"Finding a pack would be nice." I look down, hearing the whine of my wolf in my head. The loneliness she's carried for so long echoes through me.
Torben runs his fingers through my hair and pulls me to him. "It's important for a wolf to have a pack. We can do our best to be a pack for you. I'm the only one that can really hunt with you, but I can't keep up." He sighs and hugs me tighter. "We will do everything we can to get you to your people."
Just as Torben hugs me, Diaval's phone pings. A deep rumbling growl escapes his lips as he glares daggers at his phone. "Fucking Myra..." When he looks up at me, his dragon is on the surface, looking like he's ready to go on a rampage.
I do the only thing I can think of. I launch myself at him and wrap my arms and legs around him tightly, as if trying to hold the dragon in his body. Softly, I hum and push as much calming energy as I can toward him through the bond. Eventually, his rigid frame relaxes under me, and his arms band gently around me as he carries me over to the couch. Diaval sits down, and I move to straddle him, still refusing to release him.
"What was that all about?" Easton asks as he comes to sit beside us.
"My ex, Myra, the queen of Vasserdell, wants us to come to her nest for dinner tonight." Diaval mutters against my throat as he presses his lips there.
A chill runs down my spine. This is the woman who almost enslaved him. "Oh, that can't be good." I sigh and make eye contact with Easton. "What am I supposed to wear? All I have are my sundresses and several sets of leggings and baggy shirts."
"You're in luck. Diaval and I already planned for this possibility. We have an elvish gown for you that complements your skin tone and hair." Easton moves to the odd small suitcase they have with them and opens it. Khal moves over to assist as he pulls the flowing gown from the suitcase. It's white as snow and sparkles like fresh powder on a winter morning when the sun first comes up. The bodice is cinched with silk ribbons intricately woven from the top to the waistline.
My breath catches. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Khal moves forward with an elvish tiara. Instead of a jewel adorning the teardrop, a single black scale dangles in its place. "Before you ask, it's one of mine." Diaval says softly as he lifts his head and releases me. "It's a mating present, an adornment that a drake gives his mate. A visual statement of belonging."
Khal offers me the tiara, and I look it over carefully. "When did you have it made?" I continue to stare at the intricate craftsmanship. Whoever made this is an extremely skilled artisan.
"The next morning, after you gave me the mug. When you chose me until death." My heart swells so full I'm afraid it might burst. He'd been planning this since then. Since the moment I gave him that stupid mug I bought on a whim. He reaches out, takes the tiara from me, and rests it on my head. Carefully, he moves some of my hair around, then ties the ribbons underneath. A soft smile graces his lips as he adjusts the pendant with his scale to rest against my forehead.
"Perfect. Just like its owner." Diaval leaves me speechless as he heads to the door. "I need to make several arrangements before we leave. Please continue to get ready. We leave as soon as I return." With that, he leaves the room swiftly, setting everyone into motion.
I sit there stupefied, staring at the dress and then the door.
What am I about to walk into?
Chapter 21
Easton
If my birdsquawks any louder in my head, I swear the others will hear him soon enough. He's warning me of the danger we're about to walk into. If I'm being honest with myself, I'm ready to ignite at the first sign of danger and torch anything that stands in my way. The open four-horse-drawn carriage glides through the cobbled streets, an imposing spectacle that demands the attention of every onlooker.
The queen is doing this on purpose.
Feray, poised in the center, sits between Diaval and Khal, an ethereal vision in her white elvish gown that occasionally flutters with the whims of the breeze. The three-piece gunmetal gray suits worn by the dragon-kin duo lend an air of formality to the entourage.
Torben, despite the discomfort etched on his face, navigates his own three-piece suit with reluctant elegance. It's a humorous sight, seeing him squirm within the confines of formal wear—a stark contrast to the accustomed ruggedness of his usual attire. The mystery of how Diaval found a suit accommodating his formidable, muscular frame remains unsolved. Somehow, theensemble adds a layer of refinement to the otherwise imposing figure.
Seated in my slightly lighter shade of gray suit, I find camaraderie in our matching attire. The carriage glides beneath the rhythmic clopping of the horses' hooves, the sound reverberating against the cobblestone streets.
Townspeople, alerted to the approaching spectacle, emerge from their residences, curious faces peering out from behind half-closed shutters. The eyes of the townspeople follow us, their collective attention transforming the carriage into a moving centerpiece.
The weight of scrutiny presses upon us. So many eyes fixed upon us sends a shiver down my spine, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. Feray maintains a regal composure. Her gaze, unwavering, seems to meet the eyes of those who dare to stare. Diaval and Khal, flanking her on either side, exude an air of protective authority.
Torben, despite his discomfort, manages a wry smile. His presence adds a touch of authenticity to the otherwise formal procession. As the carriage moves through the town, I catch glimpses of faces in the crowd—wide-eyed children, elders with weathered faces, and curious shopkeepers who pause their activities to witness our passing.
The medieval castle,with its brooding architecture carved into the face of the mountains, looms ahead—a silhouette against the backdrop of the darkening sky. It's a fortress that seems tornfrom the pages of a Bram Stoker novel, its towering spires and imposing walls exuding an air of ancient mystery.
The surrounding atmosphere vibrates with an undercurrent of anxiety, a palpable tension that seems to seep from the very stones. The closer we get, the more the fear intensifies—a crescendo of collective unease that threatens to engulf us all.
Feray, seated between Diaval and Khal, senses the mounting tension. The sleeves of her ethereal gown billow weightlessly in the breeze as she rises, a figure bathed in the soft glow of twilight. In a moment that freezes time itself, Feray raises her hands, her eyes shifting to the brilliant yellow glow of her wolf form. The air stills, as if she has harnessed the very essence of the atmosphere.
The oppressive weight of anxiety that had gripped the townspeople—and us—dissipates. It's a soothing balm, a Luna gift woven into the fabric of her being. The transformation is both visual and visceral. Furrowed brows of worried onlookers smooth, and lines etched with fear soften. The air, once thick with tension, becomes lighter, and the collective breath of the townspeople releases in a sigh of relief.
I watch in awe as older residents, some with tears in their eyes, gaze upon Feray with a mixture of gratitude and wonder. In this moment, she stands not just as my beloved but as a beacon of solace for the town. Her ethereal glory is a sight to behold—a radiant presence against the darkening backdrop of the castle.
I see her as my beautiful flame, embracing her birthright with a grace that resonates with the ancient power flowing through her veins. Feray, her task accomplished, gracefully takes her seat once more. I watch her in silent admiration, my heart swelling with pride for the strength she's displayed. She has not onlybrought peace to the town but has demonstrated the potential of her Luna gifts.
