28. Lucy
Lucy
Bury your secrets beneath rosemary, never roses. Roses gossip to anyone who stops to smell them.
We flew, Riot leading the way with me following close behind.
He hummed into my mind the entire way, keeping me anchored to the woman, sparking the ache to be nearer even now.
The deep timbre of the haunted melody carried us beyond the mountains, thrumming through whatever connection existed between us like a string I could follow even with my eyes closed.
The sound made me want to close the distance and press against him until there was no space left between us.
That illogical thinking was not like me at all, but perhaps it was the desperation.
Perhaps it was something more. Something beyond what either of us had control over.
Perhaps there was a connection between dragons that superseded anything the human mind could comprehend.
Or perhaps I was grasping for logic when there was none.
When he finally descended, it was toward a city I didn’t recognize.
Buildings with steep roofs and chimneys breathing woodsmoke into the dark.
Streets lined with lanterns that glowed warm and orange against the night.
Even from high above, I could see people moving between shops despite the late hour, the glow of a cauldron simmering in a window they passed beneath.
We landed in the shadows outside the city walls, no doubt built to keep the Ash beasts out. Riot shifted first, then turned to me and stepped close, pressing his forehead to mine. His shoulders rose and fell in a perfect calm rhythm. I closed my eyes and matched him.
The silence came and I let myself melt into my human form.
Wings folding inward. Scales retreating until I was standing in front of him on two feet, just as he now was.
The thick wool cloak from the Keep hung heavy on my shoulders, its hem darkened with ash stains.
I tugged the high collar closer against the chilly night, grateful for the leather gloves that kept my fingers from freezing.
He pulled back slightly, giving me space to acclimate to the change.
The shift began immediately. Pain lanced through me as my body tried to return to dragon form. I gasped and he grabbed my hand, pulling me back to him.
Everything stopped.
“I think, for whatever reason, we have to stay in contact,” he said quietly.
I nodded, catching my breath. “We need to test the theory. Let me try to concentrate on staying as I am.”
He shook his head, those eyes narrowing on me. “I don’t think—”
“I need to be certain.” I said, cutting him off. “I can handle it. Let go.”
Riot released me carefully, his jaw working to hold back the argument. The moment his fingers left mine, the collar flared and the shift started again.
He lunged, grabbing me again before it could take hold. “Light touches. I’ll be respectful, Lucette. We’ll make it work.”
I didn’t really care about respect, so much as the outcome, but I appreciated his consideration.
We started walking, his fingers laced with mine.
When we reached the city gates, he shifted his grip to my elbow.
When we moved through the narrow streets, his palm pressed against my shoulder.
It was as if the Guardian couldn’t commit to one place of connection for too long.
The city, northeast of Grimora, was beautiful.
Carved pumpkins crowded the steps and sills, their candlelight flickering low.
Shop windows displaying everything from spellbooks to preserved starlight and pastries.
The smell of rich foods and decadent pastries coated the air.
It felt normal. Like home, only less militant and further south.
People bundled in thick cloaks, their breath misting in the cool air.
It reminded me of illustrations from storybooks, charming and magical and warm.
“It’s quite beautiful, but where are we going?” I asked.
“To see a witch,” Riot said. “Aureth told me I’d likely need her one day.
She never clarified why, but if I had to guess, I’d say it has something to do with you.
I’ll warn you, she’s dangerous. It’s the only thing that’s kept her alive.
Keep your eyes on her face, not her trinkets and if she asks to make you tea, say no. ”
I gasped. “She’ll poison us?”
He chuckled. “No. Nothing like that. She mixes it with pumpkin juice and it tastes like ass.”
If not for his anchoring touch, I might've lost myself in the little city. The smell of mulled cider and roasting squash drifted from a vendor’s cart, mixing with the woodsmoke.
Lanterns hung by magic alone, the light warm and golden.
A musician played somewhere nearby, the notes of a fiddle weaving through the conversations of people passing by.
They paid us no mind, too focused on their own lives to notice two strangers moving through the brisk evening.
But again, Riot’s constant touch never lingered in one place for long.
His hand slid from my shoulder to the small of my back.
Then his fingers traced along my spine before settling at my waist. When we turned a corner, his palm found the curve of my hip, steadying me on the slick cobblestones.
Each shift sent awareness skittering across my skin until I was far more conscious of him than anything around us.
Lantern light caught in his dark hair, gold sliding through the strands every time we passed beneath one. His wool coat hung perfectly on his broad shoulders, long enough to brush his calves. He was beautiful in a way that made standing this close to him feel like a different kind of danger.
I’d always noticed, of course, but for some reason taking note now felt like a reminder that this man was more than stunning features, more than a dragon, more than a warrior, or Guardian.
He was a perfect blend of loyalty and compassion.
And that, before anything else, was the first thing I noticed about him the day we’d met, standing on a stage in the rain.
We wound down narrower paths, away from the main streets. The buildings grew older here, their facades worn but cared for. Window boxes and front gardens lined the way, most of them harvested down to bare earth for the season.
My mind began racing ahead, planning questions for the witch. Could she remove the Ossira? How long would it take? What would it cost? I was afraid to hope it could be this simple, that in just minutes, I might be free.
Riot jerked to a stop so suddenly I nearly collided with him. “Is that… Is that who I think it is?”
I followed his gaze to the cottage ahead. A woman stood outside, her back to us. Dark hair. Confident posture. And even from this distance, I recognized her from the posters in Grimora during the Mortalis.
“Vitoria,” I breathed. “Holy mother of Furies…”
She spun in our direction. Riot moved fast, pinning me against the nearest building. His body pressed against mine, smothering us in darkness as we watched.
A lycan emerged from the cottage, stumbling.
Vitoria moved with brutal efficiency. A blade flashed.
The lycan went down. She stared down at him for only a moment, likely watching to see if he’d rise.
Every ounce of me wanted to hide my face in Riot’s chest, refusing to acknowledge another layer of problems, but I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
Vitoria ran, disappearing down the streets without looking back. We waited until her footsteps faded completely before moving. The lycan lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. His shadow seemed to dim as we got close.
Riot knelt, checking for a pulse he clearly didn’t expect to find. “Too late.”
“He was in there first,” I said, jutting my chin toward the cottage. “Maybe the witch knows something.”
We approached with caution, but only when we got closer did I realize the door had been left ajar. Riot pushed it open wider and stepped inside first, positioning himself between me and whatever waited.
But the witch was dead.
She lay near the hearth, her throat cut, eyes staring at nothing.
Blood pooled on the floor around her. The room showed signs of a struggle with overturned chairs, broken glass, books scattered across the floor, vines growing from between the floorboards, proving the earth witch had tried to save herself.
My hope shattered.
“We have to go,” Riot said, his voice tight as he looked out the window.
“But—”
“Now, Lucette. It’ll do us no good to be caught here with two dead bodies and she can’t save you now. Don’t touch anything, and try not to step in the blood. We’re already running out of time.”
He was right. The sky was already a hair lighter at the edges. Dawn was coming too fast.
“Shift,” he said as we got far enough away.
I didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want to lose the silence or the warmth of his hand or the feeling of being Lucette instead of the beast.
But the sun would rise.
So I did, pushing away the ache as we flew.
The mountains loomed ahead. The frozen wall of fog that marked Luneth Hollow’s border grew closer with every beat of my wings. We’d gone too far south. We were too slow to notice the time, both caught up in the freedom of each other.
Riot hummed again, that same haunting melody, keeping me anchored even as exhaustion pulled at me, even as fear of what would happen if I didn’t get back in time burned as much as the collar urging me back to Luneth Hollow.
The frozen fog appeared through the pre-dawn light.
We landed just outside of it. Riot pressed his forehead to mine one last time, and in the silence, I could hear both our hearts racing.
“I don’t want to go,” I whispered.
“I know. But you have to.”
The collar burned hotter, demanding, tugging on me as I became a dragon once more.
“Tomorrow, beautiful beast.”
I pulled away, every instinct screaming to stay.
Then I turned and the icy wall bit at my skin as I pushed through.
I let the dragon carry me the rest of the way to the Keep, then, embracing my own control within these walls, I shifted once again.
I stood alone in the early morning light, trying to catch my breath.
Trying to hold onto the memory of his touch before it faded.
I turned toward the Keep.
Emrys sat on the steps, watching me. Dark ink covered his forearms where his sleeves were rolled up, intricate patterns that disappeared beneath the fabric. His hair was mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. He looked exhausted.
“Tavian was worried. I told him I’d wait up.” He stood, brushing fresh snow off his pants. “Are you well?”
Despite the horrors of the evening, I couldn’t help the smile. “I’m more than well.”
I saw the relief in the sinking of his shoulders before he held an arm out for me. “Thank the Furies.”
We walked toward the entrance together, and I waited for him to ask the questions he had every right to ask. Where I’d gone. Why I’d left. What I was doing flying out of the city in the middle of the night.
Instead, he was quiet until we reached the door.
Then he glanced at me, something almost shy in his expression despite the rough edges. “Will you tell me about the ocean?”