Chapter Thirteen
DOMINIC
Supper was more relaxed than usual, probably because Rhodri had actually smiled at people when he walked in.
Dafydd and Rhys’s argument over rugby was getting almost loud, Teddy was enthusiastically mashing everything on his plate into an unappetising mound of slush, and Jeff and Edna had changed places so Edna could quiz Ben.
After the first few places at the top of the table, which were ordered according to family hierarchy, people sat where they wanted.
Habit tended to win out, though, with people usually taking the same place each time.
For Edna to have moved meant she was on a mission, determined to wring every last bit of information out of Ben she could.
As I eavesdropped through gaps in the general conversations, I could tell she wasn’t getting very far.
He seemed quite happy to talk about where his family lived, and his immediate family members—no, he wasn’t married, didn’t have a partner or kids, I learned.
But he deflected her determined, “So, the Berstows” opening.
His calm detachment never faltered. I had problems reconciling his determined lack of anything with the guy who’d laughed at the guard unicorn and had been so excited over family history hiding in plain sight.
Luckily for Edna, I didn’t think Rhodri heard her questions.
She was getting on for eighty, and with age, apparently, came a little less fear of the head of the family.
Maybe because, at her age, she’d seen him toddling around in nappies.
Not an image I wanted to have, I thought, as I turned to where Rhi was offering me more potatoes.
She blushed, the way she always seemed to when I looked at her these days. I remembered when she’d joined the family as Jeff’s stepdaughter, an earnest fourteen-year-old who thought K-pop was going to take over the world. To be honest, that was how I still saw her.
“Thanks,” I said, flashing her a quick smile, which I instantly regretted because she looked as if she was about to expire on the spot.
As she retreated, I glanced at Berstow, to find he was watching me, an odd expression on his face. And then Edna put her hand on his arm to get his attention, and I was left watching his face smooth into its usual calm nothingness. Not nothingness, exactly. More like a mask.
Until today, I hadn’t realised the mask wasn’t all there was, and now I wondered what else might lie behind it.
More passion for history, I supposed, as Dafydd appealed to me for support in his championing of rugby union over league.
Just the way he always did, regardless of the fact I had no opinion on the matter.
Just the way he’d still be doing in another ten years’ time, when we’d all still be sitting here at the mercy of Rhodri’s moods and whims.
God, I needed to fly. The thought arrived so suddenly and intensely that my dragon stirred under my skin in immediate agreement. Along the table, Berstow moved slightly in his chair as if he’d felt it too. I glanced away before he could catch me looking.
By the time supper finally broke up, I was wound tight enough that I headed outside to get away from everyone else.
The evening had turned cold after the rain, the sky stretching wide and dark overhead.
Somewhere down in the valley, sheep bleated softly, and through the trees, the river caught moonlight in brief silver flashes.
I pulled my phone out and stared at Heath’s last message for longer than I should have, irritation prickling under my skin.
Before we went anywhere near the castle tonight, Heath needed to know there was a strange dragon staying on Bedwyr land. Except I had no idea whether Rhodri had already informed the Gruffydds officially.
If he had, and I told Heath as if he didn’t already know, it’d be obvious that I was being kept out of the loop in my own fucking family.
But if I didn’t tell him, and Heath or his brothers encountered a strange dragon over what they regarded as their territory…
I’d welcome the fight, but the risk of Berstow getting seriously hurt was too great. They’d be aiming to disable or kill.
Eventually, pragmatism won out over pride.
Non-family visitor with me tonight. Don’t start anything if you see us at the castle.
I stared at the message for a second before adding He’s harmless.
That irritated me enough that I immediately deleted it.
The reply came almost instantly. Since when do you play tour guide?
I snorted despite myself and shoved the phone back into my pocket without answering.
When I went back inside, the house had mostly quietened, supper dispersing into distant voices and closing doors. I found Berstow in the hall, putting on a dark coat.
He looked up as I approached, and something in me settled unexpectedly at the sight of him. Not completely—my dragon was still restless, wings beating somewhere under my ribs—but enough that I could breathe properly again.
“You ready?” I asked.
He nodded, though I sensed a current underneath the calm, and I wondered if his dragon was close too.
“I wasn’t sure if you were still coming,” he admitted.
I shrugged, because I didn’t know how to explain that once I’d offered, there’d never really been any question. “Come on, then,” I said.
We crossed the grounds mostly in silence, using the flashlights on our phones to follow one of the narrow paths that wound through dripping trees and over a stile. The grass was slick beneath our boots, and beads of water on the hedgerow turned to silver when the moon broke through.
Above us, cloud moved fast across the sky, breaking now and then to expose the stars. Lower down, mist had started to gather in the valley, softening the lights of the village into blurred amber smudges.
“That’s helpful,” Berstow said quietly.
“And normal for around here,” I told him.
Though I suspected he already knew—it’d rained every day since his arrival, fulfilling all the stereotypes of this part of the world.
“We fly mostly over the hills.” I pointed westward where the land rose darker against the sky.
“Not north-east. Too many villages that way, and there’s a dual carriageway further out. ”
He nodded, absorbing that with the same careful attention he seemed to give everything.
“With the usual cloud cover, we’re pretty much invisible,” I added. “And half the humans round here spend their lives under their umbrellas, so they never see a thing that goes on overhead.”
That got a faint huff of laughter out of him. We climbed steadily, the house hidden now by trees.
My dragon was pushing harder under my skin with every step. Something had changed in Berstow too, tension detectable beneath the usual composure. He’d been here for days and hadn’t flown once. I didn’t know how he’d done it. If I didn’t fly almost every night, I sometimes thought I might die.
Eventually, I stopped beside an outcrop of stone overlooking the valley. I didn’t usually bother coming so far out before shifting, but this was an easy place to spot from the air if he were to get lost. I supposed I should make sure he didn’t get lost.
“This is far enough,” I said.
Berstow glanced around once, before pulling his jumper over his head.
Dragons shifted naked all the time. There wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy about bare skin.
Except for some reason, I couldn’t look away.
His body was solid with muscle beneath the pale skin, broader and stronger than I’d expected from someone who spent his life buried in records.
He wasn’t soft at all beneath that endless calm and careful manners.
God. Want flared hot through me.
I dragged my gaze upwards to find he was watching me.
Busted. But if I wasn’t mistaken—and damn this torchlight for making it unclear—there was something on his face, a flicker of heat, of interest returned.
And then he shut it down again, and all that was left was Ben Berstow, professional historian and trainee automaton.
He folded his clothes with maddening neatness and set them down beside the rocks while I pointed my phone so he could see what he was doing. Mostly because if I shifted now, my dragon would probably launch itself straight at him in whatever insanity had temporarily overtaken me.
The beam swept across Berstow as he stepped back from the pile of clothes and shifted.
And my entire brain stopped functioning. He was white. Not pale grey like me, but white as snow under cold starlight, vast wings furled close to a body that gleamed ghost-bright against the dark hillside.
For one impossible second I simply stared. Then my dragon slammed upwards inside me so hard it punched the breath from my lungs.
What the actual fuck? There was no such thing as a white dragon. Everyone knew that.
And underneath the shock came something else entirely—fury, burning hot. Yet another piece of information Rhodri had kept from me. Ben’s family coming out of hiding after centuries, a family we hadn’t even known existed. At least one of them was an impossible colour. And Rhodri knew all this.
He’d been at the Moot when the Berstows’ existence had been revealed. He’d known enough to agree to Ben coming here. Of course he fucking knew, and of course he hadn’t told me.
I was still staring when Berstow launched into the air, hauling himself upward with powerful strokes of his wings. Displaying the same strength that made him look so calmly certain of who he was.
I didn’t remember tearing my clothes off and shifting, only the violent relief of finally letting my dragon free.
One moment I was trapped inside skin and anger and too many thoughts, and the next the night air was beneath my wings.
Everything dropped away up there—the house, Rhodri, the endless feeling of being watched and found wanting.
There was only movement and height and the wild joy of flying hard enough that no one could touch me.