Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
AERO
Cassia’s cottage perched on the bluff above the harbor, a weathered Victorian painted the gray-blue of gathering storm clouds.
The white trim was salt-stained from decades of coastal weather.
Wind chimes made of sea glass and driftwood hung from the wraparound porch, singing softly in the pre-dawn breeze—a melody that seemed to shift with the wind, almost sentient.
Aero stood at the bottom of the steps and tried to remember how to breathe.
His dragon coiled with restless energy. Go. Make her understand.
He climbed the steps. Raised his hand to knock.
Hesitated.
What was he supposed to say? He’d rehearsed a dozen openings on the walk over, and each one sounded more ridiculous than the last.
No. He would stick to the investigation. Professional. Controlled. He could discuss data without—
The door opened.
Cassia stood in the doorway, clearly just woken. Her dark curls were a tangled mess around her face. Her eyes were half-lidded with sleep, gray-green in the dim light. She wore a thin silk robe in ocean blue, loosely belted, revealing the column of her throat and a slice of collarbone beneath.
Aero’s brain stopped working.
His dragon, however, did not.
The beast drove toward the surface with enough force to make his vision flicker. Scales threatened beneath his skin. Heat blazed through his veins—dragon fire rising, barely contained.
Cassia frowned at him, more alert now. “Aero? It’s not even six in the morning. Are you—” She paused, studying his face. “You look terrible. Have you slept at all?”
“No.” The word came out rough. Strangled. He was holding on to his control by a thread.
“Is something wrong? Did something happen? Another attack?”
“No. I—” He stopped. Started again. His carefully prepared openings had vanished, leaving only the raw, desperate truth. “I need to tell you something.”
Her frown deepened. “Okay. Do you want to come in, or—”
“My dragon believes you’re my mate.”
The words hung in the air between them. Blunt. Graceless. Eight hundred years of social interaction, and he’d delivered the most important revelation of his existence like a research abstract.
Cassia stared at him. “I—what?”
“I’ve never experienced this before.” He barreled forward, unable to stop now that he’d started.
“I assumed initially that I was ill. The surge affects magical cognition in some species—I’ve documented cases of temporary delusion, false recognition patterns, hormonal imbalances mimicking bond symptoms.”
“Aero—”
“But the symptoms have persisted beyond the expected timeline for surge-induced phenomena. And they’ve intensified rather than diminished with exposure.
” He was aware that he sounded clinical, detached, as if he were presenting findings to a council rather than confessing to the woman who’d turned his world upside down.
“The physiological responses are consistent with documented mate recognition across multiple shifter species. Elevated heart rate. Heightened sensory awareness. Inability to maintain emotional distance.”
“Aero—”
“My dragon has never claimed anyone. The statistical probability of this occurring now, with this particular individual, under these specific circumstances—” He forced himself to stop. Drew a breath. “I don’t know what to do with this information. But you deserve to know.”
Silence.
Cassia continued to stare at him. Her expression had shifted from confusion to something he couldn’t quite read. Her lips were pressed tight. Her shoulders trembled slightly.
Then she started laughing.
Not mocking. Not cruel. Genuine, incredulous laughter that shook her whole body and made her brace one hand against the doorframe for support.
Aero’s dragon growled in confusion. This was not the response he’d anticipated.
“That’s—” Cassia gasped between laughs. “That’s how you tell someone you might be cosmically bonded to them?” Another burst of laughter. “You’ve been alive for eight centuries and you still can’t figure out how to say ‘I like you’ without making it sound like a dissertation defense?”
Heat flooded his face. He didn’t blush—dragons didn’t blush—but the sensation was uncomfortably similar.
“I don’t know how else to—”
“You’re not easy at all, are you?”
“I’ve been told.” His voice came out stiff. Defensive.
“By whom?”
“Delos. Repeatedly. In increasingly creative terms.”
Her smile softened. She stepped out onto the porch, the sea glass chimes singing above her, and stopped barely a foot away. The proximity sent his dragon into a frenzy.
“Let me see if I understand.” She drew out the words.
“Your dragon has decided I’m your mate. You’ve never experienced this before.
You’ve spent three weeks trying to convince yourself it’s some kind of surge-induced hallucination.
And now you’ve shown up at my door at dawn to explain all of this using scientific terminology because you don’t have a framework for actual feelings. ”
“That is… an accurate summary.”
“And you don’t just like me.”
“No.” The word cracked on its way out. “I don’t just like you. That’s the problem. I don’t have a framework for this. I don’t have—”
Cassia’s eyes held his. Gray-green and steady. Storm clouds building toward something inevitable.
“What if I don’t want you to make it stop?”
His heart slammed against his ribs. “I don’t—I’m not sure what you’re—”
“You’re not the only one who’s been struggling.
” She stepped closer, and the electricity between them crackled—actual electricity, visible sparks arcing through the morning air.
“You think I haven’t noticed the way my magic responds to you?
The way I can’t think straight when you’re in the same room?
The way I’ve been dreaming about you every night since the cliff? ”
“You’ve been—”
“Every. Night.” Her voice dropped. Intimate. “So here’s the thing about frameworks, Aero. Sometimes they’re useful. And sometimes they keep you from feeling what’s right in front of you.”
“I don’t know how to feel this.” The admission ripped out of him, raw and exposed. “I don’t know how to—”
“Then stop trying to framework it.” Her hand came up, fingers brushing his jaw. The contact sent fire racing down his spine. “Just feel it.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Maybe I can show you.”
She kissed him.