Aero stood in the empty station and tried to convince himself that the hollow feeling in his chest was relief.
His dragon knew better. Its fury at letting her walk away was a physical pressure against his sternum.
Fool, it hissed.
“She’s a mortal witch with unstable magic and a lifespan of maybe sixty more years,” Aero said aloud. “She’s not?—”
OURS.
The word echoed through him, undeniable and absolute.
For the first time in more years than he cared to count, Aero Tau had no counterargument.
SIX
AERO
Delos arrived at sunset.
The door burst open without a knock—typical Delos—and a lanky figure with golden-brown skin and an easy grin stepped inside.
“Honey, I’m home.” Delos dropped his bags in the doorway and surveyed the cabin with obvious amusement. “Place looks… cozy. Very serial-killer chic. I like what you’ve done with the murder board.”
“It’s a research board.”
“Sure it is.” Delos stepped over a stack of printouts and made himself comfortable in the cabin’s single armchair. For a fire dragon, he had an unusual tolerance for cold—probably because he generated his own heat—but he still reached for the blanket draped over the arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. “So. How’s Haven Shores? Surge as intense as the reports suggested?”
“More so.” Aero kept his attention on the data in front of him. “The ambient magical energy exceeds anything in our previous documentation. The ward system is particularly interesting—multiple species contributing to a unified defense matrix.”
“Uh-huh.” Delos’s voice carried an undertone that made Aero’s shoulders tense. “And the local talent? Elder Tidewell mentioned she was assigning you an assistant. Weather witch, right?”
“She’s adequate.”
“Adequate.” A pause. “Aero. Look at me.”
He didn’t want to. He knew what Delos would see. The younger dragon had worked with him for years, had learned to read the micro-expressions that no one else could detect. Had made it his personal mission to crack through Aero’s walls, one observation at a time.
But refusing to look would only confirm that something was wrong. So Aero raised his head and met his assistant’s gaze with all the composure he could muster.
Delos stared at him for a long moment. Then his amber eyes went wide.
“Holy shit.”
“What?”
“You lookweird.” Delos sat forward, the blanket forgotten, his entire attention fixed on Aero’s face. “You’re never weird. I have never seen you lookweird. What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Bullshit.” Delos stood, crossing the room in three long strides, stopping directly in front of Aero’s chair. He leaned down, studying Aero’s face with an intensity that would have been uncomfortable from anyone else. “Your pupils are dilated. Your jaw is doing that thing. And you smell different—there’s something under your usual scent, something…” His nose wrinkled. “Ozone? And salt. And something sweet, like?—”
He stopped. His eyes went impossibly wider.
“No.”
“Delos—”
“No way.” A grin was spreading across his face, bright and delighted and absolutely insufferable. “The weather witch. Theadequateweather witch. She—you?—”
