Grayson nods slowly. "That's more than you gave yourself permission to want."
The truth lands hard. I spent centuries in ocean depths, avoiding connection, refusing to risk what caring costs. Lila isn't giving me that option. She's staying, investigating, forcing choices I've dodged since Saoirse died.
I never killed Mikhail because part of me remembers the friend he was. The partner who fought beside me through wars and centuries before power twisted him into this.
That hesitation ends now.
"I'm going to Flynn's Inn to tell her the truth. To make sure she makes choices based on complete information."
The Brotherhood doesn't argue. The bond is forming whether I claim it officially or not. Lila is mine in every way that matters. Denying it won't keep her safe.
I leave the cave, the transformation complete before I clear the entrance, my dragon demanding speed, demanding I reach Lila now. Wings unfold and catch the wind rolling off the cliffs, lifting me over rock and spray.
The flight is short but the dragon fights me for control with every wingbeat. It wants to crash through her window, to claim what belongs to us, to end this denial that's kept us apart. I force altitude instead, rising above the village where eyes might see, where questions I can't answer might form.
The morning ferry churns away from the harbor below, heading toward the mainland. I bank lower, scanning the deck. No copper hair. No trace of jasmine and citrus. No curvy form standing at the rail. She didn't leave.
Flynn's Inn sits quiet in the morning light. Most windows are still dark, but hers burns bright on the third floor. Still awake.
I land behind the building where the cliffs drop toward the ocean, shifting to human form in the space between heartbeats. I keep spare clothes hidden in a waterproof container near the cliffs, and I dress, forcing myself to move at human speed when every instinct screams to rush.
Coffee and chemical preservatives drift through the air as I enter the back door, climb the steps and round the corner to her door.
I knock. No answer. I knock again. Still no answer. I place my hand on the doorknob and twist. The door opens, and the room beyond is empty.
Cold coffee sits on the desk. Her laptop is open to algae analysis. Microscope slides are arranged in careful rows. Notes are scattered across surfaces in handwriting that marks hours of work.
But Lila herself is gone.
She hasn't fled. I saw the ferry leave without her, and she wouldn't abandon her research.
She's been taken.
The scent hits me hard. The sharp, acrid smell of phoenix fire mingles with the copper tang of fear. Mikhail was here. The window stands open, curtains moving in the morning breeze. He came through while she worked. He moved too fast for her to scream.
The coffee is cool but not cold. The laptop battery is still charged. This happened recently, while I was arguing with the Brotherhood instead of standing guard.
Rage floods through me, absolute and unforgiving. Mikhail has Lila. He has my mate. He has the woman I failed to protect because I was too busy denying what she is to me.
The scent trail leads from the window toward the cliffs. Fresh enough that the acrid burn still stings my nostrils. Deliberate. Taunting.
My dragon claws for control, demanding transformation, demanding flight, demanding blood and fire and vengeance. But blind fury won't find her. It won't save her. It won't undo leaving her unguarded while Mikhail planned his move.
I pull out my phone and text the Brotherhood.
He has her.
The response comes immediately from Declan.
Where?
I'm already moving. Down the stairs, out the back entrance where I leave my clothes. The transformation takes hold before I clear the alley, wings erupting to catch the wind.
The first wingbeat launches me skyward. The second carries me over Flynn's Inn. The third takes me above the village rooftops where the morning light breaks across the cliffs.
The scent trail burns through the morning air. Phoenix fire and fear, sharp enough to taste even at altitude. Mikhail flew northwest, staying high, making no attempt to hide his path. He wants me to follow. Wants me reckless and furious and alone.
I bank toward the cliffs where the trail leads, where rocks drop away to churning ocean below. The scent grows stronger. Fresher. Minutes ahead, not hours.
