Chapter 34 Hemlocke #2
She kisses her daughter on the crown of her head, her lips lingering against that soft dark hair. Nova makes a small sound of contentment, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of the blanket.
Gently, Raven rests her daughter in Thauglor’s arms. Her father accepts his granddaughter with a reverence that borders on worship; his massive hands cradling her as if she’s made of spun glass. Raven tucks herself under my arm and holds onto me, her fingers gripping my shirt.
“You did good, little momma.” I kiss her temple, inhaling the scent of her—sea salt and jasmine and something warmer now, something that smells like milk and newborn skin.
Relief floods through me, loosening the tension I didn’t realize I’d been carrying.
Everything worked out. She’s safe. They’re both safe.
“Our first grandbaby.” Mina says, her voice warm with joy as she looks back at her six new hatchlings, who are tumbling over each other in the grass a few yards away. She turns back to Nova, reaching out to stroke one tiny cheek. “You have so many aunts and uncles who will love you.”
Thauglor passes Nova to Klauth, the transfer smooth and practiced despite both males being ancient dragons more accustomed to destroying things than cradling them. Klauth smiles looking down at her, his ancient eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Did you notice her one eye is half blue and half amber?” He looks up, catching Solaris’s attention.
Solaris hears that and comes over immediately, his long strides eating up the distance between them. He leans in to look with us, his amber eyes widening as he examines his daughter’s face.
It’s true. Nova’s right eye is solid amber, like her father’s, but her left eye is split down the middle—half sapphire blue like Raven’s, half amber like Solaris’s. A perfect blend. A visible reminder of both bloodlines meeting in one small form.
“That’s so cool.” Raven reaches out and rests her hand on her daughter, her fingers tracing the edge of those small wings. “My baby is definitely unique.”
Pride radiates through our bond, fierce and warm.
Corvus walks over with a plate of finger foods balanced on one hand, his silver eyes soft with something that looks almost like tenderness on his usually guarded face. He offers the platter to Raven with a small smile.
“You should eat. The little one is going to keep us up at night, and we all need our strength.”
Raven takes the platter gratefully, her fingers already reaching for a small sandwich. She’s barely eaten since before the hatching—I realize that now, watching her devour the food with single-minded focus.
“I can watch the baby while you’re in school,” Mina offers, her fingers running gently through Nova’s dark hair. The baby is awake now, those mismatched eyes tracking the movement around her with surprising alertness. “Unless Solaris wants to do that?”
The question hangs in the air. We all know the answer.
Raven nods, then looks over at me and smiles—a knowing, slightly teasing smile. “We’re going to cycle through who’s on baby duty.”
A soft laugh escapes her lips as she takes Nova back from Klauth and passes her to Solaris. The big male practically swoons as his daughter settles against his chest again, his amber eyes going soft and unfocused with pure adoration.
“I’m pretty sure her da won’t be letting go of her anytime soon.”
“‘Tis true.” Solaris’s voice is rough, thick with emotion he’s not even trying to hide.
He moves to a large flat rock nearby and settles down, cradling Nova against his chest, humming a soft melody I don’t recognize.
Something ancient. Something from his homeland, perhaps.
A lullaby passed down through centuries.
Charron and Isolde walk over, arm in arm, and smile at the scene before them. Solaris, the ancient dragon warrior, reduced to a humming, cooing father on a rock in the sunshine.
“Reminds me of how Thauglor was with Raven.” Isolde’s voice is warm with remembered fondness.
Raven laughs softly, leaning against me as we watch Solaris. The exhaustion is catching up with her—I can feel it through our bond, a bone-deep weariness that’s been temporarily held at bay by adrenaline and joy.
“Yeah, Dad and I were inseparable.” She rests her head on my chest and yawns, then reaches for another finger sandwich from the tray. She eats it in two bites.
“Inseparable?” Isolde raises an eyebrow, looking at Raven with fond exasperation. “That’s an understatement, Raven. Thauglor had you like ninety-eight percent of the time.”
“You’re a fine one to talk,” Raven lets out a soft purr and another yawn between bites of food. “Leander had you one hundred percent of the time.”
“Isolde is right.” Corvus chimes in with a low laugh, his silver eyes dancing with amusement.
“If I wanted to find you, I’d look for your dad.
” He hands me a drink—something cool and sweet-smelling—and I take it gratefully.
“On the rare occasions he didn’t have you, it was you, Orpheus, and Lily together off by yourselves. ”
Raven doesn’t argue. She just purrs softly and takes another sandwich, her eyes drifting toward Solaris and Nova. The bond between them is already visible—father and daughter, connected in ways that transcend words.
Finlay approaches after stopping by Solaris to look at Nova. His ember-bright eyes have dimmed somewhat, the flames within them banked and controlled. His expression is thoughtful. Serious.
“Not to bring down the celebration.” His voice is quiet, meant only for those of us gathered close. “But what are we going to do about Amadeus and what he did?”
The question lands like a stone dropped into still water. The easy joy of the moment ripples, distorting.
“He’s right.” I press my lips to Raven’s forehead, feeling her stiffen slightly in my arms. “It can’t go unanswered.”
Raven’s eyes begin to glow.
The sapphire blue brightens, intensifies, taking on an inner luminescence that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun.
She looks toward Thauglor, her gaze locking onto her father with an intensity that raises the hair on the back of my neck.
His eyes glow as well. The same brilliant sapphire, the same otherworldly light.
There’s a stillness between them that I can’t understand. A silence that feels louder than words. The surrounding air seems to thicken, to hum with some frequency I can’t perceive.
“Shit.” Corvus’s voice is sharp with sudden alarm. “She’s talking to Thauglor.”
“How is that possible?” I look at my bond brother, then back down at my mate, then at her father. Their glowing eyes are fixed on each other, their bodies motionless, their expressions identical masks of concentration.
“Apparently it’s a wyrm gift.” Finlay adjusts his tie, his movements precise and controlled despite the tension in the air. “The ability to speak mind-to-mind with those in one’s bloodline. The oldest lines possess it.”
I can feel the shift in the air when Raven pulls away from me. The warmth of her body disappears from my side, leaving a cold emptiness in its wake. She closes the distance between herself and the ancients, her stride purposeful, her wings held high.
I watch them walk off together—Thauglor on one side, Klauth on the other, Raven in the middle. Three of the most powerful dragons in existence, moving as one toward the edge of the field. Their silhouettes darken against the setting sun.
“Be prepared to move at a moment’s notice.
” Corvus’s voice has gone flat, emotionless.
The war drake is surfacing, pushing aside the softer male who smiled at babies and handed out finger foods.
He looks down at his phone, pulls up a chat I don’t recognize—something for his troops, maybe—and sends a rapid message before pocketing the device.
“Thauglor and Klauth almost leveled the continent over a thousand years ago,” he says, his silver eyes tracking the retreating figures. “Because Klauth’s first clutch was murdered.”
The words hang in the air, heavy with implication.
“Their daughter has been abducted multiple times. Unsuccessfully, but still.” Corvus paces a few steps, then stops in front of us, his expression grim. “That daughter has more power than both ancients combined. Her acid is stronger than Thauglor’s.”
Solaris freezes mid-hum.
His amber eyes lift from Nova’s sleeping face, fixing on Corvus with sharp attention. “Did I hear ye correctly?” His brogue thickens with sudden intensity. “My mate’s acid is stronger than her father’s?”
“Yes,” Corvus meets his gaze steadily. “It’s been that way since before she hit wyrm status.”
Solaris takes a step back, his arms tightening around the baby in his arms. He looks down at Nova—at those small wings, those mismatched eyes, that impossible size—and I see the realization dawn across his face.
“My wee one will be the strongest dragoness to ever live.”
He holds her close to his chest, protective and fierce, then turns and takes off after Klauth and Thauglor. His long strides carry him across the field in seconds, his form diminishing as he catches up to the three dragons walking toward the horizon.
“What do you think is going to happen?” I look between Corvus and Finlay, searching their faces for answers.
Corvus glances over at Finlay, some silent communication passing between them. The phoenix’s ember-bright eyes flicker with something that might be anticipation or might be dread.
“We believe that Magnus and Amadeus have been in league with the mages from the beginning.” Corvus’s voice is carefully controlled.
“Historically, the mages have been allied with the drow and the manticores.” Finlay’s tone is flat, matter-of-fact. His eyes move from person to person, assessing, calculating. “An alliance that spans centuries. An alliance built on the subjugation of other races.”
The implications settle over me like a cold weight.
“You think our mate is about to go to war.” I glance over at Corvus, then at Finlay, then at the distant figures silhouetted against the burning sky.
All emotion slips from Corvus’s face. The transformation is instantaneous—one moment he’s my bond brother, the next he’s the war drake who has planned a hundred battles.
He slowly turns to look in the direction that Raven went with her fathers, his silver eyes reflecting the orange and red of the sunset.
“I believe she’s got the war half planned already.”
The words settle into my bones.
Corvus looks back at us, his expression unreadable. “Let’s enjoy tonight and hope that whatever sparked in Raven’s head doesn’t lead to the four of them wiping two continents off the face of the planet.”
He turns and heads toward the stairs leading down to the lower level, his footsteps steady and measured. His silver hair catches the last light of the dying sun before he vanishes from sight.
I glance at Finlay, at Keir who has drifted closer, at the other bondmates scattered across the field.
The hatchlings are still playing in the grass, oblivious to the tension that has settled over the adults.
Ruby chases Maur while Balterion tries to catch her tail.
Nova sleeps in her father’s arms somewhere beyond the field, carried toward whatever destiny her mother is planning.
I draw in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent of summer grass and distant smoke.
Honestly, I’m shocked it took this long for it to happen.
Raven has been patient. More patient than anyone had a right to expect. She’s been abducted, threatened, hunted. She’s watched her family targeted again and again by enemies who see her bloodline as a threat to be eliminated.
But now she has a daughter.
Now she has something to protect that goes beyond herself, beyond her mates, beyond even her parents. And I have a feeling that whatever comes next will reshape this world in ways none of us can predict.
I look toward the horizon, where four figures stand silhouetted against the dying light, and I prepare myself for war.