Chapter 3 Aisling #3
“Don’t sound so surprised. I do occasionally have good ideas.
” He drops into the chair Selene vacated, sprawling across it like he owns the space.
“Auren’s been collecting them for centuries.
Says understanding dragon biology helps with battle strategy.
I say it mostly helps with avoiding getting eaten. ”
“Has that been a concern?”
“Once or twice.” His grin doesn’t waver. “I’m fast.”
I should put the book down. Should dismiss him, return to my lists, maintain the careful distance I’ve built between myself and everyone in this fortress.
Instead, I sit across from him and keep reading.
He watches me. I feel his attention—not threatening, but present. Unavoidable.
“You’ve been outside my door for days,” I say without looking up. “Don’t deny it. I can hear you pacing.”
“I pace. It’s a character flaw.”
“You also haven’t been sleeping.” I glance at him now—at the shadows under his eyes, darker than they were that first night. “The exhaustion is starting to show.”
“Didn’t know you were paying attention.”
“I’m a doctor. Observation is automatic.” I return to the book. “You should rest. Whatever self-appointed guard duty you’re performing isn’t sustainable.”
“Neither is reorganizing medical supplies at three in the morning, but here we are.”
The retort catches me off guard. I look up again, and he’s watching me with something sharper than his usual grin.
“You heard that?”
“Heard you moving around. Didn’t want to interrupt.” He shrugs. “Figured if organizing supplies at three was helping, who was I to stop you?”
The consideration is unexpected. Uncomfortable. I don’t know what to do with a man who crashes through doors but respects the sounds of someone coping at three in the morning.
“Why do you care?” The question emerges before I can stop it. “You don’t know me. I’ve been cold and dismissive for days. Why are you still here?”
His grin fades. Something more serious moves behind those bright eyes.
“Because I’ve been where you are.”
“Have you?”
“Different circumstances. Same result.” He leans forward, elbows on knees.
“Three hundred years ago, give or take. After my first real battle—not a skirmish, a real fight, with real casualties. I watched dragons die because I wasn’t fast enough.
Spent weeks afterward trying to control everything I could because the things that mattered were beyond my control. ”
I don’t respond. Don’t know how to respond.
“The lists help,” he continues. “The organizing. The systems. They help because they’re something you can fix when everything else is broken. But eventually, you run out of shelves to organize. And then all that shit you’ve been not feeling comes crashing down anyway.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“It’s supposed to be honest.” He holds my gaze. “You’re going to fall apart eventually. Everyone does. The only question is whether you do it alone or whether you let someone be there when it happens.”
“I don’t need—“
“Everyone needs, Aisling.” My name sounds different in his mouth. Not formal. Almost gentle. “Even stubborn veterinarians from Cork who think they can organize their way through trauma.”
The accuracy stings. I feel my walls rising, feel the cold defensiveness that’s kept me functional since the mountain.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you haven’t cried once since you woke up. I know you’ve been having nightmares every night but you haven’t told anyone. I know you’re holding yourself together with lists and schedules and the sheer Irish stubbornness that convinced you to become a vet when your parents wanted a lawyer.”
I go still. “How do you know about my parents?”
“Selene mentioned it.” He doesn’t look apologetic. “She also mentioned they don’t know you’re alive.”
The words land like a blow. I feel my carefully constructed walls tremble.
“That’s not—“
“Your business? Maybe not.” He stands, and suddenly he’s too close, taking up too much space, making it impossible to retreat into my comfortable distance.
“But I think you’re sitting in this room alone because it’s easier than facing what happened.
And I think you’re making lists about Valdris because analyzing the monster is less terrifying than admitting she terrified you. ”
“Stop.”
“I think you’re so focused on being useful that you haven’t let yourself feel anything about being hurt—“
“I said stop.”
The fire comes without warning.
Not the careful flicker I’ve been practicing—a surge of flame that erupts from my palms, racing up my arms, wreathing my body in golden light. I stumble back, horrified, but I can’t stop it. Three weeks of suppressed terror, three days of forced calm, all of it igniting at once.
Rurik doesn’t flinch.
He steps forward, into the flames, and catches my wrists.
His skin is hot—dragon-hot—and the fire doesn’t burn him. He holds me steady while I shake, while the flames roar higher and then slowly, slowly begin to recede.
“Breathe,” he says quietly. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
“Let go of me.”
“Not until you stop burning.”
“I can’t—“ My voice cracks. The flames surge again. “I can’t control it.”
“You don’t have to control it. You just have to let it pass.” His grip is firm but not painful. Grounding. “It’s not going to hurt me. And it’s not going to hurt you. Let it burn, Aisling. Let it out.”
I don’t have a choice. The fire has its own will now, fueled by everything I’ve been refusing to feel. It pours out of me in waves—grief and terror and rage, weeks of horror finding voice in flames.
Rurik holds on through all of it.
When it finally stops—when the last ember fades and I’m left shaking in his grip—the infirmary is untouched. The shelves are intact. My careful organization survives.
I don’t know how that’s possible. Don’t understand why my fire destroyed nothing.
“Dragon fire knows its target,” Rurik says, answering the question I didn’t ask. “Yours didn’t want to hurt the room. It wanted to be released.” He lets go of my wrists slowly, carefully. “Feel better?”
I should say no. Should maintain the walls, rebuild the distance, pretend this moment of weakness never happened.
But my body feels lighter than it has in a while. The constant pressure in my chest—the one I’ve been ignoring, organizing around, pretending doesn’t exist—has eased.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s fair.” He steps back, giving me space. “Take your time figuring it out.”
I expect him to leave. To make some joke, break the tension, return to the easy chaos that seems to be his default setting.
Instead, he sits down. Picks up one of the veterinary books. Starts reading—actually reading, book right-side up.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping you company.” He doesn’t look up. “You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to do anything. I’m just going to sit here and learn about dragon respiratory systems.”
“Why?”
“Because you shouldn’t be alone right now.” He turns a page. “And because I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re okay. So you might as well get used to me.”
Against every instinct, I feel my mouth curve. Not quite a smile. But the closest I’ve come since before the mountain.
I sink into the chair across from him. Pick up my own book. Let the silence stretch between us—not comfortable exactly, but not unbearable either.
He doesn’t push. Doesn’t demand conversation. Just sits there, turning pages, occasionally muttering about “fascinating scale patterns” in a tone that suggests he’s understanding about half of what he’s reading.
Eventually, without meaning to, I start explaining. The terminology he’s stumbling over. The anatomical differences between dragon and mammalian respiratory systems. The way scaled creatures regulate temperature differently.
He listens. Asks questions. Makes jokes that are terrible and somehow exactly right.
And somewhere between lung capacity and the proper treatment for scale rot, I realize I’m not thinking about the mountain anymore.
“Thank you,” I say finally. “For the books.”
“Thank Auren. He’s the one who collected them.” But his grin is warm. “Just try not to reorganize his library. He’ll actually murder you.”
“No promises.”
He laughs—bright and unguarded—and I feel something shift in my chest. Not trust, not yet. But the possibility of it. The first fragile thread.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, standing to leave.
“I might be busy. Selene thinks I should present my ideas to Auren.”
“Even better.” His eyes light up. “I’ll bring snacks. Watching Auren’s face when someone else is as smart is my favorite entertainment.”
“That’s cruel.”
“It’s hilarious. There’s a difference.”
He’s at the door before I can respond. Pauses on the threshold.
“Aisling.”
“Yes?”
“Valdris had you for three weeks. She used your blood. She spoke to you through her ritual.” His voice loses its lightness.
“But she didn’t break you. You’re sitting here making lists and plans and strategies to fight back.
That’s not nothing. That’s not weakness.
” He meets my gaze. “That’s someone who survived. ”
I don’t know what to say. Don’t know if I believe him.
“Goodnight, Rurik.”
“Goodnight, Aisling.”
The door closes quietly behind him.
I sit in the silence, surrounded by organized shelves and scattered books and the lingering warmth of flames that didn’t destroy anything.
Then I pick up my pen and return to my list.
Questions for Auren:
- Pattern analysis of Fire-Bringer disappearances
- Current status of all four Relics
- Known rogue strongholds and leadership structure
- Methods for severing Valdris’s blood-claim
The fire in my blood settles. Steadies.
Tomorrow, I’ll present my ideas. Tomorrow, I’ll start being useful.
But tonight, for the first time since the mountain, I sleep without nightmares.