Chapter 4
FOUR
AERO
The morning passed in a haze of data collection and barely suppressed tension.
Cassia Gale was, Aero had to admit, brilliant.
Frustrating and emotional and entirely too dramatic, but brilliant.
Her intuitive understanding of atmospheric magic exceeded anything in his research databases.
She didn’t just read the weather, she felt it, her body responding to pressure changes and humidity shifts before any instrument could register them.
She was also completely incapable of following instructions.
“Your methodology is flawed,” she announced, two hours into their work.
Aero looked up from the sensor he was calibrating. “Excuse me?”
“You’re treating the surge as a constant variable.
It’s not.” She was pacing, her boots clicking against the stone floor, her hands moving as she talked.
The woman couldn’t stand still. “It fluctuates based on emotional intensity in the area. More mate bonds forming means more ambient energy. You can’t measure it in isolation. ”
“I’ve documented surge patterns across forty-three different communities. I’m aware of the variability.”
“Then why aren’t you accounting for it in your baseline measurements?”
Because he hadn’t expected Haven Shores to be different. Because the data from other sites had been consistent enough to establish a standard protocol. Because he’d been doing this for a long time and hadn’t needed a storm witch to tell him how to do his job.
He didn’t say any of that. “What do you suggest?”
Her eyebrows rose. She’d expected an argument. He could see it in the tension of her shoulders, the way her hands had curled into loose fists at her sides.
“I…” She faltered, then rallied. “We need to map the emotional energy patterns alongside the atmospheric readings. Cross-reference them with the ward anchor outputs. The surge isn’t just affecting the weather—it’s affecting everything, and the weather is responding to that.”
It was a sound methodology. More nuanced than his current approach. He should have thought of it himself.
“All right.” He set down the sensor. “Show me how you’d set up the emotional mapping.”
She stared at him. “You’re agreeing with me?”
“You made a valid point. I adjust my methods when presented with better data.” He allowed himself a slight tilt of his head. “Did you expect me to argue purely for the sake of ego?”
“I expected you to be like every other ancient supernatural male I’ve dealt with. Convinced you know everything because you’ve been alive since dirt was invented.”
“Dirt predates me by several billion years.”
Her mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “My mistake.”
They worked in something approaching a truce for the next hour.
Cassia’s approach to magical measurement was unorthodox—half intuition, half improvisation—but her results were undeniable.
When she placed her hands on the ward anchor interface, the readings stabilized in ways his instruments alone couldn’t achieve.
She was a natural conduit. Her body processed atmospheric energy the way his processed fire and lightning.
The trouble came when they had to work in close proximity.
“Hold this.” Cassia thrust a sensor array into his hands and leaned past him to adjust a dial on the main console. Her shoulder brushed his chest. Her scent enveloped him.
He clamped down on it. Hard. The effort made his jaw ache.
Cassia jerked back, eyes wide. “Was that—”
“Static buildup.” The lie was smooth, practiced. “Common in high-energy environments.”
“That wasn’t static.” She studied him, those sea-shifting eyes seeing too much. “Your eyes just flashed. Actual lightning, not a reflection.”
“A dragon trait. It happens occasionally.”
“Does it happen when all dragons touch storm witches, or just you?”
He didn’t have an answer for that. Couldn’t formulate one, because the truth was caught in his throat and his dragon was howling for release and every cell in his body wanted to close the distance between them and—
“We should break for lunch,” he said.
Cassia’s expression flickered. Frustration. Curiosity. Something else he couldn’t name, but that made his pulse spike.
“Running away, Elder Tau?”
“Maintaining proper research protocols. Even you must eat.”
She snorted—an inelegant sound that shouldn’t have been attractive and absolutely was. “Fine. There’s a café on the main dock. Try not to terrorize the locals while I’m getting sandwiches.”
She was gone before he could respond, the door swinging shut behind her with a force that rattled the windows.
That wasn’t good. That was the opposite of good. That was a complication he didn’t need and couldn’t afford and absolutely refused to acknowledge.
He set down the sensor array with careful precision and crossed to the window. The harbor stretched below, fishing boats and pleasure craft dotting the water. The sky was clear—genuinely clear, not Cassia’s emotional weather—and the sun glinted off the waves.
It had been easier that way. Safer. After his parents—
He cut the thought off. That way lay pain he’d locked away long ago, and he wasn’t about to unlock it now.
He pulled out his notebook and began documenting the morning’s anomalies. His handwriting was precise, each letter formed with the same control he applied to everything else in his life.
Day 4 — Haven Shores. Subject C.G. demonstrates unprecedented magical resonance with standard survey equipment. Personal physiological response continues. Cause: unknown. Hypothesis: surge-related cognitive interference affecting dragon perception.
He stared at the words. They looked reasonable. Scientific. Completely inadequate to describe what was actually happening.
Aero closed the notebook and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
He was not having a conversation with his own beast about mate recognition. He was not contemplating the possibility that after all this time, his dragon had suddenly, inexplicably, decided to claim a mortal witch with unstable magic and a sharp tongue and eyes that—
No. Absolutely not.
He was ill. That was the only logical explanation. Some surge effect that hadn’t been documented yet. He would study it, quantify it, and cure it.
He was a researcher. That was what researchers did.