Chapter 21 Mira
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Mira
Hudson was dead.
I’d known since that night, but between everything and the chaos that followed, I hadn’t had the space to actually absorb it until now.
I stood at the edge of the cliff and let that sentence exist in my head without flinching. Below, the river carved through the gorge in a rush of white water and dark stone.
Solomon stood two steps behind me. Close enough to catch me if the ground gave way. Far enough to let me have this.
“Here?” I asked without turning around.
“Further downstream.” A pause. “You won’t find anything.”
“I know.” My hands were buried in the pockets of my jacket. “I just needed to see it.”
He didn’t ask why and understood that some truths needed to be confirmed with your own eyes, even when your brain had already accepted them.
For two years, Hudson had been a threat in my life. I changed cities for him. Changed my hair, my entire identity. Built a bookshop in a town no one visited because invisibility was the only currency I had left, and even that hadn’t been enough.
He’d burned it all down. Literally.
The wind picked up off the water and whipped my hair across my face. Copper now, not the dark brown I’d been hiding behind for months. I tucked the strands behind my ear and watched the current below churn over itself, relentless, erasing.
“Do you think that makes me a bad person?” I asked.
Solomon’s boots shifted on the gravel behind me. “What?”
“That I’m relieved. That a man is dead and my first reaction is ‘finally.’“ I turned halfway, catching his profile against the tree line. “Normal people feel conflicted about death. I feel... lighter.”
His gaze held mine. Measured, steady, giving the question the weight it deserved before answering.
“You survived him,” he said. “Relief is not cruelty. It’s the absence of fear.”
Solomon may not speak much but he sure knows how to pick the right words when needed.
I turned back to the river. The gorge stretched below us and the water kept moving, indifferent to the violence that had touched its banks.
The strangest part was that I’d never actually been free before.
Not once in my entire life. I’d gone from abandoned orphan to foster care to Hudson’s apartment, surviving each transition by making myself smaller, quieter, less visible. The idea that there was no one left to run from, no locked door or violence around the corner...
My chest expanded.
So this was breathing without fear. Huh. No wonder people wrote songs about it.
“Solomon.”
“Hm.”
“Thank you. For bringing me here.”
He stepped forward until he stood beside me at the edge. His shoulder an inch from mine, the kind of presence that didn’t demand acknowledgment but anchored you anyway.
“You asked,” he said. As if that explained everything.
Maybe it did.
We stood there for another minute, watching the river eat the silence. Then I exhaled, my locked ribs finally unclenching.
“Okay.” I stepped back from the edge. “I’m done.”
Solomon turned without a word and led me back through the tree line toward the truck. By the time we pulled up to the cabin, the morning had softened into late gold and the smell of coffee drifted from the open kitchen window.
Percy met us at the door, a look on his face that was curiosity and poorly concealed concern, but he didn’t ask. Just squeezed my shoulder as I passed and went to help Solomon in the truck bed before they left me alone in the living room, going to their shift.
The craziest part, and I was aware of how insane this sounded, was that my biggest problem now was figuring out which of my three absurdly attractive supernatural boyfriends (sort of) to sleep with first.
My life had taken a turn I did not see coming. And honestly? It wasn’t a downgrade… I guess.
I pressed my face into my knees and laughed. The sound bounced off the cabin walls.
Okay. Here goes to my new chapter.
No more surviving. It’s time to actually live.
I stood, stretched, and followed the sound of aggressive squawking coming from the front porch.
Lucian was outside. The raven was on the railing.
They were having what could only be described as a standoff. The bird’s talons scratched against the wood in a rhythm that sounded taunting.
Lucian stood three feet away with his arms crossed, jaw tight, glaring at the bird.
You think you know someone until you find out that they are beefing with winged creatures.
“I already told you,” he said, his voice dropping. “If you come back again, I will pluck you bare and use your feathers for a pillow.”
The raven tilted its head. Blinked once. Then let out a screech that was unmistakably smug.
I leaned against the corner of the cabin and crossed my arms, biting my cheek to keep from grinning. “Are you losing an argument with a bird?”
His head turned. “It’s not a bird. It’s a messenger. And it won’t leave.”
“Because it’s waiting for a reply.”
“My reply involved dismemberment. It didn’t seem persuaded.”
The raven hopped sideways on the railing, talons clicking. Its amber eyes swiveled to me with an intelligence that was slightly unnerving. Then it dipped its head in what I could swear was a bow.
“Maybe you’re the problem.” I stepped onto the porch. “It likes me.”
“It likes everyone who isn’t the person it’s supposed to deliver messages to.” Lucian rubbed the bridge of his nose. “My mother sends them every few days. They get bolder each time.”
“What does she want?”
He exhaled through his nose. “The same thing she always wants. Updates, reminders about succession. Questions about when I plan to produce an heir.”
“An heir?”
“She’s been asking for centuries. I’ve been ignoring her.”
I sat down on the porch steps. The raven watched me with its head cocked, eyes pulsing. “Sounds rough. Being nagged by your mom for hundreds of years.”
“You have no idea.”
“I don’t. Because I never had one,” I said it without bitterness. “So forgive me if my sympathy for the immortal king whose biggest problem is a persistent mother and a sassy bird is somewhat limited.”
His jaw shifted. The irritation softened into an expression I’d seen more frequently over the past few weeks.
“I didn’t see it that way,” he said.
“No, I’m not holding it against you. It’s just funny.” I smiled at him. “You’re a spoiled only child, Lucian. Maybe that’s why the universe gave you Solomon and Percy.”
His mouth twitched. “Right. I’m definitely humbled. “
The raven launched itself off the railing with a cry that sounded offended. We watched it go. The morning settled around us, quiet except for the wind through the pines.
I picked at a splinter on the step. The silence between us was comfortable, but there were words sitting underneath it. Words I’d been carrying since that night in the forest, since our argument.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “About the fight. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Lucian turned. The morning light caught the planes of his face, his storm gray eyes finding mine.
“No.” His voice was careful. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have raised my voice or lost my temper.”
“It’s okay. I know I pushed your buttons.”
“Still. I could’ve been more understanding.”
“Let’s just agree that we could’ve both been more mature about it.”
His eyes held mine and I could see the gears turning behind them, deciding how much to reveal and how much to bury beneath composure.
“The council wants me to return.” Lucian’s voice was quieter now.
Not the king’s voice or the captain’s voice.
Just Lucian’s.
“My parents have been pressuring me through the ravens for months. An unmated king is a political liability. An absent, unmated king is a crisis.”
“And you’ve been ignoring them?”
“With great dedication.” His mouth slightly lifted. “I’ve threatened four separate ravens. The fifth one pecked me.”
“Good for the fifth one.”
He sat down on the step beside me, our shoulders almost touched. My body responded before my brain could intervene, a low pull in my chest that tugged toward him.
“They don’t know about you,” he said. “About the bond or any of this.”
“Why not?”
“Because telling them means opening a door I can’t close. A human mate is unusual for our kingdom. A human mate bonded to three alphas would cause a political upheaval.” He stared out at the tree line. “I’ve been protecting you from that. Or trying to.”
“By not telling your mom you have a complicated girlfriend? Classic avoidance.”
“I am not avoiding.”
“You threatened to eat a bird rather than reply to your mother.”
His jaw tightened around what might have been a smile. “I prefer the term ‘strategic postponement.’“
“And I prefer honesty.”
His gaze returned to mine. The humor faded, and underneath it was the rawness I’d glimpsed during our fight. The version of Lucian that existed beneath the walls and the titles.
I stood. Brushed off my jeans and held out my hand. “Come on. I’m hungry and I bet I can cook better than you.”
He looked at my hand and at me. Then he took it and stood. The contact sent warmth racing up my arm in a way that made my pulse kick.
“That’s a bold claim,” he said. His voice was lighter now, closer to teasing. “I’ve had centuries to perfect my technique.”
“And I’ve had years of poverty cooking. Trust me, necessity beats refinement.”
“We’ll see.”
Lucian walked toward the front door, one hand braced against the frame. Turned back to me with the morning light falling across his face, and he was smiling.
A real smile. Unguarded, warm, the kind that erased the severity from his features and made him look young. Made him look human.
“Come inside, Mira.”
The world tilted.
Three words. His hand on the doorframe, his body filling the entrance, that smile. Morning light on his face and the scent of pine. A certainty in his voice, as if he’d been waiting to say them.
I’d heard this before.
My body recognized this moment with a force that knocked the breath from my lungs.