Chapter 18
RONYN
Aura is glowing in a way that is more than magic.
The light catches in her hair now that it’s clean and brushed, a mixture of chocolate, red, and gold that’s rich and glossy instead of survival-dull, or how her skin has color again, warmth returned where hunger once hollowed her out.
Her glow thrums beneath her flesh, braided through her like an internal sun.
She moves through the penthouse like she’s testing gravity, half-assuming it will fail her. She’s anticipating the worst under the cover of appreciating everything that’s good around her.
I lean against the dressing room doorway and watch her lift a silk dress from its hanger, holding it up to herself with a little laugh of disbelief. The sound hits me square in the chest. She doesn’t laugh often, so when she does, it catches me off guard.
“Ronyn,” she says, glancing over her shoulder, eyes luminous. “This one has pockets.”
Kelan hums his approval, arms folded as he observes her like a strategist assessing his most complex project. The alpha in him is pleased. The dragon in him is hoarding every second.
Aura disappears back into the dressing room and re-emerges moments later, the dress skimming her body like it was made for her. My dragon stirs, scales itching below my skin. Possessive. Proud. Desperate to claim her again.
“Turn around,” Darial says, already grinning.
She does, hands clasped behind her back. “Well?”
The dress rests low in the back, revealing all our swirling runes marked into her skin.
I push off the wall and cross the room before I can stop myself. When I stand in front of her, Aura tilts her head up, watching my face with that quiet attentiveness she has when she’s gauging the truth.
“This dress was made for you,” I say. “It is perfection, and still, you're worthy of more.
She smiles, turning to stare at herself in the mirror.
I wish I knew what she was thinking. Is she happy with the changes to her life, or is it strange to see herself wearing clothes and marks that are new and unfamiliar?
Her smile falters, but I don’t think it’s the dress or the way she looks.
She has many lingering traumas I wish I could erase.
They coalesce into a despair that rests behind the mask of her happiness.
It’s faint, and Kelan and Darial don’t seem to have noticed, but I feel it like a hairline fracture.
***
The rest of the afternoon passes in a strange blur as we learn more about each other.
She is our mate, and our love and devotion to her is without question, but discovering her habits and mannerisms is fascinating.
She explores the apartment, marvels at the view, and tries on shoes she doesn’t quite know how to walk in yet.
She lets Darial tease her into smiling, and Kelan explains our business and our homes, encouraging her to become rooted in a life she never imagined she’d be part of.
She opens the fridge and stares at the food, shaking her head.
Then she decides she wants to make pancakes with blueberries and strips of streaky bacon.
She eats with appetite and delight, her lips sticky with maple syrup and fingers greasy with bacon. Then, when her plate is empty, she lets me refill it.
She needs all the nutrition she can get.
She jokes about learning how to “be fancy,” but every now and then, when she thinks no one is looking, her hand drifts to her throat.
Or she stills, her eyes going distant, like her mind has slipped backward into darker woods.
Trauma doesn’t vanish when safety surrounds you.
It waits in the shadows, whispering for you to remember that fear is your only protection.
I catch Kelan’s eye across the room and incline my head slightly. He follows my gaze to Aura, who is currently perched on a stool, reading a book she’s taken from the shelf.
“She’s trying,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I reply. “That’s what worries me.”
Darial joins us, expression uncharacteristically subdued. “We can’t keep her wrapped in velvet and hope the past forgets her.”
“No,” Kelan agrees. “But we can show her more of what her future looks like.”
That’s when it clicks.
“We can’t keep her here… we can’t be like her wolf captor or the group home she was forced to live in.” I glance back at Aura. “Let’s take her out. Show her the world at her fingertips.”
Darial’s grin returns instantly. “Oh, I like the way you think.”
Kelan raises a brow. “Where?”
“One of our restaurants,” I say. “Somewhere we’re confident will treat her like royalty.”
Aura blinks when we tell her.
“A restaurant?” she repeats. “Like… in public?”
“Yes,” Kelan says calmly. “You will be safe with us.”
“I wouldn’t know what to wear,” she says, her hand fussing with her hair.
“The dress you tried on earlier,” I say.
“What are you going to wear?” she asks, glancing at our low-slung loose pants.
Darial smirks. “Afraid we’ll embarrass you?”
She snorts. “I’m afraid I’ll embarrass you.”
“Not possible,” Kelan says.
“Wait,” I say, already keen to dress in my finest fitted suit. I step closer and lift her chin gently, forcing her to meet my gaze. “You couldn’t embarrass us if you tried.”
She hesitates. Then nods.
In her dress, with a fur coat draped lightly over her shoulders and a blot of color across her lips, Aura looks like a dream.
Kelan insists she wears jewels. Nothing heavy or ostentatious, but enough to mark her as claimed.
With gold on her throat, fire opals at her ears, and a bracelet that glints every time she moves, she looks like the queen she is.
“You're ours,” Kelan says simply. “And the world will know how we cherish what’s ours.”
The dragon in me grows softly at that.
***
At the restaurant, heads turn, and conversations falter as we stride toward our reserved table.
Aura stiffens at first, fingers caressing my arm, but when I lean in and murmur, “Eyes on me,” she exhales, allowing me to lead her to the best table in the house.
My dragon responds to her proximity, scales stirring along my back, heat pooling low and dangerous.
I keep it leashed, but barely, struggling to avoid thinking about what it felt like to knot inside her and watch her drip my seed.
We dine slowly on rich food, drinking wine, and talking.
Aura listens attentively as we discuss business. Kelan explains how we have accumulated our wealth over the years, and I watch her absorb it all, eyes alert and mind quick.
Aura shrugs, but it isn’t indifferent. It’s the quiet bewilderment of someone who has never been allowed the luxury of choosing a passion or pursuing something simply because it brings her joy. It seems almost foreign to her, as though the option should belong to another kind of woman entirely.
“What are your interests?” I ask, encouraging her.
“I used to paint,” she says. “Before… everything. I liked it. It makes me feel peaceful. I could forget everything going on in my life and channel beauty.”
My chest constricts.
“We can make that happen,” I say immediately.
Before Aura has a chance to object, Kelan sends a message, and Darial raises a toast in approval. “Here's to new beginnings.”
Aura hesitates, then clinks her glass against his. “To… not being eaten by dragons.”
We all stare at her, taken by surprise, and then we break into laughter.
I arch a brow. “We only eat people on specific occasions when they have been very, very bad.”
“I seem to remember a woman at this table writhing and begging when she was getting eaten by a dragon,” Kelan says.
Aura snorts, her giggle breaking free before she can stop it, and heat ripples beneath my skin. My scales stir briefly along my forearm before I force them back. She doesn’t notice as she’s too busy grinning into her drink.
Kelan’s gaze follows her with pride as she sets her glass onto the table and smooths her hair.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” she says.
“Yeah?” Kelan leans forward, bracing his forearms on the table like he’s expecting to respond to something serious or challenging.
“Do you shed your skins like snakes and lizards?” Aura wrinkles her nose as though the idea would be gross.
We all burst out laughing, relieved at such an innocent question.
“When we’re growing,” Kelan explains. “But not anymore.”
“No danger of you waking up covered in a scaly blanket,” Ronyn laughs.
“That’s a relief,” she says. “But isn’t it weird to leave a chunk of yourself behind?”
“No weirder than losing a tooth,” I muse. “Or cutting a nail. It returns to the earth like everything else that’s dead or shed.”
She nods, contemplating.
Around us, couples chatter and groups laugh. Business is thriving, which is good to see.
“So,” Aura says after a moment, casting a glance around the restaurant, clearly trying to ground herself in something tangible. “How long have you been in the restaurant business?”
Darial doesn’t even blink. “Which time?”
She pauses. Slowly lowers her fork.
“What he means is ‘which century’,” I say, taking a bite of my perfectly cooked steak and chewing thoughtfully.
“We don’t need to work,” Kelan says. “We amassed our wealth years ago. We dabble to pass the time.”
Aura turns to him, eyes luminous. “Until what?”
“Until you,” he says, reaching across the table for her hand.
For a flash, his fingernails lengthen into claws as his dragon surges, then he pulls himself under control.
It’s hard being around our mate, scenting her sweet arousal in the air, and resisting the desire to claim her.
It’s hard to keep our dragons leashed when all they want is to be free with their mate.
“You say that, and it’s hard for me to comprehend what that’s been like. You’ve gone your whole lives knowing there was a female destined to be your mate, and I’ve spent my whole life believing there was no one out there for me.”
“I don’t know which is the greater madness,” Darial says.
She laughs again, soft, and sweet, the sound relaxing my shoulders.