Eight hundred years of keeping that promise. Eight hundred years of feeling nothing, wanting nothing, needing no one.
And now a storm witch with wild curls and sea-glass eyes had shattered it all in less than a month.
5:47a.m.
Aero’s eyes snapped open. He’d dozed eventually, slumped in the chair by the window, and now the gray light of pre-dawn crept through the glass.
His dragon was already awake. Already demanding.
Go to her.
He made coffee. Black. Hot enough to burn. A ritual that had anchored his mornings for three centuries. The normalcy should have been grounding.
It wasn’t.
Last night kept replaying in his mind. The wave attack. The way their magic had combined—his lightning, her wind, the devastating precision of their coordinated assault. The feeling of her body pressed against his as they shattered the water’s assault.
The way she’d leaned into him afterward, exhausted and trusting. The way he’d held her and never wanted to let go.
Our magic knows. Our beast knows. Why do you keep denying what’s obvious?
Because obvious wasn’t the same as safe. Because wanting something this badly meant losing it would destroy him. Because he’d built his entire existence around never beingthis vulnerable, and the foundations were cracking with every moment he spent in her presence.
Coward,his dragon sneered. You’ve faced down armies. Survived hunters. Outlived civilizations. And you’re afraid of a witch?
Not afraid of her. Afraid of what she represented. Afraid of the gaping vulnerability that caring about someone created. Afraid of becoming his parents—so devoted to each other that they’d forgotten how to survive.
He drained his coffee and reached for his jacket.
The investigation. He would focus on the investigation. They’d identified the energy signature last night—ocean-based magic, almost certainly siren. Nerissa was the obvious suspect. He needed to discuss strategy with Cassia, coordinate their research approach, maintain professional?—
You’re not going there for the investigation and you know it.
Aero’s molars ached from clenching. His dragon was right. He was going to her cottage because he couldn’t stay away. He walked out of his cabin and into the pale morning light.
The path to Cassia’s cottage wound through the edge of the forest and along the cliffs overlooking the harbor. Dawn painted the sky in shades of gold and rose, and the ocean below reflected it in fragments of color. It should have been beautiful. He should have noticed.
All he could think about was her.
The way she’d looked at him last night. The way her magic had felt tangled with his—not chaotic, not overwhelming, but right.
Stop being dramatic. You’re a dragon elder. You don’t get to be dramatic.
His dragon rumbled disagreement.
TWENTY-FIVE
AERO
Cassia’s cottage perched on the bluff above the harbor, a weathered Victorian painted the gray-blue of gathering storm clouds. The white trim was salt-stained from decades of coastal weather. Wind chimes made of sea glass and driftwood hung from the wraparound porch, singing softly in the pre-dawn breeze—a melody that seemed to shift with the wind, almost sentient.
Aero stood at the bottom of the steps and tried to remember how to breathe.
His dragon coiled with restless energy.Go. Make her understand.
He climbed the steps. Raised his hand to knock.
Hesitated.
