Chapter 20 - GIDEON
The paperwork weighed heavier in my pocket than a service pistol. It should have made me feel triumphant. I had a ring. I had a plan. For the first time since the war, the future felt like something I could choose instead of something I survived.
But the truth burrowed under that excitement like a splinter. I hadn't told Inga the truth. Not about the war. Not about my family. Not about the dragon. Hell, I hadn't even asked her to marry me.
I stood under the lantern outside Die Ecke, the warm yellow glow pooling in a circle on the cobblestones.
Berlin had finally stopped pretending it was still winter.
The air was warmer tonight, soft, carrying faint scents of wet earth, coal dust, and something sweet from a nearby bakery trying to get by with American flour.
A soft summer breeze lifted the edges of loose papers on the street, carried laughter from inside the bar, and cooled the back of my neck. My dragon didn't care about breezes. It cared about her.
You cannot mate without revealing your fire, it hissed inside me. You cannot choose her without letting her choose you.
I clenched my fists in my jacket pockets. What would she say? What would she do?
Would she scream?
Would she run?
Would she look at me like I was a monster wearing a man's skin?
Could I live through that?
The lantern flickered. Somewhere down the street, the low growl of an American jeep rolling over cobblestones reached me. A late-night patrol, making sure the streets stayed safe. Berlin never slept. Not really. It clawed its way back to life day by day, brick by brick.
And so had she.
She'd been clawing her way back long before I met her.
I saw her through the doorway before she stepped out, hair pinned up but unraveling, wisps curling around her neck.
Her dress was clean but worn, mended so many times the seams told stories.
Her shoes were scuffed, too thin for the streets she walked.
But she had a glow tonight. A softness at the edges of her exhaustion.
One strand of hair fell across her cheek, and she brushed it back with a tired, delicate motion that made my chest ache.
She stepped out of the doorway, blinked into the lantern light… and then saw me. Her whole face changed.
Her smile was small at first, surprised, shy, blooming slow enough to break me wide open. Then it brightened into something warm and tender, the kind of smile a man would spend his life trying to earn again.
That was it.
That smile did me in.
She didn't run. She didn't flinch. She didn't cling to fear the way so many people did in this broken city.
She just looked at me like I was someone she wanted to see.
Something inside me surged forward without permission, dragon, man, or both, I didn't know.
I stepped into her space, slid an arm around her waist, and lifted her effortlessly, her feet leaving the cobblestones as if she weighed nothing at all.
She gasped, just faintly, her hands flying to my shoulders. And then, I kissed her. Not rushed. Not hungry. Not claiming.
Tender.
God, so tender it almost hurt.
Her lips were soft, warm, tasting faintly of chocolate from the bar, faintly of something sweet and innocent I didn't have a name for. Her breath trembled against mine, and when she melted into the kiss—full-body, trusting, yielding—I knew instantly, instinctively: She'd never been kissed before.
The realization undid me.
My hands shook where they held her. My heart hammered against my ribs. The dragon inside me purred—a low, molten rumble that spread through my bones—not violent, not feral, but… content. At peace. Something I'd never felt.
When the kiss finally broke, she stayed close, her forehead brushing mine, her breath soft against my cheek.
"That was…" She laughed quietly, breathlessly. "That was the best thing that has happened to me in… a very long time."
Her eyes were luminous in the lantern glow. I set her down slowly, reluctantly. She smoothed her dress, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and her cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of rose I'd ever seen.
"Careful, fly boy," she teased softly, "I'm starting to get used to you picking me up."
I swallowed. Hard.
"I'll pick you up for the rest of your life," I said before I could stop myself, "if you let me."
Her breath caught. The lantern flickered between us like a heartbeat.
People didn't kiss in public like this in Berlin, at least not decent people, not in front of a bar, not when propriety still clung to the world like a ghost of the old days.
A pair of older women passing by paused, whispering in German I couldn't fully catch, but their tone said everything: scandalous, reckless, young, foolish, hopeful.
Inga's fingers brushed mine—just a whisper of touch—but my entire body lit up like a struck match. The air didn't smell like ash anymore. Not around her. Deep down in the marrow of my bones, in the quiet of my dragon's breath, I knew. My father had been right: When a man knows, he knows.
She was the one.
This wasn't the right place.
This wasn't the right time.
Berlin was broken, starving, dangerous.
I hadn't told her the biggest truth about myself.
But none of that mattered. Because when she smiled at me like that—small, hopeful, a little shy, a little daring—the world narrowed to her breath on my lips and the warmth of her hand still brushing my fingertips. My heart made the decision before my mind even caught up.
One moment, I was standing in front of her, still tasting her sweetness on my mouth. The next, I was dropping to one knee on the cobblestones.
Her breath hitched—a soft, startled sound—as I pulled the velvet box from my pocket. The lantern above us flickered, casting gold over her face as she clasped both hands to her mouth.
"Inga," I said, my voice low, rough, shaking more than I wanted, "I know this is sudden.
Hell, it's more than sudden. I shouldn't feel this way yet.
" I looked up at her—really looked—at the girl who had survived bombs and hunger and loss and cruelty, who stitched her dresses and pieced her life together out of ruins and still managed to laugh with her little brother.
"But to hell with should," I whispered.
Her eyes filled instantly—bright, shimmering, breaking my heart cleanly in two.
"I love you," I confessed. The words landed in the quiet like a vow.
"More than I ever thought possible."
Her hands trembled; one tear escaped and slid down her cheek before she could wipe it away. I wanted to catch it with my thumb. I wanted to kiss it away. I wanted to take every tear she'd ever shed and bury them so deep they could never reach her again.
"I never thought I'd find someone like you," I continued, my voice cracking. "Someone warm, and strong, and giving—even when you don't have anything left to give."
She shook her head, but I kept going. "Someone who'd take in children who aren't hers. Who'd starve herself so they could eat. Who'd stand on broken streets with her chin high, even when she deserves so much more than this city has ever given her."
Her lips parted. A tiny, wounded sound escaped her, disbelief or hope or both.
"Inga," I said, realizing I didn't even know her last name but not caring one bit, opening the box to show her the ring that felt like it held all my breath inside it, "you deserve someone to take care of you." Her tears fell harder now, and her hands were trembling. "Let it be me."
She covered her mouth again, a sob shaking through her. Her knees gave out a little, like the weight of the moment was too much for her thin body to hold.
"Marry me," I whispered. "Let me love you. Let me take you out of this. Let me give you a life where you never have to be afraid again."
The ring glowed between us, gold and light and promise.
"I can't give you the world," I said softly. "But I swear I will build you one."
She stared at me like she couldn't breathe. Like she'd been hit by something bigger than hope. Bigger than fear. Bigger than everything this ruined city had taken from her.
"Inga…" My voice broke on her name. "Say yes."