He took my face in his hands. “We’re Iron Valor. We don’t back down from a fight. And we don’t lose. Do not forget that.” Then he kissed me like he were sealing a vow.
We sat in silence for a long moment, letting his words settle.
When we finally tried to stand, I felt a little stiff, like I’d been stretched in unfamiliar ways as I made my way to the bathroom. Finn made coffee in the kitchen, slamming the mug on the counter so hard I thought he’d break it.
I joined him at the table, arms wrapped around myself. The morning was bright, too bright, and the world felt wrong, like it was a dupe of an original.
He handed me the mug. “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”
I did, and he was right. The caffeine cut through the fog, just enough to make the world seem solid again.
He watched me, his expression unreadable. “You remember any more?”
I shook my head. “Not really. Just… it felt like we were being watched. Or judged. Like the dream wanted us to do something, but I couldn’t figure out what.”
He tapped his finger on the table, thinking. “It’s not normal for people to share dreams. That means it’s not just in your head. Someone—or something—put it there.”
“Maltraz,” I said. The name tasted like battery acid.
He nodded. “He’s the only one with that kind of pull.”
I finished the coffee, set the mug down, and looked at Finn. “So what do we do?”
He smiled, and for a second he was my Finn again, not the haunted version. “We go see Aspen. She’ll know what to do.”
I laughed, a little unsteady. “You think a bakery witch is going to fix us?”
He grinned. “Sweetheart, she’s not just a ‘bakery witch.’ She’s got the blood of an Immortal in her veins. When you’re the daughter of the Angel King, you can consider yourself a bit extra. And if she can’t, at least she’ll feed us enough sugar to put us in a coma. It’s a win either way.”
“Shit. I forgot who her father was. Yeah, she’s who we need to ask for help.”
I felt better, just a little. Enough to stand up straight, enough to think I could make it through the day.
We dressed, gathering our armor for the world outside. I wore leggings, tall boots, a t-shirt, scarves tied around my waist, leather bracelets and chokers. Yep, my mother would be appalled at my bohemian style. Perfect. Finn looked sexy as hell. Cinch jeans and a black pearl snap, boots and a black cowboy hat. Say what you want, but give me my cowboy all day long.
He slipped his arm around me and pulled me close. “You ready?”
“Fuck yeah. I’m Iron Valor.” I thought if I said it with confidence it would make it so.
He grinned as we stepped outside, into the light, into whatever came next.
Buttercream & Blessings smelled like heaven on the second day. It was only 9:07 a.m., but Aspen already had the ovens blasting and the pastry case lined with glossy cinnamon rolls, warm scones, and croissants the size of baby footballs. The place was as bright as a dental lab—sun pouring through the big windows, white tile everywhere, and a wall of coffee mugs painted with cutesy animals. The morning rush had run its course, so there was only one customer seated in the dining area, and she was an Iron Valor wolf.
Aspen was behind the counter, her dark hair wound into a glossy braid and her apron dusted in flour. She saw us and immediately went on high alert, which for Aspen meant pressing her hands flat on the counter and going completely still, as if bracing for a tidal wave. In the open window between the kitchen and counter area, Oscar, the world’s most dignified prairie dog, popped up and squinted at us like a fussy schoolmaster.
“Mornin’! Look at you two; the original ‘match made in heaven’ couple.” Aspen crooned, but her sweet southern voice held a slight edge. “Y’all look amazing, if not a tad tired.”
I sidled up to the counter. “Just the usual terrifying shared dream with your mate scenario. You know, nothing out of the ordinary.” I bent down to Oscar’s level and did my best British accent: “Lovely mornin’ init?”
Oscar’s nose twitched. “Well, I’ve kept the shenanigans to a minimum so far today. But you’re here now, so...” He gave me a small prairie dog wink.
Finn smothered a laugh, then jerked his chin at Aspen. “You got a second, A? We need to talk.”
She glanced around, clocked that the only other customer was Papa’s retired aunt (deep in her crossword and not listening), and motioned us toward the little table by the window. “Give me one sec. I’ll bring your order.”
Oscar scurried after her, tail up like a feather duster.
I perched on a stool, legs bouncing. My hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting. Finn’s presence was a low hum next to me, every muscle wound tight. He looked out the window, scanning Main Street for threats that probably didn’t exist. In another life, he could have worked as a bomb-sniffing dog.
