I placed my hand over my heart, feeling its frantic rhythm. This was real.
All of it.
The ring glinting on my finger.
The warmth of the water.
The children sleeping in the next room.
The dragon who had crashed through a window to save me.
The man who had flown us over the ruined city like a guardian made of fire and wings.
I wasn't insane. I wasn't dreaming. This was real.
And if dragons existed?—
If love like this could exist?—
If a life beyond fear, beyond hunger, beyond rubble could exist?—
Then maybe I could believe in something again. I leaned back, letting my head rest against the rim of the tub, tears trailing softly into the steam. Everything hurt. Everything healed. Everything was possible.
"I don't know how I got here," I whispered to myself, voice cracking. "But Gott, I'm glad I did."
The water held me gently, like an embrace. The ring flashed again.
And somewhere beyond the bathroom door, I heard Gideon's low voice soothing Klaus, and I knew: My world had changed.
Forever.
Berlin — July 23, 1948, Friday morning
The sunbarely scraped the sky when I woke. For the second time in weeks, maybe months, I'd actually slept. Deeply. No fire. No engines screaming. No visions of wings tearing or metal burning.
Just breathing.
It was amazing what a comfort it was to know she was safe under the same roof. I pushed myself upright and rubbed a hand over my face. The suite was dim and warm; the curtains were drawn. I could hear the kids breathing softly from the other room—small, steady breaths like little anchors holding this moment down. I had given them the other bedroom and slept on the couch.
I felt like a creeper when I entered the master bedroom where Inga was asleep, curled on her side on the edge of the bed, hair spilling over the pillow like chestnut silk. She looked… peaceful. The kind of peaceful I hadn't seen on her before. The kind of peaceful someone only has when no one is hunting them anymore.
God, I loved her.
Next, I moved carefully to the room where the kids slept. All three were curled up on the bed. Hilde was on the side to protect her arm. Klaus splayed like a starfish on the other side, and Axel lay across the foot of the bed.
I smiled. They'd eaten themselves into unconsciousness. Room service had come and gone to our room all night. I laughed to myself at the thought that the kids' stomachs were bottomless pits. Who would have thought that I would take so much enjoyment out of feeding them?
I picked up the hotel phone and ordered breakfast. "Everything you have," I told the desk clerk. "And extras of it."
The man didn't even question it. He must have already been warned about us. By the time the knock came, and the trays rolled in—eggs, bacon, real butter, fresh rolls, marmalade, fruit, porridge, sausages—the suite smelled like an actual morning, not war and dust.
I went to wake her.
She stirred when I touched her shoulder gently, eyelashes fluttering. Her eyes opened, slow and soft, still warm with sleep. For a second, she looked confused. But when she saw me, the most beatific smile I had ever seen crossed her features. You'd think she saw an angel, not a dragon like me.
"Gideon?" she whispered.
"Breakfast is here," I said. "Come eat. You'll need strength for today."
