Sky.
Sea.
The water reared up. With another roar, I flipped in the air and flung my wings wide. My claws dragged over icy water as air rushed under my wings, lifting me above the sea.
The figure on the battlements didn’t move. He just watched, his spine straight and his hands clasped behind his back. Displeasure radiated from him in a wave as cold and unforgiving as the sea.
Shite.
Clenching my jaw, I flew toward my father. Delaying would only make things worse. I swooped down, angling my wings as I soared over the battlements. My passage ruffled the hem of hisbarasta, which was the same unrelieved black as his hair. The same shade that had greeted me in the mirror every day for the past twenty-three years.
My claws clattered against the stone as I landed. Father kept his gaze on the sea, his broad shoulders a solid black wall against the gray stone and gray water. Magic surged through me as I shifted to smoke, then solidified into flesh and bone. Cold air bit at my bare skin. I turned in time to catch the sweater that sailed at my head. Shivering, I pulled it on, leaving my arms out of the sleeves. Father’s expression was inscrutable as he moved toward me with my jeans in his hand. He tossed them, and I snatched them from the air and pulled my bra and panties from the pocket.
“I thought you were in Edinburgh until nightfall,” I said, dressing quickly. Bra secured, I pushed my arms through my sleeves.
Father stared at the water. Almost certainly, he’d traveled through it, stepping from a puddle in the city and emerging on the island’s shore a heartbeat later, his clothes and hair perfectly dry. Niall Balfour was the most revered—and feared—water witch on every plane. He could travel through puddles and mist as easily as other people traveled in cars or planes. When he was angry enough, he could move in and out of raindrops.
He was definitely angry enough now. It was nothing obvious. He didn’t rage or glower. A less observant person might have missed the signs—at least, at first.
But even a child couldn’t have missed the icy ripple of cold, tightly leashed fury pouring off him. It slid around me in frigid ribbons, the emotion so thick it was almost visible. For a moment, itspoke, low murmurs chanting in a language I’d never been able to understand.
“Da?”I’d asked as a child.“What are those voices saying?”
With a smile warming his dark eyes, he’d picked me up and tucked a finger under my chin.“Magic will speak to you someday, princess. I promise.”
But it never had. And Father hadn’t smiled at me in a long time.
“I returned early,” he said now. “I didn’t want to be late for tonight’s festivities.” He faced me, his eyes as black as his barasta. “That makes one of us.”
Irritation spiking, I shoved my hair over my shoulders. “I won’t be late. Although, I thought I made it clear that I have no interest in sitting through another pointless?—”
“It’s hardly pointless,” he snapped.
My temper snapped, too, and my beast deepened my voice as I said, “I’ve met every dragon in the world. You don’t think it’s pointless to meet themagain?”
He stepped close, the spells embroidered on his coat as black as the fabric beneath them. “We’ve discussed this. The mate bond doesn’t always flare the first time, or the second.”
A bitter laugh broke from me before I could stop it. “Aye, well, maybe the third time will be the charm.”
“Where were you just now?”
The abrupt change of subject made me stiffen. “I flew along the coast,” I said before I could think better of it.
His gaze remained steady, and I waited for him to call out the lie. Instead, he jerked his head toward the castle. “Come. We’ll speak inside.”
“About what?” I demanded, but he’d already turned and strode toward the glass doors that led to the east wing.
Swallowing a curse, I followed, the knot of anxiety in my stomach tightening with every staircase and corridor. Sovereign Guards nodded as we passed. But no one spoke. After a few more twists and turns, the doors of Dad’s study loomed ahead.
The knot in my stomach loosened slightly. Of my two fathers, Dad was the easiest to placate. If I could reason with him, maybe I could even get him to call off the evening’s meet-and-greet.
The doors swung inward of their own accord, and my father swept inside. Dad sat behind his massive stone desk, his seven-foot frame relaxed in a chair that was more like a throne. Which was only fitting, considering he was the king of our species. He’d pulled his blond hair back from his face, but several long strands trailed over one meaty shoulder.
My mother rose from one of the chairs positioned at angles in front of his desk. Her hair was as long as my dad’s, but the shade was a rich, glossy chocolate. Worry hovered in the green eyes she’d passed onto me and my twin brother, Malcolm.
I stopped in the doorway, the knot retightening as I looked between Dad and my mother. They’d been waiting for me. A full parental tribunal.
Father crossed the study and took up position behind Dad, one hand resting on the back of Dad’s chair. According to the stories I’d heard about my sires, my father preferred staying in my dad’s shadow, where he could observe and protect without anyone noticing him.
