Chapter 9
NINE
CASSIA
The night wound down in the easy rhythm of old friendship.
Dahlia talked about Paris—the residency, the opportunity, the terror of leaving Haven Shores for two months.
Cal had agreed to go with her, had chosen her dream over returning to his position in Seattle, and the wonder of that still showed in her face when she mentioned his name.
The bakery would be fine; Junie and the others would cover.
But Cassia could see the worry beneath the excitement, the fear of leaving during a time when so much was uncertain.
“The weather instability concerns me,” Dahlia admitted, fingers tracing the edge of her wine glass. “If something happens while we’re gone—”
“We’ll handle it,” Junie cut in firmly. “That’s what we do, Dahl. You’ve spent years taking care of everyone else. Let us take care of Haven Shores for two months while you eat French pastries and let your giant bear mate spoil you.”
“He’s not giant.”
“He literally turns into a bear. A very large bear. Giant is accurate.”
Dahlia’s smile was soft. “Fine. Giant. But mine.”
“That’s all that matters.” Avine raised her glass. “To Cal and Dahlia. May Paris be everything you’ve dreamed.”
They drank. Cassia watched her friends over the rim of her glass—Avine, content in her life with Theo; Junie, chaotically happy with Leo; Dahlia, finally learning to receive instead of just give.
Three women who’d found their matches. Three supernatural males who’d chosen them, claimed them, decided that loving them was worth whatever came next.
She was happy for them. She was. But watching their joy made something hollow open in her chest, a longing she’d spent years trying to suffocate.
Narla caught her expression—of course, she did; Narla caught everything—and drifted over while the others debated croissant flavors.
“You’re thinking loud thoughts,” the candle witch said quietly.
“I’m always thinking loud thoughts. It’s my natural state.”
“These ones are different.” Narla studied her with those dark, knowing eyes. “Lonelier. More afraid.”
Cassia didn’t have the energy to deflect. “Have you ever wanted something so badly that you convinced yourself you couldn’t have it? Just so it wouldn’t hurt as much when you didn’t get it?”
“Yes.” Narla’s voice was soft. “After my husband died, I spent years telling myself I’d had my chance at happiness. That wanting more was greedy. Foolish.” Her gaze drifted toward the window, toward the stars appearing in the darkening sky. “I was wrong. But it took a long time to realize it.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Watching Avine fall for Theo. Watching Junie and Leo crash into each other. Watching Dahlia finally let someone take care of her.” Narla turned back to Cassia. “Realizing that love isn’t a finite resource. That having it once doesn’t mean you’ve used up your allotment.”
“That’s not—” Cassia shook her head. “I haven’t had it once. I’ve never—no one’s ever—” She stopped, the words catching.
“Never chosen you,” Narla finished gently.
The accuracy of it stung. “I’m too much.
Everyone says so. Too loud, too intense, too—” She gestured at herself, at the air around her, at the clouds that were probably gathering outside in response to her mood.
“Too everything. Who wants that? Who wakes up one day and decides, yes, the woman who can’t control her own weather magic sounds like a fantastic partner? ”
“Maybe someone who breathes lightning.” Narla’s lips curved. “Someone whose own power is just as volatile. Just as consuming.”
Cassia thought about the charge that built between her and Aero. The way his presence made her magic surge and settle in equal measure. The chaos of it and the strange, unexpected harmony underneath.
Avine’s expression softened. She reached out, taking Cassia’s hands again, pulling her attention into focus. “Can I ask you something?”
“You’re going to whether I say yes or no.”
“Probably.” Avine’s grip tightened. “What do you want, Cassia? Not what scares you. Not what you think you can’t have. Just… what do you actually want?”
The question hit her somewhere deep, in a place she’d walled off so long ago, she’d almost forgotten it existed. What did she want? She’d stopped asking herself that years ago. Wanting things just led to disappointment. Better not to want at all.
But here, in this room full of women who loved her despite her storms, something gave way.
“I want someone who doesn’t want me to be less.” The words came out rough, dug up from somewhere she didn’t usually access. “I want to be too much and have that be exactly right for someone. I want—” Her voice cracked. “I want to matter. Not despite my chaos, but because of it.”
Dahlia’s eyes were bright. Junie looked like she was contemplating violence against anyone who’d ever made Cassia feel otherwise. Even Gust, still perched on the curtain rod, had gone quiet, his small head tilted in attention.
Avine smiled, soft and knowing. “Then maybe you should stop convincing yourself you can’t have it. Maybe you should let yourself find out.”
“What if I find out that I’m right?” Cassia hated how small her voice sounded. “What if he doesn’t—what if I’m not—”
“What if you are?” Junie cut in. “What if you’re exactly what he needs, and you never find out because you were too scared to try?”
Cassia didn’t have an answer.
She didn’t know if there was one.
But later that night, walking home under a sky she’d managed—barely—to keep clear, Gust riding warm and solid on her shoulder, she thought about the charge that built between her and Aero.
About a dragon who’d existed for longer than memory and who now looked at her with something she couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore.
What did she want?
She wanted to stop being afraid.
She just didn’t know how.
Baby steps, Gust offered through their bond. Even storm petrels learn to fly in stages.
“Since when are you philosophical?”
Since you needed to hear it. He nuzzled against her neck. Still don’t like the dragon, though.
“Noted.”
He looks at you like you’re something precious. Like you’re worth standing in the storm for. A pause. I’ll allow it. Provisionally.
Cassia huffed a surprised laugh. “High praise from you.”
Don’t tell him I said that. I have a reputation to maintain.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
They walked on in companionable silence, the harbor lights twinkling below, the cottage on the bluff waiting ahead.
Tomorrow, she’d go back to the weather station.
Back to Aero and his clinical observations and his unreadable eyes.
Back to charged air and frustration and the terrifying possibility that maybe—maybe—she wasn’t as alone as she’d convinced herself she was.
But that was tomorrow.
Tonight, she let herself walk under clear skies and think about what she wanted. Not what she feared. Not what she thought she couldn’t have.
Just… what she wanted.
The answer was terrifying.
But for the first time in years, she didn’t push it away.