“From what I was told, five in total.” Corvis says and won’t meet either of our gazes, suddenly very interested in the floor.
“How do you know?” I step closer, and so does Keir, our curiosity piqued.
“It can’t leave the three of us.” Corvis whispers and looks around quickly before talking again, lowering his voice even further. “Mina can see the future. She just knows things, and she’s never wrong.” He speaks of our mother-in-law and sovereign queen like a goddess, his tone reverent.
“Well, when that happens, we’ll use the days of the week for assigned days, and then the last two days as family days, I guess.” I’m trying to be practical with the information given. After all, if she can see the future, why not just trust the process?
“So who’s with Raven tonight?” Keir asks as he looks toward her door, his body already orienting in that direction.
“You stayed with her last night, so it’s Corvis tonight, then me, then back to you again.” I shrug my shoulders, just trying to be logical, practical, and most of all fair.
“Sounds good. Good night, gentlemen. See you in the morning.” Corvis shakes our hands—his grip firm and warm—then heads into Raven’s room, leaving the door open behind him.
From what Mina told me, keeping her bonded drake close while she heals is important. Thankfully for the rest of us, he’s a good man and fair to everyone having equal time with Raven.
“See you in the morning, Keir.” I shake hands with him, and he looks at the couch with an expression I recognize—uncertainty mixed with wariness.
“I think I’m gonna shift and sleep out here.” His eyes dart around the apartment, cataloging exits and corners. “It’s a new place, and my shift is uneasy.” He forces a smile, and I know it cost him to admit that vulnerability.
“Not used to being away from your pack?” I ask as I stand in the doorway to my room, one hand resting on the frame.
“Is it that obvious?” He shrugs his shoulders a little, the gesture almost defensive.
“I’m not used to being away from my herd. But it’s worth it in the end. Once you’re bonded to her and can feel her in your heart—” I rest my hand over my heart where I swear I can feel her presence, warm and constant, “—it gets easier.”
Keir looks back toward the open door to Raven’s room before looking back at me. “Thanks, Hemlocke. Knowing that helps some. See you in the morning.” Keir shifts on the spot—his form blurring and expanding into his massive blink hound—then prowls the room, sniffing everything. His nails click softly on the hardwood floor.
I watch him for several minutes, seeing the way he marks the space as safe in his mind, before stepping into my room. For once, I don’t bother closing the door. I don’t want Keir to feel alone in this new place, away from his pack, adjusting to a nest that’s still forming.
We’re all finding our way.
Chapter 40
Raven
It’s been almosttwo weeks since I helped rescue Isolde and fell from the sky. Two weeks of feeling like half of myself. Wearing this fiberglass cast thing is annoying as hell. The constant pressure against my wing membrane makes my skin itch in places I can’t reach, and the weight throws off my balance when I walk. I’ve caught myself leaning to the left to compensate, creating an ache in my lower back that never quite goes away. Granted, with it on I’m down to just wearing a light, almost elastic band around my wing to keep me from extending it. The fabric pulls every time I move wrong, a constant reminder of my limitations.
Until now, I never understood how much my wings are a part of my day until I can’t move one for fear of hurting it worse. They’re not just appendages—they’re part of how I express myself, how I balance, how I navigate the world. Without full use of them, I feel clipped. Grounded.Vulnerable.
I walk into Shadowcarve and feel like a shadow of myself. The familiar stone corridors smell like combat training—sweat, leather, and the metallic tang of weapons being sharpened. Students pass me in the halls, their conversations echoing off ancient stone. But I can’ttake part in any of it. I can’t spar with anyone for fear I may extend a wing to block out of habit. I can’t do half of the training exercises again because I may try to use my wing for balance or leverage.
Growling to myself, I head to class, my boots echoing on the stone floor with each step. The sound feels too loud, drawing attention I don’t want. Every shadow feels like it could hide someone watching me. The paranoia has been worse since the accident—knowing I can’t defend myself properly makes every corner a potential threat. I’m halfway down the corridor when I find Keir waiting for me in the hallway, leaning against the wall like he has all the time in the world.
His head snaps up the moment I round the corner, like he sensed me before he saw me. He smiles—soft and genuine—holding out a single wildflower to me. It’s a delicate purple bloom with fuzzy petals that smells like summer meadows and sunshine. My chest tightens at the sweet gesture from him. “Thank you.” I accept the flower and bring it to my nose, inhaling deeply. The scent fills my lungs, chasing away some of the anxiety that’s become my constant companion, and I purr without meaning to.
His cheeks flush pink before he turns away, bashful in a way that makes him look younger. “You’re welcome.” He offers me his hand, and I take it, giving it a little squeeze. His palm is warm and calloused against mine, the rough texture grounding me in the present moment. “We’re going to be late for Callan’s class.”
Before I can say anything, Keir steals my backpack from my shoulder with his free hand and swings it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing. The weight disappears from my back, and I realize how much the asymmetrical pull was bothering me.
“You don’t have to—” He surprises me by silencing me with a kiss. His lips are pillow-soft and full for a man, pressing against mine with gentle insistence. He almost steals my breath away, tasting like mint and something uniquely him—earthy and wild. Slowly, his eyes bleed onyx, the color spreading from his pupils outward until they’re thesoulless black orbs of his blink hound. I shift mine to my dragon’s in response, sapphire bleeding to dragonic with vertical slits, and I feel like the world has stopped spinning.
The mate bond pulses between us like a living thing—incomplete but present, tugging at something deep in my chest. I pull back slowly, looking into his abyssal depths where I can see my reflection, and the pull reminds me I still need to claim him. Complete what we started when I kissed him two weeks ago in the bedroom after he saved me. My eyes search his face—the strong jaw dusted with stubble, the storm-gray eyes that have shifted back, the sandy brown hair that falls across his forehead. All I see is a relaxed calm and love so pure it makes my throat tight.
“Can we go to dinner tonight? Just us?” I cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin and the slight rasp of stubble, staring into his eyes — human gray—like storm clouds after rain, churning with emotion.
“If that’s what you want, I can make it happen.” He smiles so brightly it transforms his entire face, that is until his pack mates make some sort of bark-growl thing from down the hall. The sound is territorial, challenging. His expression shifts instantly from soft to dangerous, and he vanishes from in front of me.
He reappears down the hall in less than a blink, his hand around his pack mate’s throat, lifting the other male off the ground. The other blink hound’s feet dangle, kicking uselessly as he claws at Keir’s wrist. “She’s my mate...” The word mate is a deep, resonant growl that I feel in my bones. I can see the fur racing up his arms like water flowing upstream—sand-colored and bristling with aggression.
