He found pen and paper in a drawer and sat, staring at the blank page. He could write in English, the same as he could speak it, though his hand was as awkward as his words had been, those first months in the outside world. At home, everyone spent so much time in dragon form, they rarely bothered switching to spoken words even in human shape.
Everyone.Hah. As though that had ever been more than the three of them, since his parents died when he was a child. The great clan of the shadow dragons, reduced to one family.
And now only him.
A ghost of a memory tugged at him. Something Lance had said, in the gray depression that filled his world before Francine rescued him.
After Harper killed Julian’s sister and brother-in-law, he’d stolen their three unhatched eggs. Whenever he thought Julian might disobey him, he’d threatened to destroy the eggs. After Lance and his people had freed everyone on the island, he’d taken the eggs into custody. Julian had been half-mad then, in no state to care for them.
And then—in the fog of the last week, he remembered Lance saying something…
One of the eggs had hatched…
He shook his head firmly. Impossible. Dragon eggs did not incubate and develop like other creatures. They could lie dormant for untold time, until the circumstances for birth were met.
Love. Safety. The warmth of a heart that could provide everything an infant dragon needed. Julian hadn’t dared to touch any of Adria’s eggs while he was Harper’s captive, in casehis heart met the requirements and one of her children hatched into a nightmare there was no escape from.
And now it was too late. His heart was too broken to offer anyone. Not a child … and not his mate.
Lance had lied. Adria’s eggs could not have hatched. The man was trying to shock him out of his depression, most likely. As though the trick would not drive him even further into despair.
He stared down at the page. He had to write down what he knew, about the Soul-Eater, and about the other god who would reincarnate once the Soul-Eater was destroyed.
Not waste his time thinking about his lost people.
And everything else he would never have.
Francine’s face flashed before him. His dragon growled, deep within his soul.
Not her,he reminded it.She can never be ours.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Francine’s footsteps. He would recognize them anywhere—a realization that shoved yet another knife into his heart. She was moving calmly but quickly.
The meeting with Eloise might have gone well, if she was hurrying back to inform him of her discoveries.
Or it could have gone terribly wrong.
Francine pushed through the door as though she barely noticed it. Her gaze was distracted.
No. Vacant. As though whatever was happening inside her head left no room for remembering what expression ought to be on her face.
A chill ran down Julian’s spine. He’d seen Francine frightened, aggravated, sneering, even—though now it seemed impossible—laughing. And had doubted each expression, seeing how she pulled on different faces to suit the occasion.
He rose, walking towards her. “What happened?”
She stopped but didn’t look at him. The door swung closed behind her.
When it clicked shut, she let out a breath that made her shoulders sag.
He touched her arm. She was cold as stone. “You spoke to Eloise?”
“Yes.”
“She told you—”
“Yes.” Francine dragged in a breath as though she had to remind herself to breathe. She blinked, eyes unfocused, and he sensed her mind flitting like a caged bird behind her unseeing gaze.
“Tell me,” he urged her.
