“Heads up, Bastet,” Skylar says before putting the dragon on the ground. Its feet barely touch the floor before it’s bounding toward Bastet, and her familiar howls in shock as the dragon pummels into him. They’re about the same size, though one has more claws and spews fire, so not evenly matched. “That’s Kaida. And she’s bonkers,” Skylar says proudly.
GET THE LITTLE DEMON OFF ME, Bastet bellows, Kaida now straddling him as he struggles to get back to his paws.
“Ah, Bastet—she’s just a hatchling. Indulge her.” Astrid laughs.
“It’s the wings, B. She thinks she’s got a mini dragon friend,” Skylar says.
FIRSTLY, DO NOT CALL MEB.SECONDLY, IHOPE YOUR INNARDS BECOME TANGLED AND YOU CHOKE ON YOUR OWN LUNGS.Jessa chuckles next to them.
“Arach, you’re a dark creature, you know that.” Skylar looks at Astrid, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re so different, the two of you. How did you end up… together?”
“I’m guessing no one else would have him,” Astrid replies. Of course, that isn’t true—no witch or familiar chooses who they’re tethered to. In fact, no one knows very much about the witch-familiar relationship at all. They were questions Astrid often explored with her father: Wheredo familiars come from? Who chooses the pairings? Do the Stars decide? Whoever it is, Astrid is enormously grateful to them for Bastet.
“Well, no one will be having me dressed in this monstrosity.” Skylar curses under her breath, yanking at the material again.
Astrid is starting to feel the effects of the moonflower now. Her insides are fizzing, yet her mind feels sharper somehow, less encumbered. She’s not worrying about what others think or not being good enough. Beinguseless.It’s nice, this feeling. She’s enjoying herself, enjoying this banter with Skylar. Like she can pretend that yesterday didn’t happen. That Skylar didn’t shatter her future. And Skylar seems at ease, too—apart from the dress.
“I can sort it. I’ll change the color, then we could tear the top layer of the skirt off to get rid of the frills. Rip that puffy sleeve off, too.”
Skylar’s face lights up. “Please, butcher away.”
Astrid casts, “Nroi,” and Skylar gasps as her dress is transformed to an indigo black.
“Nicely done,” Skylar says, impressed.
Astrid releases one of her claws and yanks at the puffy sleeve, pulling it away from Skylar’s skin before slicing through it. Then she cuts down the length of the gauzy skirt, making it short, showing off Skylar’s lean brown legs. She waves a hand over the surplus material, disappearing it into a nearby bin.
“There.” Astrid stands back and admires her handiwork. “Much better.”
Skylar grins and twirls. Another trilling chirrup comes from beside them. Bastet has managed to pry Kaida off him, but she’s now standing next to him, one of her wings draped around his, and she’s yawning loudly.
NOT A SINGLE WORD, Bastet warns.
“She’s so tired, but she wouldn’t stay in the room.” Skylar frowns. “Will you go to bed now you’ve seen the party?” Skylar’s eyes glaze. “Ah, she’d love to go to bed but only if Bastet goes with her.”
OH GODDESS HAVE MERCY ON MY SHRIVELED SOUL.
“Are you sure she’s bonded to you and not him?” Astrid asks.
“She’s a little turncoat is what she is.”
BLAST IT, IWILL TAKE THE URCHIN TO BED, PRIMARILY SOIDONOT HAVE TO DEBASE MYSELF FURTHER WITH THESE RIDICULOUS WINGS.
They carry on their back-and-forth, but Astrid loses track of what they’re saying, her full attention on the man who’s just arrived.
Her mouth goes dry.
He’s shirtless, because of course he is, his golden skin gleaming in the light of the dying sun, every single ab highlighted. There’s a savage scar running from his sternum right down to beyond his navel, thick and raised like a white stem. The old wound is precise, straight as an arrow, and it can only have been caused by a very sharp blade. Who in the Stars did that to him?
He’s not wearing a mask. Instead, pauldrons sit on each shoulder, covering the upper part of his chest, which is so perfectly sculpted she wants to brush her hands across him and see if he’s real. Because no one should have a chest like that. The burn scars she’s noticed before on his arm end at his right pectoral. On his back, two glittering metal wings protrude from the armor, a perfect match for Mjolnir’s.
She watches his fluid movements, her eyes drawn once more to the scar that cuts down the middle of his abdomen, stark white against his smooth tanned skin. It only adds to the gloriousness of his defined stomach and the V-shaped muscles of his hips that are on show in his low-slung black pants.
He is so beautiful, so utterly magnificent, every scar only heightening his perfection. She realizes she’s staring, looking back to his face to find him staring right back; and though she’s on the other side of the clearing and though there are dozens and dozens of people between them, she knows he’s as aware of her as she is of him.
“He’s good for doing that,” Skylar says.
Astrid snaps her head to Skylar. “What’s that?”
