Chapter 18
Harper
I wake up and for a moment, I don’t know which of my four men is holding me, Alaric, Lucien, Gareth, or Sevrin, but that’s not a problem, because I know it’s one of them. Which is an awesome feeling. I get to wake up every morning being held by four incredible men.
The cave is cool and dark, but my skin is prickling with lazy, satisfied energy.
I can tell by the weight and the arms that wrap around me that Gareth is my current pillow.
The boys have moved around since I feel asleep, each of them trying to take their turn to get close to me.
Alaric sprawls at our feet, one tanned arm thrown over his eyes.
Lucien’s silhouette is curled on his side, back to us as he lays beside Gareth, blond hair streaming down his shoulder.
But behind me? There’s no one.
There’s a gap in the warmth that surrounds me.
A human-sized hole where my fourth husband should be sleeping.
I sit up, careful not to wake the others and step out of the cave and into the early morning life.
The sound of the ocean is everywhere. The whole Island of Dragons is alive, the air humming with insects and distant, melodious roars.
The sky’s gone from indigo to pearl while we were sleeping, and a dull pink line paints the horizon.
The wind tastes metallic and honeyed all at once, like it’s been filtered through the wings of a thousand dragons.
Glancing around, I stretch out my senses and have a deep feeling that Sevrin is to my left, so I start walking that way.
The night has left dew on every leaf, and as I walk, the ground practically glitters under my toes.
The field is a mess of color: bulbous flowers in every shape, stalks fat with nectar.
The trees are taller than any castle, and each is wrapped in dangling vines that catch the rising light and shimmer like glass.
I stop to watch a pair of hatchlings, one orange, one a sickly mint color, pounce on each other on the far side of the clearing.
This place is like a dream.
I wonder if there are any plants here that would be good for healing. Probably more than I can count.
I spot Sevrin from a great distance. Not because he’s doing anything showy, but because he’s the only person on the entire island who's cloaked in black. Also, the only person awake period. His silhouette stands out on the hill above the cave, and for a moment I just watch him, breath held, as he stands with his hands in his pockets and his head tilted back. Even with his face in profile, I can tell he’s awake in that way only he can be: absolutely still, and yet more alive than anyone.
But as I come closer and the lower side of the hill comes into sight, I see what’s in front of him, and my heart skips a beat.
A dragon, the shade of rose quartz. Her scales shimmer in the dawn’s early light, each one edged in a deep pink shade.
She’s enormous, but delicate. Her wings are folded tight, her tail coiled in a figure eight, and her snout is lowered so her head is level with Sevrin’s.
Her eyes are a swirling, bottomless pink, shot through with pale yellow.
She is, in a word, gorgeous. And she is letting Sevrin pet her nose.
I don’t move for a second. This is not how dragons behave.
They don’t like strangers, especially not men who look like a Hollowborn.
Even the friendliest wild dragons stay twenty paces away unless they’ve decided you’re worth knowing.
But this one is nuzzling him, her eyes half-lidded, a soft thrumming in her chest I can hear from here.
I keep my steps light as I approach. At the last second, she raises her head, and for a terrifying moment I think she might flame me, but instead she blinks and lets out a long, soft croon. Sevrin doesn’t turn around, but I see the edge of his smile.
“I think she likes me,” he says, low and dry.
“Apparently.” My hands go to my hips before I can stop them. “How?”
He shrugs, but there’s something reverent in the way he moves. “I didn’t do anything. She just walked up and sat down.”
“You’re petting her.”
“Yeah.” He finally glances at me, his eyes alive and sharp, and a little wild. “I figured she’d bite my arm off, but she just leaned into it.”
“She’s not supposed to let anyone touch her,” I say, feeling dumber with every word. “Especially not…” I trail off, catching myself.
“Not what?” he prompts.
“Not a Hollowborn.” I don’t like saying it, but the fact hangs there between us. This is new. New and maybe a little scary.
He runs his hand along the dragon’s nose ridge, and she hums, arching into the contact. “Well, she doesn’t seem to mind.” His mouth twists. “Maybe she knows what it’s like to be an outcast.”
This is all strange, but it’s also wonderful. I need to remember that.
I step closer, sliding my arm around his waist. “She’s beautiful,” I whisper.
He makes a noise. “She says the same about you.”
I blink. “What?”
He looks down, embarrassed for a second, which is hilarious coming from a man who’s seen me naked. “She talks. To me. In here.” He taps his head. “Like Ebron talks to you.”
“Sevrin…” I stare at him, at the dragon, at the space between them. “That’s not possible. You’re not—”
“A rider?” He grins, showing too many teeth. “I know. It doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say, my brain not quite being able to put this all together.
“Her name’s Rosanthra,” Sevrin says, as if he’s reading my mind. “She says she’s never met a human who smelled like iron and sea salt before.”
“She’s never met a Hollowborn before,” I correct, a little awed. “Rosanthra. That’s… that’s a pretty name.”
Dragons don’t talk to humans that aren’t their riders. Dragons don’t let random humans touch them, or know their name. What the hell is going on?
Sevrin’s hand is shaking a little, but he doesn’t stop petting her. “She says she feels connected to me.”
“Connected how?”
He turns to face me, his eyes intense and raw.
“She says she belongs with us. With me.” He lowers his voice, soft and secret, as if afraid to admit it even to himself.
“She says she’s never wanted to bond before.
Not with any other rider. Not with any male dragon.
But… she likes the way I think. The way I feel in her mind. ”
Rosanthra hums, and I realize she’s been listening the whole time. Her eyes lock with mine, and for a moment I feel her inside my head, curious, gentle. Then she pulls back and nuzzles Sevrin, careful as a cat.
“How do you feel about this?” I ask. My hand finds his, squeezing it.
He takes a deep breath, chest swelling with it.
“I never thought I’d get to have this.” His voice is barely audible.
“All my life, I thought dragons were only for your people. I mean, a Hollowborn has never, ever, in all of history been a rider before, but,” his laugh is full of disbelief, “she says I’m her rider, so I must be. ”
I stop for a second. Why isn’t it possible? He’s a man, just like any other. I just never expected him to be a rider.
“You deserve it.” I lean my head on his shoulder, letting the silence settle. The dragon wraps her tail around us, not quite touching, but close.
For a while, we just stand there, soaking up the morning sun, the wind full of salt and flowers. It’s almost too much, but not quite. Sevrin’s shoulders relax, bit by bit, and he reaches back to tug me close. I can feel the tremor in him, the battle between wonder and disbelief.
“Do you think the others will freak out?” he asks, voice low.
“Of course they will.” I smile. “But they’ll get used to it.”
He looks at me, and I see no walls. “I’m glad it’s you,” he says. “If I have to share a bed, a dragon, a life… I’m glad it’s with you. My mate.”
That sweet ache starts in my chest again. “I love you too, Sevrin.”
Rosanthra bumps her head against his back, nearly knocking us off the hill. He laughs, and the sound is brighter than the sunrise. He holds me even closer, and we watch the world get lighter, together until we know we should head back.
We take the hill’s slope at a shambling half-walk, half-slide.
Sevrin’s in no hurry to leave his new dragon…
his dragon. I still can’t believe it. But the way Rosanthra paces him, tail flicking and head bent like an overgrown puppy, is all the proof anyone would need.
She doesn’t want to let him out of her sight.
When we get closer to the cave, I notice the others aren’t inside, but outside in the meadow, a blur of color and movement in the early morning light.
Sylvara gleams silver in the sun, wings outstretched and shadow crisp against the blue grass.
Verdraxa rolls in a patch of flowers, crushing them into spicy-smelling mulch.
Nythera is perched on a boulder, looking like a snooty queen on a throne.
All three look up in unison when they see Rosanthra.
The reaction is immediate. Sylvara hisses, bristling, while Verdraxa freezes and Nythera narrows her eyes, tail snapping. The dragons’ wariness is almost funny, but I know it’s not. These three are bonded through Ebron, and they guard their family with a jealousy that borders on feral.
Lucien, Alaric, and Gareth are standing nearby, watching their dragons try not to get in a fight.
Alaric is watching the whole interaction suspiciously, but seems to push it aside as he looks at me. “You’re up early.”
“I was looking for Sevrin.”
“Why were you up?” Lucien asks, glancing at Sevrin.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Sevrin says, then gestures to Rosanthra. “This is Rosanthra. She… followed me home.”
Rosanthra ignores the lack of a welcome and heads straight for the cluster of dragons, fearless.
The moment Rosanthra steps into the ring, the mood shifts.
Sylvara puffs herself up to twice her normal size.
Verdraxa plants herself between Rosanthra and Nythera, daring her to come closer. Nythera actually bares her teeth.
I shoot a look at the guys. “Is this going to be a problem?”
“Not unless she wants it to be,” says Gareth, not sounding worried. “They’re mostly posturing.”
Sevrin grins, the kind of sharp, wild grin that makes me think he enjoys this more than he lets on. “I think Rosanthra can handle herself.”
He’s not wrong. She stops three paces away, lowers her head, and lets out a trill so sweet it makes the air shimmer. Sylvara relaxes first, her hackles flattening. Verdraxa cocks her head, uncertain. Nythera just blinks, slow and deliberate, as if calculating whether Rosanthra is worth the effort.
Suddenly, Ebron comes crashing down on the field. All four of the dragons look in his direction. He cocks his head and heads for the new dragon. His mates growl, low in their throat, but Ebron jerks his head, clearly saying something that calms them.
Ebron begins to circle Rosanthra, sniffing the pink dragon. To her credit, she circles along with him, watching as he walks around her. Both of them seem to be trying to figure something out before their noses touch and Ebron simply freezes.
His mates make another unhappy sound.
Ebron glances at me. Remember when I said I didn’t think my harem was complete? Well, it is now.
What are you saying? I ask, shocked.
Rosanthra is my last mate.
It’s weird. I shouldn’t be surprised. Ebron told me that his harem wasn’t complete. He made it clear that he would have more mates, and based on how that works, those mates would be my partners. This just makes sense. And yet, it’s completely crazy at the same time.
“What the hell is happening?” Gareth asks.
I can’t help the happiness that fills my voice. “You won’t believe it.”
“Just tell us,” Lucien says.
“It’s impossible. Well, not impossible, improbable.”
Alaric sighs. “Just tell us this improbable thing.”
Ebron begins to lead Rosanthra toward his mates, and it’s clear there’s a deep conversation taking place. The three females begin to circle the new one, and I wonder what will happen if they don’t accept her. If they’re not happy about this new addition.
“Harper!” Gareth exclaims.
I refocus. “Rosanthra, this pink dragon, has chosen Sevrin as her rider.”
“Bullshit,” Lucien says, glancing at the Hollowborn.
“No, really,” I say, still not quite believing it myself.
“But–” Alaric seems to be choosing his words with care. “He’s a Hollowborn…”
“I don’t think Rosanthra cares very much about that,” I tell them.
There’s a long moment of silence before Lucien says, “Okay, well, that’s happening then.”
“Yeah,” Gareth manages.
“A Hollowborn with a dragon. The first one in history.” Alaric keeps shaking his head, like he’s fighting with himself.
“And Rosanthra is Ebron’s last mate,” I add.
“What? But he’s a Hollowborn. A Hollowborn has never been a rider before. Only the Dravari can make that connection with a dragon. At least, that’s what history tells us,” Alaric says, shocked.
“I know,” I whisper, staring at the four dragons as they move about each other, sniffing and making strange noises.
“This is a lot to process,” Alaric says, sitting down. “No one is going to believe this.”
“I hardly believe it myself,” Sevrin says, but he still sounds shocked.
My stomach grumbles.
Gareth glances at me. “We need to focus on why we’re here. To recover before our next stop.”
Sevrin grimaces. “Gore Rock?”
Lucien grins, white teeth flashing. “Don’t worry. We won’t let them kill you and put your head on a pike.”
“Very reassuring,” Sevrin jokes, but his expression is serious.
I glance at the field of dragons, now a harmonious group of five, and raise my eyebrows. “You think Rosanthra can keep up?”
“She’ll be fine. I think,” Sevrin says.
Alaric goes over the plan again. “We’ll leave tomorrow at first light. Today we rest, eat, and prep the dragons for a long flight.”
“And hope that Gore Rock is more welcoming than it's been to me in the past,” Sevrin offers, looking uncertain.
The words settle around us like an omen.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of dragons in the field, wings moving and tails slapping, and the wind in the grass.
I breathe in, let the scent of new leaves and salt air fill my lungs, and realize that I’m nervous.
Not just about Gore Rock, but about going to Sevrin’s lands.
Not that I can do anything about that now.
We walk back to the camp together, five people entangled together, and the whole world ahead of us. A world of possibilities. Of peace. Or war. Depending on how all of this goes.
And somewhere in the distance, Gore Rock waits.