Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
CASSIA
Three days of healing, and Cassia still felt like she’d been dropped from a cliff.
The ribs were knitting—witch resilience and Junie’s chaos-turned-healing magic speeding the process—but every deep breath reminded her of the sonic blast that had nearly ended her.
The headaches came and went, echoes of the skull fracture that had terrified everyone more than they’d admitted.
Her magic felt distant, muted, like a radio playing from three rooms away.
The healers called it “magical exhaustion.” Cassia called it frustrating as hell.
Aero hadn’t left her side for more than minutes at a time.
He’d slept in the chair beside her bed the first two nights, refusing to leave even when Avine offered him a proper room at the Siren’s Rest. It was only after Cassia had physically dragged him into the narrow healing bed—ignoring the protests of both her ribs and the attending healers—that he’d finally gotten any real rest.
He slept curled around her like a dragon guarding its hoard. She’d never felt safer in her life.
Now she sat on the Siren’s Rest’s back porch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like him—smoke and ozone and something uniquely Aero—watching the sunset paint the harbor in shades of gold and rose.
Gust perched on the railing beside her, his small form bristling with protective energy.
He’d barely left her either, though his version of comfort involved a lot of pointed silences about the dragon’s failure to prevent this.
He tried, Cassia reminded him through their bond. He threw himself at Nerissa. He just wasn’t fast enough.
Then he should be faster, Gust retorted, ruffling his feathers with disdain.
Behind her, the door opened and closed. She didn’t need to turn to know it was Aero—she could feel his presence now, a warmth at the edge of her awareness that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the way her heart had learned to beat in time with his.
He settled into the chair beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. His hand found hers beneath the blanket, fingers interlacing with the casual intimacy they’d developed over three days of not letting each other out of reach.
“You should be resting,” he said.
“I’ve been resting for three days. If I rest any more, I’ll start growing into the mattress.”
His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand. “The healers said—”
“The healers said I’m healing ahead of schedule and that witch resilience is remarkable.” She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “They also said some fresh air wouldn’t kill me.”
“They specifically said the porch. With supervision.”
“And here you are. Supervising.” She tipped her face up to look at him, finding his gray eyes already on her. Three days, and he still looked at her like she might disappear if he blinked. “I’m okay, Aero.”
“You almost died.”
“But I didn’t.” She freed her hand from his grip to cup his face, feeling the scratch of stubble beneath her palm.
He hadn’t shaved since the attack—hadn’t done anything but watch over her and occasionally eat when Delos or one of the others forced food on him.
“I’m right here. Still breathing. Still annoying you with my dramatic tendencies. ”
Something flickered in his expression—pain, relief, the kind of love she still wasn’t entirely used to seeing directed at her. He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm.
“Your dramatic tendencies are my favorite thing about you,” he murmured against her skin.
“Liar. You hate drama.”
“I thought I did. Then I met you.” His lips curved against her palm. “Turns out I was just waiting for the right kind of chaos.”
Heat bloomed in her chest. She pulled him down for a proper kiss—soft and slow, mindful of her still-healing body but no less intense for its gentleness. He kissed her like she was precious, like she was worth protecting, like he’d fight the entire ocean if it tried to take her again.
Gust made a disgusted sound and took flight, circling overhead with pointed disapproval.
Cassia ignored him. She had more important things to focus on.
The kiss deepened, Aero’s hand sliding into her hair, angling her head for better access.
Even now—battered and bruised and probably still looking like death warmed over—she wanted him.
Wanted his weight pressing her into the mattress, his mouth on her skin, his hands mapping her body the way he had that night before the battle.
Soon, she promised herself. When the ribs stopped screaming every time she moved wrong.
He broke the kiss first, resting his forehead against hers. “We should go back inside.”
“In a minute.”
“The sun’s almost set.”
“I know. That’s why I’m out here.” She gestured toward the harbor, where the last light was painting the water in shades of amber and rust. “I want to see it. After being stuck inside for three days, I need—”
She stopped mid-sentence.
Something was wrong.
The water near the breakwater was churning in a pattern that wasn’t natural. Foam rose and fell in rhythmic pulses, as if something massive was breathing just beneath the surface. The temperature dropped ten degrees in seconds, cold enough that her breath fogged the air.
Aero was on his feet before she could speak, his body angling in front of hers, scales rippling beneath his skin.
“She’s back,” Cassia breathed.
Nerissa rose from the harbor.