“I didn’t get the ‘how’ out of him. He was a scale away from falling onto the carpet in the corridor.”
“Tired like the third year at the academy when he decided he could fly home and back and still perform in flight training the next day tired?”
“Worse.” He slept for two days straight after that.
“Damn. So then you have time to go see your sister. He’s going to be out for a while. We can’t do anything here now.”
“Yeah. You’ll watch over Raine, and by ‘watch’ I mean don’t fucking touch her.”
“Or... we skip the ceremony and you go touch her now. It’s not the right way, but if she’s the one, what would it matter?”
“I’m aware. But we wait and do it right.” When all the males of a flight have found each other—with their markings clear—and their fated mate appears, it causes her marking to emerge.But unlike the shifters of Earth, it’s not instantaneous. There’s a strong attraction—at least, that’s what I’ve been told. But it could take weeks, months even. Hence the six-month contract for the candidates. Though there have been plenty that we’ve known weren’t the one for sure in far less time. Waiting to touch until during the ceremonial ritual has been known to speed up the mark appearing. When it does, it’s known as the lightning.
“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What?” I’m anxious to get going now.
“About your sister.”
“Did she tell you anything else?”
“She’s smart.”
“And?”
“And she would make a good queen.”
“I agree.” Relief spreads through me. My sister would make a good queen. Granted, she’s young and without a thunder of her own yet. They could be out there searching for her while she’s tucked away in a tower. “Do you want to clarify what you’re getting at?”
“You know what I’m getting at. I’ve had enough candidates. I want this one, Raine, to be our last. I can’t take this anymore. We’ve said it before, but I mean it this time. I’d rather not have a mate than keep pulling these human women to the castle. Fuck the prophecy. Hell, at this point, do we even care whether we find our fated mate? It’s been too long. If you’re going back to Crest Wing to talk to the queen, tell her. Tell her we’re ready to find a mate at home. We need to be a proper thunder. None of this living as roommates. My dragon grows more agitated every candidate that doesn’t turn out to be the one. I’m done. I want Raine to be the last, no matter what happens.”
“I . . . agree.”
“Thank fuck. And I know Roark will be on board. He’s never wanted?—”
“You don’t need to tell me. I know him well. He’s never wanted any of this. I’ll go talk to my mother. Aisling belongs at the academy, especially if she’s going to be queen one day.” I close my laptop and take off my shirt and shoes, leaving them on the hook by the door. Leopold will have them removed and in my suite by the time I return. We’ll do this the right way. I need to not touch her until we have a proper ceremony. It might take a long time for the mark to appear, but the power of having the final touch at the ceremony will make up for it.
Evander walks with me to the curtain on the other side of the atrium. Stepping through the curtain, I take my pants off and put them on the hook next to the twelve-foot circular door. TheThessari.
“Ready?” Evander asks.
“Yes.”
He rolls the carved door away from the hooks until it thuds into the open position. Behind it, the solid stone wall reminds us of the danger to those who don’t carry a blood connection to the queen who gave her dragon to make this portal if they try to open it. Evander can move through this portal, but he can’t open it. Not safely. He’s born of Elderglen. Roark and I open it for him when he needs to travel. Through the lineage charts, I’m her great-great-grandson. While Roark is her fifth-great-nephew and her tenth cousin, three times removed.
But enough of her stirs in him to open the portal.
I prick my thumb on the nail protruding from the stone. Two hands on it, I push, and it vanishes. In the same movement, I jump and shift while flying through space, coming out headfirst.
11
RAINE
Ican’t see anything. It’s like the time I took a tour of a coal mine and they shut the lights off. It takes me a minute to get my bearings. I’m completely clothed and on the bed I woke up in this morning. But how did I get back here? I flick on the bedside light. The hands on my grandmother’s watch say twelve. But I’m so out of it, is that noon or midnight? And twelve in Switzerland or twelve in New York? What the heck happened? My head pounds. This isn’t jet lag, is it? I’m reaching for my phone to check WebMD, but it’s not on the bed or nightstand. Or on the floor, even. My shoes are still on. This is a bad first impression to make. What’s wrong with me?
I was having a sexy dream, the most delicious dream of a large handsome man with a square jaw holding me tight. My attraction to my hot bosses is going to be the death of me. Focus on the art. That’s why I’m here. Not the sculpture-worthy men at the dinner table last night.
I think I remember every part of this morning: gettingup, going to breakfast, Leo showing me where to make coffee. And I did make it, but I don’t remember drinking it. Then there was the giant of a man holding my phone. He asked me something, and my head imploded with pressure. What did he ask me? Oh... Jeff. Fucking Jeff.
