"I can walk."
"You can." No argument. No pushing. "But you don't have to. Please, Kess. Let me just get you home safely. That's all I'm asking."
Home.
The word lands like a blow. I see him realize what he said, see the flicker of hope that I might not reject it.
"It's not my home," I say flatly. "It's yours. I'm just here to use your library."
The hope dies. He nods, accepting the correction like he accepts everything—with that quiet grief that makes me want to shake him and hold him in equal measure.
"The castle, then. Let me get you to the castle safely."
I should refuse. Should walk the rest of the way on my own two feet just to prove I can, just to maintain the distance I need between us.
But my back is screaming and my feet are swollen and the twins are heavy in a way that makes every step feel like carrying stones uphill. And the bond is pulling so hard that being this close without touching feels like slowly being torn in half.
Pride won't save my daughter's life.
"Fine." I force myself to stand. "But only because it's practical. Not because I—" I stop. Can't finish. Can't saywant to feel you under me again, want your heat against my skin, want to remember what it felt like when I thought you loved me without lies.
"Just shift and let's go."
Relief floods through the bond so intensely it makes me dizzy—his relief, pouring into me whether I want it or not. He shifts immediately, human form giving way to dragon in a ripple of scales and reshaping bone. The transformation is faster than Iremembered, more fluid, like he's been doing it constantly in my absence.
Has he? Flying to exhaust himself, to escape the grief, to feel something besides the ache of the bond pulling toward someone who wasn't there?
He lowers himself to the ground, making it easy for me to climb on. I approach slowly, one hand on my belly, trying not to think about the last time I was this close to him in this form. The first claiming. The blood. The way he pinned me to the altar and took what the curse demanded while I fought and screamed and eventually shattered into pleasure I didn't want to feel.
His scales are warm under my hands—hotter than human skin, heated from the inside by the fire in his chest. I pull myself up awkwardly, pregnant belly making the movement graceless, until I'm seated just behind his shoulder blades where the scales smooth into something almost soft.
The position presses my thighs against his sides, my core against the hard ridge of his spine. Heat blooms between my legs—involuntary, unwanted, impossible to ignore. The bond sings with proximity, with the rightness of being this close after so long apart.
"Ready?" His voice rumbles through his chest and up into my body, vibrating in places that make me bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
"Yes." I grip the ridge of scales in front of me. "Just try not to do anything dramatic."
A sound huffs from his throat that might be dragon-laughter—the same almost-laugh he made the night he flew me over the mountains, before everything fell apart. Then he's moving, powerful haunches bunching beneath me as he launches into the air.
My stomach drops as we rise, the ground falling away, the forest shrinking to a dark carpet far below. I should be terrified. Should be gripping the scales with white-knuckled fear.
Instead I'm fighting back tears.
Because this—the wind in my hair, the steady beat of his wings, the heat of him between my thighs and the bond singing bright and clear between us—this feels like coming home in a way the castle never could.
He is home.
That's the terrible truth I've been running from since I left.
Not the stone walls or the library or the mountain fortress. Him. The infuriating, devastating, broken man who lied to me for months because he was too afraid to trust me with the truth.
I press my face against his scales and let the wind take my tears before they can fall. The twins shift in my belly, settling into the rhythm of his flight like they know this is where they belong.
Like they're finally with their father.
The flight takes minutes instead of hours. He circles once—giving me time to compose myself, or maybe stealing a few extra moments of having me close—before descending into the main courtyard. The landing is surprisingly gentle, barely a jolt as his claws touch stone.
Guards scatter as we land, giving him room to shift. I slide off before he can change back, not trusting myself to watch the transformation again, not trusting myself to see him naked and wanting and not close the distance between us.
