And the dragon inside me justlaughs.
Chapter 50
Raven
I tryto drown my stress under the hot shower. Every droplet impacts my skin, and I swear I think I can count them—each one a tiny pinpoint of heat against my scales and flesh. The steam fills the stall until I can’t see anything outside of the glass, the world beyond reduced to blurred shapes and shadows. The tile is slick beneath my feet, and the water pounds against my shoulders like a thousand tiny fists trying to beat the tension out of my muscles. I understand now what Mom said when she said that sometimes our most dangerous enemy is the one in our own head.
‘We’re okay.’My dragoness says to me, and in a sense, I feel a little better. At least she’s not just a murderous monster. The voice is gentler now, almost reassuring—like a sister trying to comfort me.
‘We are both.’She says again, and I pause, seeing the glow in my eyes reflecting in the glass of the shower stall—sapphire bleeding to something brighter, more primal. The light pulses in time with my heartbeat. I shut off the water with a sharp twist, and the sudden silence is deafening. Water drips from the shower head in slow, rhythmic drops. I stare into the glow fading from my eyes, watching myself becomehuman again. Or whatever passes for human when you’re part dragon, part basilisk, part nightmare made flesh.
Stepping out of the stall, I towel off, feeling the rough fabric against my sensitive skin. My wings shake slightly, shedding water droplets that patter against the tile. I slip into the leggings and tank top I picked out—soft cotton that doesn’t restrict my wings. I wrap a towel around my head, piling it and my hair on top of my head in a messy turban. The bathroom mirror is completely fogged , obscuring my reflection. Maybe that’s for the best.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I move slowly, silently through the house on bare feet. The wood floor is cool beneath my soles, smooth and familiar. The apartment smells like home—Corvis’s bread-and-honey scent, Hemlocke’s meadow-flowers sweetness, Keir’s hot-chocolate warmth. I stand in the doorway, watching the guys set up for our health of the nest talk. Four pillows at the compass points and a blue bottle in the middle—simple, but the weight of what we’re about to do makes my stomach clench. The living room is dimly lit, only a few lamps casting a warm golden light across the space.
Keir is setting snacks out on the table—crackers, cheese, fruit, things we can nibble while we talk. The grapes glisten, freshly washed. Corvis is fluffing the pillows that we’re about to sit on, his movements precise and methodical. He’s arranged them perfectly, north, south, east, west. Hemlocke is messing with the music, adjusting the volume until soft instrumental notes fill the space—something with piano and strings that sounds melancholy. Mate number four is sitting on a pillow close by to where we’re going to be. Well, he’s in the egg carrier, but present nonetheless. The orange shell glows faintly in the dim light, pulsing like a heartbeat.
When the guys aren’t looking, I move and sit on a pillow, waiting for them to notice my arrival. My wings settle against my back with a soft rustle. The pillow is soft beneath me, and I tuck my legs. I reach out and spin the bottle, and the guys damn near leap out of their skin.Keir was so scared he blinked out of existence, then back again on the other side of the room, his eyes wide, and his hand on his chest.
“Sorry!” I squeal and throw my hands up defensively, trying not to laugh at their reactions. But the laugh dies in my throat. This isn’t funny. Nothing about this is funny anymore.
“Well, since you’re here.” Corvis says as he moves to the pillow and sits down opposite me, his silver eyes warm despite the nervous energy radiating from him. He crosses his legs and places his hands on his knees.
“How does this work?” I ask as Hemlocke and Keir take their seats to either side of me. Their warmth surrounds me, grounding me. Hemlocke smells like the stables—hay and leather and horse. Keir smells like the outdoors—wind and rain.
Corvis pulls out his phone and looks at something on it, the screen casting blue light on his face. “Ziggy says we spin the bottle and someone asks a question they need an answer to. Either that, or we can use the bag?”
“We’ll try the bottle first, I guess. So who goes first?” I look between the three guys, seeing my anxiety reflected in their faces. The apartment feels too small, the walls pressing in.
“I’ll spin.” Hemlocke reaches out and spins the bottle. The sound of the glass on the wood floor makes a scratching tone that sets my teeth on edge until the bottle slows and finally lands on Keir with a soft clink.
I raise both eyebrows, looking at Keir. He clears his throat and then looks down at the bottle as if it holds all the answers. “How are we going to reorganize once Solaris hatches?”
All eyes are on me, and I too look at the bottle, watching it settle completely. The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications. Another mate means another bond, another reorganization of everything we’ve built. “I believe we should be fair and putnumbers into a bag and draw a new order.” Staring at the bottle, I wait to hear if there’s any argument against it. A chorus of “that’s fair” echoes around me, the voices overlapping.
I reach out and spin the bottle. The spinning grind of the glass on the wood is so much louder than the rest of the room—or maybe it just feels that way because my heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. Of course, the bottle ends up pointing at me. Bloody fucking hell, of course it did. My eyes are locked on the bottle pointing directly at my crossed legs. “What does everyone think of me having to fight my mom for dominant dragoness?” I don’t raise my eyes to look at any of them. Can’t bear to see their faces. Can’t bear to see the fear or pity or whatever emotion they’re trying to hide.
The silence stretches. Someone shifts on their pillow, fabric rustling. Finally, Keir speaks.
“I’m not worried if you’re gonna win because I know you will. I’m worried about how it will make you feel afterwards.” Keir’s answer makes me look up. I nod slowly and wait for my next mate, my throat tight with unshed tears.
“I agree with Keir,” Hemlocke says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before looking quite thoughtful, his pink eyes distant. “The aftermath is gonna be the worst. I’m worried about your mom’s breath weapon.” His eyes flicker to the brilliant magenta of his unicorn, bright and fierce in the dim light.
All eyes are on Corvis, and he raises his hands in a placating manner. “Raven’s acid is stronger than Thauglor’s. If I’m being honest, I’m worried about both breath weapons. Pound for pound, black dragons are tank units compared to green or even iron dragons.” His wordsgive me pause, and I tilt my head, encouraging him to continue. “Maybe we can get Njall or Ty to shift near you for a size comparison.” He’s thinking of using the iron dragons to compare to my dragoness.
“So get one of them to shift near Mom, then shift near me?” I tilt my head, trying to understand where my mate is going with all of this.
“It’s the safest way for everyone to know what we’re potentially going up against.” Corvis says, and I nod.
“Make it happen.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, he texts my parents, letting them know the plan. I watch his thumbs move across the screen, feeling the weight of what we’re setting in motion. Each tap of his fingers seals something inevitable.
Keir reaches out and spins the bottle next. It lands on Hemlocke with a hollow thunk. He won’t look up, his long black hair falling forward to hide his face. “With the power struggle happening, where are we going to live going forward?” It’s been a concern of mine too—a constant anxiety gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.
“I believe we're staying at Malivore. When my heat hits, we’ll sedate me in my cavern in the oasis.” I twist the hem of my shirt until I can’t twist it anymore, the fabric bunching in my fists. My knuckles are white.
“You hate being above ground—even I know that,” Hemlocke says, reaching out to touch me. His fingers are warm against my arm.
“True...” I give his hand a squeeze, feeling the calluses on his palm from working with the horses. The familiar texture grounds me.
