“When is a dragoness able to recognize her mate?” Keir asks, and his eyes shift to the black, soulless depths of his hound form for just a moment. The transformation is brief but telling—a glimpse of the predator that lurks beneath his human facade.
“After their twenty-first birthday.” I tilt my head and study Keir with new interest, silver scales along my neck tingling with awareness. “You believe a dragoness to be your mate?”
“Yeah. She won’t give me the time of day right now. I mean, she’s nice, but that’s it.” He shrugs his shoulders in a gesture that tries to appear casual but doesn’t quite hide the longing in his voice. He looks back the way they came, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of someone who isn’t there.
“A dragon will never lower themselves to be with an abyssal creature,” Jax says with casual cruelty, his words cutting through the air like a blade. The statement hangs between us, poisonous and absolute.
“What’s this about abyssal creatures?” Ziggy’s voice comes from directly beside me as he phases into existence. His ability to appear without warning never fails to make my heart skip. The surrounding air still shimmers slightly from the dimensional displacement.
“Jax said a dragon would never accept an abyssal creature.” Keir’s voice breaks slightly as he repeats the words, each syllable seeming to cause him physical pain. His hands clench into fists at his sides.
“Maybe some dragons.” Ziggy’s eyes glow brighter with an inner light that speaks of barely contained power. “I was chosen by the queen as a mate. She chose me.” His gaze fixes on the blink hounds with predatory intensity before shifting to me. “We need to get going.”
Before I can protest, Ziggy grabs my arm and we phase through dimensions. The sensation is like being turned inside out and compressed through a pinhole—disorienting and vaguely nauseating. We materialize in his office at Shadowcarve, where the familiar scents of old leather and parchment ground me back in reality.
“Why did we leave so quickly?” I stare at him as he paces across the worn stone floor, his boots creating a rhythmic pattern that speaks of agitation and deep thought.
“I think Keir killed the drow and left Raven the head.” He arches an eyebrow and looks at me, waiting for me to connect the dots he’s already assembled in his mind.
The implications hit me like physical blows. “Let me spell it out,” Ziggy continues when I don’t respond immediately. “Won’t give anyone the time of day. Is nice about it. Can’t sense her mates yet. Asked when she can sense him...” He looks at me directly, and suddenly everything clicks into place with horrible clarity.
“Okay, so if he’s the one who killed the drow, he’s also been stalking Raven.” The realization makes my blood run cold. I lay my sea glass out on the cloth spread across Ziggy’s desk, needing something to do with my hands. The pieces catch the lamplight, creating tiny prisms of color across the dark wood.
“If Keir is a mate, at least I know Raven will be able to escape at a moment’s notice.” Ziggy’s tone carries a pragmatic acceptance of someone who’s learned to work with reality rather than fight it. He takes my bucket of shells to the small sink in the corner and begins rinsing them off, the sound of running water mixing with the clink of shells against metal.
“As it stands, we have the winter formal with processional, and then the gathering and Raven’s birthday.” I start carefully applying drops of adhesive to pieces of sea glass, assembling them into delicate flower shapes with shells as centers. The work requires steady hands and patience—two things that help calm my racing thoughts.
“At the earliest, we’ll know how many other mates she has in January when classes resume.” Ziggy’s voice carries thoughtful consideration as he arranges the clean shells on a towel to dry. “Oh, I forgot to tell you—Raven is getting the birth control implant in her arm this weekend. She wants to finish her education before having hatchlings.”
I pause, looking down at the half-formed flower in my hands. The blue and green glass petals catch the light like captured ocean waves. “Makes sense. I want her to finish school first too.” The admission feels both generous and selfish—I want her educated and strong, but I also want more time to prove myself worthy before we’re bound by offspring.
“How many flowers are you making?” Ziggy lays the shells down on a clean towel, their surfaces gleaming with residual moisture.
“Two to start with. Same with the shells. I want her to find them when she gets back.” In my concentration, I accidentally press my finger toofirmly against a piece of glass that still has wet adhesive on it. When I try to pull away, the glass comes with me, stuck fast to my skin. I wave my finger at Ziggy with the sea glass flower dangling absurdly from the tip.
We share a good laugh at my expense; the sound echoing off the stone walls and easing some of the tension from our earlier conversation. The moment of levity reminds me why I value Ziggy’s friendship—he can find humor even in the darkest situations.
I work for another hour, carefully crafting the delicate flowers while Ziggy organizes paperwork and occasionally offers suggestions about color combinations. The adhesive fills the air with its sharp chemical scent, but underneath I can still smell the ocean on the shells and glass.
As I work, memories flood through me—over twenty years of watching Raven grow from a fierce hatchling into the magnificent woman she’s become. I remember the first time I saw her at the gathering, when I was just seven years old and she was less than six months old. We were in the field where all the dragon families come together, the air thick with the scent of wildflowers and the sound of children playing. Something had driven me to hunt that morning, my young dragon demanding I bring prey to someone I’d never met. I’d arrived with a fresh rabbit clutched in my jaws, confused by my own compulsions, searching the crowd until I saw her.
A tiny black-winged dragoness with ocean eyes that stole my breath, near the edge of the gathering. The pull was immediate and overwhelming. I walked straight to her without understanding why, offering the rabbit with the solemnity only a seven-year-old could manage.
Even as a hatchling, she’d reached for the offering with perfect coordination, tiny talons grasping with surprising strength while her parents looked on in amazement. The mate bond had recognized her before either of our conscious minds could understand what washappening. From that moment, in that sunlit field surrounded by the laughter of our people, I was utterly lost to her.
The years since have been both torture and a blessing. I’ve watched her take her first flight during subsequent gatherings, wobbling through the air with determination that outweighed her skill while I cheered from below. Celebrating her first successful hunt, the pride blazing in her young eyes when she brought down prey twice her size. Witnessed her first day at the school in her flight, trying to project confidence while her wings trembled with nerves. I was there as a student myself, already protective of the girl who didn’t know what she meant to me.
I’ve been privileged to watch every stage of her growth—the fierce young girl who sparred with Orpheus in the courtyard, her black wings creating shadows that danced across the stones. The struggling student who stayed up late mastering subjects that didn’t come naturally, while I found excuses to study in the same library. The warrior who discovered her deadly grace in combat training. The young woman who lights up when she finds a perfect seashell, as if the ocean has given her a personal gift.
Every moment has been precious, even when it hurt to love someone who couldn’t know what we were to each other. Growing up alongside her, transitioning from a child with an inexplicable need to protect her to a young man burning with devotion I couldn’t express. I’ve treasured every conversation we’ve shared, every glance across a classroom, every instance she’s trusted me enough to show her true self. When she struggled with advanced tactics, I stayed late to help her understand strategy. When other students whispered about her behind her back, I made sure those whispers stopped. When she doubted herself, I found ways to remind her of her strength without overstepping the boundaries of my position.
Building this foundation between us has been the work of over two decades. Every small kindness, every moment of understanding, every time I’ve been exactly where she needed me to be—I’ve hoped itwould matter. That when she finally recognizes what we are to each other, there will already be trust and affection to build upon. Not just the biological imperative of a mate bond, but something deeper. Something chosen through years of quiet devotion and careful patience, built from a childhood friendship she doesn’t realize was destined from the very beginning.
The thought that all of this careful cultivation might be threatened by someone who sees her as prey rather than partner makes my dragon snarl with protective fury. Keir’s questions today weren’t those of someone admiring from afar—they were the calculations of a predator learning his target’s patterns.
But I force myself to focus on the positive. In five weeks, she’ll be able to sense what I’ve known for years. The bond that’s been driving me to leave her gifts, to find excuses to be near her, to center my entire world around her happiness—she’ll finally feel it too. And maybe, if I’ve done this right, it won’t be a shock or an unwelcome surprise. Maybe it will feel like coming home.
When I’m finally satisfied with my creations, Ziggy phases me directly into Raven’s room. The familiar space feels both intimate and forbidden—her scent lingers in the air, a mixture of sea salt and something uniquely her that makes my dragon purr with contentment.
