not safe.”

Helena’s shoulders slumped. Tristan gripped them, forcing her to face him properly.

“You don’t have to go.”

A deep sadness washed over her expression and she swallowed. “Listen to her, Tristan. I have to go.”

She shuffled out of his grasp, resting her hand on the banister and looking just a touch afraid. Her eyes darted around the unkempt yard and she blinked a few times before spinning and racing up the stairs.

Her mother’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and she pulled her inside. The door slammed shut and the bolts clicked—one, two, three.

Tristan stood by the stairs, straining to hear voices, but all he could make out were soft murmurs. Helena wasn’t being screamed at. She was safe inside her home once more and no doubt being fussed over by her psychotic mother.

It ripped his heart out to walk away.

Part of him wanted to call the police himself and have Helena rescued. Her mother obviously hadn’t gone through with the call.

But he’d seen the flash of fear on Helena’s face. He’d seen the inside of her fairytale house. Would she even be able to handle the real world? She’d be crucified at a normal high school, with her fancy way of talking and her theatrical ways.

With a heavy sigh, he shuffled out the thick gate and back to his house, shoving his hands into his pockets and trying not to remember the ecstasy of Helena’s kiss and the intoxicating power she had over him. He wasn’t welcome back in that home. He wasn’t willing to put Helena through that kind of distress again.

So, really, his only choice was to stay away.