Chapter 18 #2
“And you’ve been everywhere, haven’t you?” she asks, gaze wandering back to the windows, to the cityscape beyond. “And I’ve been nowhere.”
“Most places worth seeing,” Kelan answers. “And a few that aren’t.”
Darial leans back, thoughtful. “Florence, when artists still painted ceilings. Paris before electricity ruined the romance. Kyoto in spring.” He glances at her. “You’d like them all, I think. So much beauty to paint.”
Aura’s expression becomes dreamy and distant. She rests her chin on her hand, eyes misted with thought. “I’ve realized, you don’t even need to take a plane.”
“Neither do you,” I remind her.
She straightens. “So, we could go somewhere tonight?”
“Not tonight,” Kelan says. “But tomorrow, if you’d like?”
She nods eagerly, clasping her hands to her mouth. “Yes!”
“Well,” Darial says lightly, warmth flaring when she brushes his arm as she reaches for her glass. “We have a cabin in the mountains. There’s snow this time of year. The landscape is begging to be painted.”
Her breath catches. “But I haven’t painted in years,” she admits. “I don’t know if I remember how.”
“Some things don’t leave you,” Kelan says.
Her shoulders relax as she imagines it, and her fingers curl unconsciously, as if already holding a brush. The dragon inside me settles, satisfied that our mate is beginning to discover beauty in the world again.
“What do you think of the food?” I ask.
Aura indicates her clean plate with a tip of her hand. “I think you can tell. Your chefs are excellent, but I don’t exactly have a refined palate.”
“Are you ready for dessert?”
“Oh, yes,” she says, licking her bottom lip. “Chocolate lava cake with ice cream.”
“My favorite,” I say. “At least, it is when I’m in human form. When I’m a dragon, whole, raw bison is what hits the spot.”
She scrunches her nose in disgust. “And you kiss me with that mouth?”
Laughter bursts out of me, drawing the attention of other diners. I lean in closely, my eyes darkening.
“I’ll kiss you all over with this mouth. As soon as you’re done with your dessert.” I run my hand over her silk-covered thigh. “You’ll be my dessert.”
She gasps as I cup my hand between her legs. “This is sweeter than any cake, and more delicious than any flavor of ice cream.”
“Ronyn,” Kelan warns, his eyes slitting in arousal.
“Careful,” Darial says, putting his scaled-covered hands beneath the table to avoid attention.
“Let’s get it to go,” Aura says. “I want some dragon dessert of my own.”
Kelan exhales slowly through his nostrils, eyes flaring silver. “We should leave before I forget we’re in public.”
A sudden flash goes off from across the restaurant. Aura startles. Darial’s head snaps toward the edge of the restaurant. My instincts surge hot and immediate, my dragon pressing at the edges of my human form. Outside, a man lowers a camera as he backs away.
“Paparazzi,” Darial mutters.
Kelan is on his feet in a heartbeat, chair skidding. His expression goes cold in a terrifying, controlled way. Someone is about to regret their life choices.
“No,” Aura says quickly, catching his wrist. “Please. Not here.”
The photographer flashes another shot through the glass.
Kelan’s jaw tightens. For a moment, I think he’ll shift right there between the linen tablecloths and wine glasses.
Then he forces himself still.
“Chocolate lava cake with ice cream, to go,” he says tightly to the waiter hovering nearby. “We’re leaving.”
***
Outside, the air is sharp and cool. The photographer has disappeared, but Aura huddles between us, fearful of what it might mean to have her photograph printed, even with our protection. Will the bear and wolf shifters see the image? Will they come after her?
Kelan’s and Darial’s fury surges through the dragon bond, matching my own. Kelan’s instincts are already moving ahead, calculating threats, risks, and exposure.
We’re halfway down the sidewalk when the crawling awareness of magic stops me in my tracks.
Dragons.
Two dragon males in human form stand near the entrance to the underground parking, reclining casually against a black car as if they have nothing better to do. Well dressed. Still. Watching.
Kelan slows. So do we.
The first is tall, pale-haired, with eyes that catch the streetlight like polished metal. The second is broader, darker, bronze-toned, his gaze alert and assessing. Loriek and Tael, dragons from the last mated group.
Their attention isn’t on us. It’s on Aura. Specifically, the runes that glow faintly along her chest, where her coat has shifted.
Loriek’s nostrils flare slightly.
“Well,” he says, voice smooth. “That’s… unexpected.”
Kelan steps forward, placing himself subtly between them and Aura. “You’re far from your territory.”
A faint smile touches Tael’s mouth. “Home can be anywhere, can’t it, Kelan?”
Silence stretches, taut as drawn wire.
Their eyes flick again to Aura’s runes.
They know what she is. Her runes make it clear she’s mated to us all.
Darial shifts slightly closer to her other side, casual to anyone watching, but I’m aware of the readiness in his stance.
Loriek inclines his head. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
For a suspended moment, we look at one another, measuring and calculating.
Traffic hums past at the intersection. A police cruiser rolls slowly along the curb, its lights dark but its presence unmistakable.
The officer inside glances toward the cluster of well-dressed men standing too still on a public sidewalk.
Kelan growls in our minds.
Not here. Too many eyes. Too many fragile human structures surround us.
We pass them without another word.
Their attention is on Aura as we move, cool and assessing. But why should she matter to them? She is a human woman carrying mate bonds. That’s unusual, but there’s nothing special about her now that we’ve tethered her magic. And they are mated to Lythian.
Kelan says nothing more, but he vibrates with tension. We reach the car. The city noise dulls as the doors close, sealing us inside leather and quiet.
They’ve seen her, I growl.
They’re not our enemies, Darial reminds us. She is of no use to them without her magic.
***
By the time we return home, Aura’s studio is ready. Our assistant has filled it with canvas, paints, brushes, and an easel. The bed has been removed and replaced with a work bench to house her supplies, and a large sofa for her to relax on.
Aura freezes in the doorway. “Oh,” she breathes. We watch her step inside, eyes shining like a child on Christmas morning.
“This is dangerous,” she whispers.
I frown. “Why?”
“Because it makes me hope… it makes me want to believe that all this…” she waves her arms around the room, “and all of you could really be mine.”
I move behind her, resting my hands lightly on her hips. “Hope won’t hurt you here.”
She leans against me, and I kiss her sweet temple. But even as she smiles and thanks us, the echo of grief is obvious beneath the joy.
A lifetime doesn’t undo itself in a single night.
And I silently and fiercely swear that I will work hard to loosen the noose of hurt that encircles her.
She’s more than just our mate. She’s our future, and all our happiness depends on her.