Chapter 8
EIGHT
T he words hit uncomfortably close to home. Sabine stared at her plate, remembering the flash of vulnerability she’d glimpsed in those golden eyes when Eiji mentioned his past. Eight hundred years was such a long time to carry heartbreak.
“Earth to Sabine.” Lane waved a bread roll in front of her face. “See? There’s that expression again. The one she gets whenever someone mentions you-know-who.”
“I do not have a special expression.”
“You absolutely do,” Clover chimed in. “It’s the same one you had when he agreed to coffee tomorrow.”
Wine burned Sabine’s throat as she choked mid-sip. “How did you?—”
“Ylan was coming out of Witch’s Brew and saw you two talking about it. She texted everyone.” Lane brandished his phone triumphantly. “I believe her exact words were ‘Alert the media, our girl finally asked out Mr. Tall, Dark, and Emotionally Unavailable.’“
“I’m getting new friends.” Sabine dropped her head into her hands. “And a new family. And possibly moving to Antarctica.”
“Good luck finding a date there,” Lane quipped. “Though knowing you, you’d probably attract the one brooding dragon on the entire continent.”
After dinner, Sabine escaped to the sanctuary of her mother’s garden. The evening air carried hints of approaching autumn, rustling through wind chimes that tinkled with soft magic. She settled onto the porch swing, trying not to think about ancient pain in golden eyes.
Soft footsteps announced her grandmother’s approach. Ilaria sank onto the swing beside her, silver hair gleaming in the starlight.
“Want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” But Sabine’s voice lacked conviction.
“No?” Ilaria’s tone held years of gentle wisdom. “Then why are you out here instead of inside, plotting revenge on your cousin with Clover?”
Sabine traced the familiar pattern of her birthmark through her sweater. “Did you know he lost his mate eight hundred years ago?”
“Ah.” Understanding filled her grandmother’s voice. “And that knowledge hurts you.”
“It shouldn’t. I’ve met him three times. I barely know him.” Sabine kicked the swing gently, watching shadows dance across the garden. “And even if my tigress is right—even if we are mates—how can I compete with eight centuries of grief? He’s so... closed off. Cold. The last thing I need is to be mated to someone who can’t or won’t open his heart.”
“Is that really what worries you?” Ilaria’s knowing gaze saw too much. “Or are you more concerned about how deeply you already care? How much you want to help heal that pain, even if he never offers anything in return?”
Sabine’s chest tightened. “I hate that you know me so well.”
“Sweetheart.” Ilaria wrapped an arm around her shoulders, the scent of bread and magic enveloping Sabine in childhood comfort. “You’ve always had such a generous heart. Even as a little girl, you brought home every stray cat, tried to fix every broken toy. It’s not weakness to want to help someone heal.”
“But what if he doesn’t want to heal? What if he’s happier alone with his grief?” Sabine’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What if I’m not enough to make up for what he lost?”
“Oh, my darling girl.” Ilaria pressed a kiss to her temple. “That’s not how love works. You don’t have to be ‘enough’ to replace what was lost. You’re enough as you are. Being you might be exactly what that lonely dragon needs, whether he knows it yet or not.”
“I’m not in love with him,” Sabine protested weakly. “I don’t even know him.”
“No?” Her grandmother’s smile held centuries of feminine wisdom. “Then why are you already planning ways to help him heal, even if he never loves you back?”
The question hung in the star-scattered night. Sabine’s tigress purred, agreeing with Ilaria’s assessment even as Sabine’s human heart tried to deny it.
“This is crazy,” she whispered.
Ilaria’s laugh floated on the evening breeze. “Sometimes crazy can lead you to find your happiness.”
Sabine leaned into her grandmother’s embrace, watching the moon rise over Mystic Hollow. Her tigress stretched contentedly, already planning ways to make their dragon smile—even if he never became truly theirs.
She was so busy arguing with her inner cat about appropriate ways to cheer up ancient dragons that she almost missed her grandmother’s quiet words.
“Sometimes the hearts that guard themselves most fiercely are the ones most worth the effort to reach. Just... be patient with him, darling. And with yourself.”
Stars winked overhead as Sabine considered this, wondering when exactly she’d stopped fighting the idea of him being “their” dragon.
Probably around the same time she’d started plotting how to smuggle stress-relief muffins into his next investigation.
Her tigress approved thoroughly of this plan.