She studies me for a long moment. Then: “What do you see when you look at those paintings? In the cave?”
I think back. The winged creatures. The flight. The fire.
“Power,” I say finally. “Purpose.”
“And?”
“Recognition.” The admission comes harder. “Like I should know what they are. Like my body remembers even if my mind doesn’t.”
“Good,” Dragana says simply. “Then the answers will come.”
“When?”
“Soon.” She sets down her cup. “But know that the gods were never really gods. Just beings older and stronger than humans. With fire in their veins and wings to carry them.” Her gaze pierces me. “You understand?”
Fire. Wings. Flight.
Impossible.
“No,” I say flatly.
“You will.” She pauses. “How did you find her? Your Mara?”
MyMara?
The shift in topic throws me. “There was an accident. A…” I seek out the word. “A helicopter crash.”
“Yes. But what drew you to her?”
I open my mouth. Close it.
How did I know where to go? What made me walk into fire that should have killed me?
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just knew she was in danger. Knew I had to reach her.”
“Ah.” Dragana inclines her head. “This is as it should be.”
“What does that mean?”
“You will see.” She rises, dismissing me. “Patience, fire-blood.”
She moves away, leaving me with wine I don’t want and thoughts I can’t process.
Across the table, Mara laughs at something Nicolae is demonstrating with exaggerated hand gestures. Her eyes catch mine. She smiles—warm, genuine, unguarded.
Beautiful.
The word surfaces before I can stop it.
Not just her face, though that’s striking enough. But the way she moves. The quick intelligence in her eyes. The humor she uses as armor. The vulnerability she showed me this morning.
All of it.
I want her. Want to take her back to that shelter, strip her out of those borrowed clothes, and learn every inch of skin I feltpressed against me this morning. Want to know what sounds she makes when I’m inside her. Want to wake with her wrapped around me and know—absolutely know—that she’s mine.
The intensity of it should concern me.
It doesn’t.
