The intersection looms ahead—a place stained with the memory of Easton's death and rebirth.
"Yeah. Just afraid of being attacked again. That, and finding the house and there's nothing left, or there are no clues to who I am." The words are laced with anxiety and determination.
Inside my hoodie, Easton stirs. His little phoenix head pops out of the top, feathers ruffling in the breeze. His amber eyes scan our surroundings with an alertness that seems impossible for something so small.
He's still protecting us. Even now. Even like this.
I bite my bottom lip, the weight of our quest pressing down on me like heavy fog.
The baby phoenix seems to sense my unease. He stretches his neck up and nuzzles against my jaw, making a cooing sound—low and melodic—that settles something deep within me. A warmth spreads from where his feathers touch my skin, chasing away the chill of this haunted place.
We reach the intersection. What remains of the battle has been blown away on the wind.
Everything except the stains of Easton's blood on the cobblestone.
My stomach lurches at the sight. Dark rust-brown against gray stone. Evidence of the moment I almost lost him forever.
"Don't dwell, Precious." Khal blocks my line of sight and tips my head up to look at him. "He's alive and well in your hoodie."
Khal's lopsided smile makes me laugh half-heartedly.
He's right. I have Easton in my arms, and I didn't permanently lose him. Perhaps I'm displacing my fear of being alone again on this minor bump in the road.
Between the death of Fi's birth parents and now who knows what happened to mine—the fear of loss is at the forefront of my mind. Everyone I love seems to slip through my fingers like smoke.
But not this time. This time, he came back.
"He is, and I'm thankful." I kiss the top of his little bird head, his feathers silk-soft against my lips. Again, I ignore the predatory instinct that whispers dark things.
Easton chirps—a sound of pure contentment—and tucks his head back into my hoodie.
"We all owe him a debt that we can never repay." Diaval says and bows his head lower than Easton's.
For a dragon to lower itself like that speaks volumes about the respect given. Dragons bow to no one. Not kings. Not gods. Yet here is Diaval, five hundred years of pride and power, bending before a chick the size of a grapefruit.
Because that chick saved us all.
I watch Diaval take point and head down the path before us.
This small exchange feels big. I feel like the dynamics in our family just shifted. Easton, even in this vulnerable form, has earned something that cannot be taken back.
When he returns to himself, he'll be more than my mate.
Chapter 33
Khal
Torbenand I decided last night that Feray would always have two of us with her. One dragon-kin and one other mate. In theory, Easton is the one I should be paired with. Unfortunately, given his present situation, Torben is on double guard duty.
Dried leaves, brittle echoes of seasons long gone, skitter across the cobblestone underfoot. The bare trees overhead sway in the wind, their gnarled branches rubbing against each other, producing bone-chilling creaks and unsettling whispers.
It's a symphony of eerie noises that sends shivers down Feray's spine. She's visibly jumpy, her head on a constant swivel.
The skeletal trees, devoid of leaves and adorned only with twisted limbs, cast elongated shadows on the cobblestone streets. The wind, carrying the scent of decay and memories of battles past, ruffles the feathers of the baby phoenix nestled in Feray's hoodie.
If not for her proclamation as Easton's sole guardian, I can picture her transforming into her wolf form—hackles raised, growling at every ominous sound that pierces the quiet.
Passing by some of the trees, scars of past battles are visible. Claw marks mar their trunks, testaments to struggles endured by the long-dead inhabitants of this once-thriving town. Two trees, their bark entwined with remnants of weapons, stand as silent witnesses to the violent history etched into Silver Falls.
