Chapter 23

Kit

The warm darkness cocooning me smells of my mate and fresh grass. With disorienting slowness, I become aware that I'm kneeling on soft, moist earth. My whole body—which feels like my normal body once more—aches. The hatchling I'm clutching whimpers softly.

Beside me, Cyril pants heavily, his massive body expanding with each gulping breath. He too is on the ground, but in his dragon form, one of his wings spread wide to shelter me, the hatchling, and the four eggs vibrating beside us.

I loosen my hold on the hatchling to frantically run my hands over the shells of the other eggs. Intact. Thank the stars. The darkness shifts, letting in a few stray bits of light that play over Cyril's blue scales. Reaching up, I poke Cyril's wing with my finger.

The wing flinches and retracks, letting in a flood of sunlight. A heartbeat later, there is a bright flash of light, and Cyril's fae form replaces his dragon's. He looks, well, like he's been running for miles after being tortured. Exhaustion lines every dip of his gorgeous blood stricken face, and he sways slightly on his feet despite his steel sharp gaze, which examines me with piercing intensity.

"You've… shifted… back." He leans down, braces both palms on his thighs as he gulps for air. "Are we… staying… this time?"

"Are we staying where?" I echo in confusion. "Here?"

I'm not sure how we got here, much less where here is or how this has become my decision. All I can tell is that we're in a pasture, its sheep residents keeping far away from us. The air is fresh, filled with the scent of pine. It's a stark contrast to the stone confines of the citadel, where I last remember being. Which begs the logical question of… "How did we get here?"

"We flew." He frowns at me. "You flew. In dragon form."

I process that for a heartbeat then twist in a circle. Leesandra and her pack are in the distance, some of the males still in dragon form. On the other side of the pasture is a vaguely familiar looking solitary wooden cabin nestled among a grove of towering oaks. The land then dips into a small valley, where I think I see a babbling brook that meanders through the underbrush. In the opposite direction, a dense pine and spruce forest dominates the landscape. Something makes me think there might be a lake there too. There is nothing else by way of civilization though, not that I can see or hear anyway. In fact I know there is nothing else close by. No towns, no other homesteads, no anything. I'm certain. Or at least my dragon is.

"Where are we?" I ask Cyril.The hatchling in my arms lets out a squawk and I let it down, where it starts flapping its wings and running circles around the eggs.

"Hell if I know." Cyril is tense, his attention not wavering from me and the hatchling. "You've had us flying for days. What's the last thing you remember?"

I rub my face, trying to regain my bearings. "I remember being in the citadel chamber with Emric. He was hurting you, and he was furious. He was going to harm the pup. And then…" Then there was a rush of magic and energy and air and panic. Then I was me, but not me. "What happened then exactly?"

"You mean after you shifted and released enough magic to take the citadel's roof clear off? After that, you took off like a banshee, and we've been playing where is Kit going to try and land ever since. I've had to grab you by the scruff of the neck in mid-air each time you angled toward the ground or into a mountain face. You suddenly being able to fly didn't make you suddenly able to land. Darren's pack has been helping too—they saw the explosion and came."

"Look, she is human! Or fae. Whatever!" Lee's hopeful voice exclaims as she and the males emerge from the other side of nearby the hill. "Does that mean we are finally stopping?"

"Let's not get too close to an unpredictable mama dragon and the hatchling, lest we want to be eaten or taken into the skies again, shall we?" Darren grabs Lee around the waist and pulls her against his chest, his orange hair flying in the breeze. He isn't quite in as bad of shape as Cyril, but he's exhausted too.

I cringe. "I'm sorry."

Cyril grabs my shoulders. "You single handedly took down Emric, broke us out of the citadel, saved my life, the hatchling's, the eggs, and your own. Don't you dare be sorry."

Well, when he puts it that way. I sigh and nestle my forehead against Cyril's shoulder. He pulls me tightly against him, his hands brushing up and down my spine.

"Do you know what you were looking for?" Cyril asks. "You seemed very determined to get here. Magic kept bursting from you, waves that pushed us along. I lost my bearings several times, but we seem to have moved close to the mortal realm."

I shake my head. I have no idea. But the essence inside me that I know is my dragon is relaxed now. Whatever the dragon was looking for, it's satisfied here. It feels safe here. And maybe I do too.

"I'm pretty sure I'm not shifting anymore," I tell Cyril. "Also, I don't actually know how to shift on command."

"Yes, well that hasn't stopped you before," Cyril points out. "If you didn't have the pup and eggs, I might have let you crash just to get a bit of a rest."

"You wouldn't have."

"No," he admits. "I'm not Quinton. Though the speed with which you were trying to break your neck, I think even he would have interfered." Cyril pushes me back to arms length and examines me again, his expression turning serious. "How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted and more than a little disoriented," I confess. "I really shifted? Into a dragon?"

"Into the most beautiful dragon I have ever seen."

I reach toward his face, where blood still coats his mangled scales and brush my finger delicately along his skin. It's then that I see his hand, and the sigil that's on his finger. Ettienne's sigil. The one only the king of Massa'eve is to wear. The pain I'd felt through the bond hits me again, my eyes stinging at his loss. "Cyril?—"

"Don't." He swallows. "Not yet."

I nod once and suddenly the gap between us is gone, and Cyril's hands are on my waist, gripping me with a fervor that echoes through the bond. He pulls me against him, our bodies colliding, our arms gripping each other desperately. His eyes, blue and intense, lock onto mine, reflecting the relief and terror that's still simmering through me. Then he is kissing me, soft at first, then desperate and demanding as my mouth parts for him.

His kiss is all-consuming, as if making up for each unspoken word. My body and soul respond with equal fervor, my hands clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer, afraid to let go even for a moment.

The world narrows. It's just us, our rapid breaths, the desperate kiss that deepens with each stroke of tongues. Cyril's hands roam over my back. My fingers thread through his hair. Our bond sings, taking over my body until I can think of nothing else but the overwhelming sensation of being alive and with him and in the now. Stars. I love him. I love him so so much.

"Hate to interrupt and all, but we are about to have visitors," Lee points out. "And the little dragonling is trying to set the sheep on fire."

"What?" I mutter, only half listening as Cyril and I pull apart and gasp for air. There is a flicker of raw vulnerability in his eyes that mirrors my own. Our foreheads touch, our breaths mingling, the intensity of the kiss still lingering like an echo. "What visitors?"

"The ones who own the sheep, I imagine," says Darren. "I better go see to our other luggage before they find it."

I raise a questioning brow at Cyril.

"Later," he says.

"How about now?"

He sighs, lowering his voice. "Emric."

"What? He followed us?"

"Not so much followed, as was brought along. I grabbed him on our way out," Cyril says, a coldness in his voice that is so unlike him. "He is too useful to let die quite yet."

A rush of terror shoots through me. "But what if he?—"

"He can do nothing to us," Cyril promises. "To any of us."

"Are you bloody insane? The eggs. The hatchling. He -"

"He can't hurt them. I promise. The priests' magic requires runes to be meticulously traced. And he can do no tracing with no arms." A grim flash of steel crosses Cyril's face. "Our greatest challenge is keeping him alive until we let Quinton have him."

I cringe, but nod, turning away from Cyril just in time to see the hatchling twist away from the sheep and take off toward an elderly looking human couple making their way toward us. I take off after the pup. It runs faster, now screeching at the top of its lungs and belching flame.

Cyril is beside me now, his longer legs overtaking mine despite his exhaustion. Lee, Rand and Broker join the chase with grim familiarity. This must not be the pup's first attempt to escape.

"Stop," I shout. "Get back here."

"Halt!" Cyril's booming voice echoes with authority through the pasture.

"Craaaaaa! Craaaa!" the hatchling replies with utter disregard for our wishes.

Cyril reaches the pup first, swiping for it with his arms. Instead of surrendering, the hatchling changes course, avoiding getting grabbed with frightening efficiency. Cyril curses.

I take the next swipe, somehow managing to grab the pup. It squeaks and lets out a puff of flame that singes my sleeve before Cyril quickly pats out the small flame. Unsatisfied with that, the hatchling produces a larger flame and screeches at the top of its well developed lungs. Their wings beat my face. I cringe. "What's it doing?"

"Trying to burst our eardrums," Cyril says darkly.

"Asking for dinner, clearly." Now just steps away, the woman separated from her husband and marches toward me. "Give me that child."

"It's not quite a child," I say cautiously. Now that they are closer, I'm sure they are fully mortal.

"Dragon pups are not it's." The woman chides. "Really, I'd expect you lot to know better." Clearly lacking any self preservation instinct, she plucks the hatchling from my arms and wraps it in her very flammable shawl. Within moments, the screaming pterodactyl is swaddled tightly, the wings that have been beating me into a pulp now wrapped tight to its body.

I open my mouth to protest, but the little traitor goes quiet at once.

"There is a sweet girl," the woman coos. "Tired and hungry, aren't you? Of course you are."

"Told you it's a girl," Lee whispers to Rand, while the tips of Cyril's scales turn a shade of embarrassed purple. None of us had checked that part. In our defense, we've been a bit busy.

The woman snorts in soft amusement, then returns her attention to the pup. "Look at those beautiful eyes. Just like your big sister's when she was your age."

Big sister. I know even before the woman gives me another of her gentle smiles that, impossible as it is, it's me she is talking about. Me. My stomach twists into knots. The couple's comfort with the hatchling, their utter lack of surprise at the appearance of dragon shifters in the middle of a far off homestead, the way my dragon is content here, none of it is a coincidence.

Cyril shifts his body for an easier attack vector. He's worked out the not-a-coincidence thing too. And he is ready for violence, even if these two elderly humans don't look capable of much.

"Who… " I swallow, the phantom familiarity of this place suddenly clicking into place. "I've been here before," I whisper. I lived in that cottage, swam in the mountain lake. This is where my mother and I hid before she bound me. I clear my throat, trying to find my voice. I have so many questions, I don't know where to start. "Who are you?" I ask.

"Agatha. And this here is Jonas, my husband." She pats the older man's hand. "And yes, we've been waiting for you for a long time, Kitterny."

Jonas gives me a nod, but then his attention focuses beyond my shoulder, his brows pulling together. "Are those dragon eggs?" he asks. "Four dragon eggs?"

Agatha's head snaps around, her eyes widening. For the first time since the woman walked up to us from the cabin she looks like what one would expect of a human besieged by a dragon pack. "That… That we were not waiting for at all."