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Charity plants her hands on her hips and calls out into the trees. “I’m not sure what creepy shit you’re on, but I know you’re out there. Go ahead and show yourself.”

I groan, but I do as she asks. Charity gets a big glare on her face as I step out of the shadows. On my way across the grass, I beg Mother Fate for help. Please let this go well.

“What the hell do you want?” Charity snaps as soon as I’m close enough.

I raise my hands in surrender and keep my distance. “Greetings, Charity. I only want to talk.”

Charity is already on the defensive, and she has every right to be. I’m encroaching on her land in the dark with no warning. She hangs back and balls her fists at her sides. Fear rolls off her sharp and sour through her perfume, with a nervous sweat under it. My dragon couldn’t care less. I didn’t come here to scare her, though, and it turns my gut that I’m the reason she smells like that.

“I just want to know why you hate my Aya so much,” I ask her. “What can we do to make it peaceful?”

Charity sizes me up while the fear in her scent curdles bitter and spiteful. When her lip curls, I already know I’m not going to like what comes out of her mouth. “Oh, you want us to be friends, huh?”

“Friends?” I shake my head. “You don’t have to be friends with my mate. What I would like is for you to stop attacking her. She’s not doing anything to you.”

“What are you?” she sneers. “Her warden?”

I stare her down. “No, but I am her protector.”

I step closer, and Charity backs away with magic sparking between her fingers. “You threatened to have that Mer try to kill me.”

“And I wish I could say I’m sorry about that.” I hold her glare. “You are going to leave my mate alone. If you can’t get along with her, fine, but stay away from her.”

Charity lifts her chin. “And what are you going to do about it?”

That’s when my dragon preens. He’s been waiting all night for her to ask. I can’t shake Josiah’s words. Show them who you are. They get louder with every thud of my pulse. I give my dragon the storm, and he snatches it up.

The call rips out of me, aimed straight at the sky. Static crawls over my skin. Black clouds boil up over the coven until the stars disappear. Panic spikes Charity’s scent when she cranes her neck to see. Thunder booms over the rooftops and shakes the windows of her family’s house. Blue light flickers deep inside the clouds and spreads until the sky over the coven glows. Veins of lightning crawl across the belly of the storm, branching and splitting as they hunt for a place to strike. The air turns thick enough to taste. Every hair on my body stands up, and my dragon hums with it. Then the sky cracks wide open.

Blue bolts hammer down around Charity and scorch a black ring into the grass at her feet. None of them touch her. She spins toward the woods to run, but lightning splits the ground at the tree line. She whirls back to the house, and another bolt cracks down in her path. Every direction she turns, the sky cuts her off. The yard stinks of ozone and singed grass. She finally drops into a crouch in the middle of the burn marks and covers her head with her hands.

But I’m not done. We haven’t shown her enough. I promised I’d burn her coven if she messed with my mate again, and I keep my promises. It’s time to show her who I am.

With my dragon shoving up through me, I turn on her shed. Every sensible part of me says not to do this. When he takes control, there’s no going back. Fire pools in my throat without me shifting and builds until my eyes water. It erupts in a roar. The blast slams into the shed and blows the door off its hinges. Flames climb the walls and chew through the roof while the windows burst out in a shower of glass. Heat washes back over me, thick with burning wood and scorched magic. Smoke pours up into the storm until the building is completely enveloped.

Charity’s parents come running out of the house. Her mother casts a shimmering shield around their daughter while her father yells for Kade.

Oh shit. I’ve done it now.

40

AYA

Dad grunts when I ease him down onto the sofa, then tries to pass it off as a cough. I’m not falling for it. Under all the sawdust he carried home from Ash Clan, his scent is heavy with pain. He keeps his hand pressed to the small of his back even after he’s sitting. Okay, so he’s not all right. My wolf whines and paces.

I wedge a cushion behind him and prop his feet up on the footstool while he swats my hands away. “Go home, baby,” he grumbles. “Your mate’s waiting on you.”

“Knock it off, Dad.” I yank the throw blanket down and drape it over his legs, then march off to the kitchen.

Raspberries and melted butter hit my nose in the doorway. Mom pulls a fresh batch of biscuits out of the oven, the kind she makes specially for shifters. She sets the pan on the stove and goes straight to the fridge for the pitcher of ice water. She doesn’t even turn around when I walk in. She knew I’d see him home.

When the sofa creaks in the living room, another wave of pain rolls off my father. The ache in his back is worse than he wants me to know. My wolf pushes at me to go to him, but I plant my feet on the kitchen tile.

I lean my hip on the counter beside her. “How long have you known, Mom?”

She drops a handful of ice into the pitcher. “A while.” She sets it down and pats my cheek with a hand still warm from the oven. “But you shouldn’t worry yourself with that.”

“Not worry?” I scoff. Is she serious? My father can hardly sit down. “What?”