Chapter 5
Jarek
The festival grounds buzzed with life, but beneath my skin, my fox prowled restless as a caged thing. Find her. The command thrummed through my bones, sharper than hunger, deeper than want.
I wove through the crowd, past stalls selling enchanted ornaments and dragonfire cider that steamed in the winter air. The scents hit me in waves—roasted chestnuts, pine garlands, the metallic tang of spell-work. But cutting through it all like a blade was the one note that mattered.
Her.
Pippa's scent—wildflowers and mischief, bright magic and something indefinably mine—had been haunting me since I'd arrived yesterday.
But beneath her familiar sweetness, I caught something else.
Another scent, male and magical, threaded through hers like smoke through silk.
A mage, from the electric ozone tang of his power.
My fox stirred with interest rather than aggression. Who had gotten close enough to Pippa to leave his mark in her scent? The thought sparked curiosity—and something sharper. Determination.
I'd known for years what she was to me, felt the pull the moment I'd hit maturity. But knowing and claiming were different beasts entirely. And if someone else was circling my mate, well—I wasn't about to lose her without a fight.
I'd teased her mercilessly through our youth, chased her with words and grins and dares, but I'd never pushed past her walls.
Never tried to cage something so bright and free.
Instead, I'd made myself a promise—I'd wait until I was worthy.
Until I'd earned the right to stand beside her as more than the fox-shifter boy who'd followed her from the Autumn Court.
Now, with Caelith's bond burning warm in my chest and Rider leathers on my shoulders, I was ready to collect.
A flash of copper caught my eye across the square, and my breath hitched.
There she was, wings shimmering like captured sunlight as she gestured animatedly at something that had clearly gone wrong with one of the festival displays.
Her hair caught the light like living flame, and even from this distance, I could see the bright laughter on her face that always drew every eye in a room.
Beautiful, my fox hummed, approval radiating through every nerve. Perfect.
My gaze traced the familiar lines of her—the delicate curve of her waist, the way her layered skirts swayed when she moved, the graceful arch of her neck as she tilted her head to listen to whatever crisis had captured her attention.
Desire coiled tight in my gut, but I kept my expression lazy, my grin easy.
No point in scaring her off before I'd even—
A sharp crack split the air, followed by a sound like thunder. Magic gone wrong—I felt it in the sudden pressure change, the way every supernatural in the square tensed at once. A snow charm, by the smell of it, but twisted, amplified beyond its caster's control.
The world exploded in white.
Enchanted snow erupted from somewhere near the ornament stalls, a magical avalanche that buried half the square in seconds. Vendors shouted, festival-goers shrieked, and through it all, one thought blazed through my mind with terrifying clarity.
Pippa.
I couldn't see her anymore. The spot where she'd been standing was buried under three feet of glittering, spell-touched snow that showed no signs of melting.
Protect her. The command wasn't conscious thought—it was instinct, primitive and absolute. My fox snarled to the surface, and I was moving before I'd made the decision, diving into the snow drift with my bare hands.
"Pippa!" The word tore from my throat as I dug, magic flooding my limbs to give me strength and speed. Snow flew behind me in great chunks, but it wasn't fast enough, wasn't—
A muffled sound from beneath the drift made my heart stop. Then restart at triple time.
I dug harder, ignoring the cold that bit through my leathers, the way the enchanted snow tried to re-form around my hands.
There. A flash of green fabric, the curve of a shoulder.
I hauled her up out of the snow, and she came up sputtering and laughing, snow in her eyelashes and her hair a wild tangle of red curls.
Relief hit me like a physical blow, so strong it bordered on pain. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the knowledge that she was safe, she was whole, she was—
"Well," she said, grinning up at me with those impossible green eyes, "that was unexpected."
The casual words snapped me back to myself, and I found my voice, my trademark smirk sliding into place like armor. "You know, most people try to avoid getting buried alive at festivals. But then again, you never were most people."
She laughed, the sound bright and unshaken, and something in my chest unclenched. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, I had a very handsome fox-shifter to dig me out."
Handsome. The word sent heat spiraling through me, but I kept my tone light. "Lucky you. Though next time, maybe try ducking when you see a snow charm about to go sideways?"
"Next time, I'll make sure to bring a shovel," she shot back, then glanced around at the chaos surrounding us. "Poor vendors. This is going to take forever to clean up."
A shadow passed overhead, and I looked up to see a dragon—one of the Library's residents—hovering above the square.
Wind magic spiraled down from its wings, clearing the worst of the enchanted snow in great sweeping gusts.
Laughter rippled through the crowd as people emerged from the drifts, shaking snow from their hair and clothes.
But I barely noticed. All my attention was on the pixie in front of me, on the way snowflakes clung to her eyelashes and the bright flush of cold on her cheeks.
I watched her take in the damage—collapsed stalls, scattered merchandise, vendors looking around in bewilderment at the mess. Her expression shifted, responsibility settling over her like a cloak.
"The festival," she murmured. "This is going to set everything back hours."
There she is. The Pippa who cared, who took responsibility even when things weren't her fault. Who'd probably work herself to exhaustion trying to fix this mess.
Not on my watch.
"Go," I said, jerking my chin toward the vendors. "Do your thing. I've got this."
She looked back at me, confusion flickering across her face. "You've got what?"
Instead of answering, I rolled up my sleeves and let my magic flow.
Rider training had taught me more than just how to bond with a dragon—it had honed every aspect of my abilities, including the earth magic that came with my fox heritage.
The broken stalls were nothing more than scattered wood and fabric, and wood remembered its shape.
I worked quickly, magic flowing through my hands as I guided splintered boards back together, mended torn canvas, righted overturned tables. The work was satisfying in a way that had nothing to do with showing off and everything to do with the way Pippa's eyes widened as she watched me.
Strong, my fox preened. Capable. Good mate.
By the time I finished, most of the vendors had their stalls back in working order, and the grateful owner of the hot chocolate stand was pressing steaming cups into my hands.
"For you and the lady," he said with a gap-toothed grin. "Least I can do after you helped me out."
I accepted both cups, the warmth seeping through the paper. Pippa was still talking to a group of vendors, her hands moving expressively as she assured them that the festival would go on as planned, but I could see the tension in her shoulders.
"Here," I said, appearing at her elbow with one of the cups. "You look like you could use this."
She blinked up at me in surprise, then smiled—the first real, unguarded smile she'd given me since I'd returned. "Thank you."
The hot chocolate was perfect—rich and warming, with just a hint of cinnamon that made me think of autumn mornings back home.
We found a relatively quiet spot near one of the repaired stalls, close enough to the bustle that we weren't completely alone, but far enough that we could actually hear each other speak.
"So," Pippa said, wrapping her hands around her cup and looking up at me with those brilliant green eyes. "Dragon Rider. That's... not exactly what I expected when you left."
I took a sip of my drink, buying myself a moment. The first real conversation we'd had since I'd returned, and she wanted to talk about the one thing that had consumed the last two years of my life. The thing I'd done for her, though she didn't know it yet.
"What did you expect?" I asked instead.
She shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I don't know. Maybe that you'd get bored of whatever grand adventure you were chasing and come home with your tail between your legs."
If only she knew. "Sorry to disappoint."
"Oh, I'm not disappointed." Her eyes sparked with genuine curiosity. "Tell me about it. The training, the bond—all of it."
Where to start? How to explain the months of physical conditioning that had pushed my body past every limit I thought I had?
The mental exercises designed to break down every wall, every defense, until there was nothing left but raw will and determination?
The moment when Caelith had looked into my soul and found me worthy?
"It was brutal," I said finally, settling on the simplest truth. "They break you down completely before they build you back up. Most people don't make it through the first month."
"But you did."
"I did." I met her gaze, let her see some of the steel that the training had forged in me. "Had to. Wasn't going to come back empty-handed."
Something flickered across her face—curiosity, maybe, or recognition. "What made it worth it?"
You. The word sat heavy on my tongue, begging to be spoken.
Instead, I said, "The bond. When Caelith chose me.
.." I trailed off, remembering that moment of perfect recognition, the way my dragon's consciousness had touched mine and found home.
"It's like finding a piece of yourself you didn't know was missing. "
She was quiet for a moment, studying my face. "You missed it here," she said. It wasn't a question.
"I missed..." You. Everything about you. The way you laugh, the way you argue, the way you make even the most ordinary moments feel like magic. "More than I expected to."
The admission hung between us, heavier than I'd intended. My fox stirred restlessly beneath my skin, scenting her nearness, her warmth. Now, it whispered urgently. Tell her now. Claim her now.
I forced the instinct down, took another sip of hot chocolate to give myself something to do with my hands that wasn't reaching for her. Scaring her off wasn't part of the plan.
"What about you?" I asked, shifting the focus before I said something I couldn't take back. "Did you get to see the world like you always dreamed?"
Her face lit up, and for a moment she looked exactly like the girl I'd grown up with—bright and eager and full of wonder.
"I love it here," she said. "The Library, I mean.
It's not just a job, it's... freedom. I can travel for research, explore ruins and archives and forgotten places.
And when I'm here, I'm surrounded by knowledge from every corner of the world. "
The warmth in her voice made something in my chest glow with satisfaction. She was happy. That mattered more than I could say.
But that word—freedom—it hit me like a cold wind.
Always freedom with her. Always the need to go, to explore, to avoid being tied down.
Did she even want what I wanted? Could someone who craved freedom above all else ever want to be claimed, to belong to someone the way I wanted her to belong to me?
The uncertainty gnawed at me, but I pushed it aside. I'd waited two years. I could be patient a little longer.
"The Library suits you," I said, and meant it. "You always were too bright to be contained in one small place."
She smiled at that, soft and genuine. "Thank you. That... means more than you know."
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the festival come back to life around us. Vendors called out their wares, children ran between the stalls with sticky fingers and bright laughter, and somewhere in the distance, a bard was tuning his lute.
The peace between us felt fragile, like something I shouldn't disturb, but I couldn't help myself. There was so much I wanted to know, so much time to make up for.
"So," I said, "what's your wish for this year's Solstice?"
Something shifted in her expression, a shadow passing over her features like clouds across the sun. She glanced away, suddenly fascinated by something in the distance.
"I should get back to work," she said abruptly, standing and setting her cup aside. "There's still so much to do."
The deflection was so sudden, so complete, that it left me reeling.
"Pippa—"
"Thank you for the hot chocolate," she said, still not looking at me. "And for helping with the stalls. I'll... see you around." And then she walked away.
I watched her go, my fox pacing restlessly beneath my skin. The cup cooled in my hands as her bright hair disappeared into the crowd.
One way or another, I thought, the words settling in my chest like a vow, she'll know she's mine.
The chase was just beginning.