Chapter 9
Raven
I knowFin was awake when I was looking him over last night. The slight change in his breathing pattern, the almost imperceptible tension in his jaw—subtle tells I’ve learned to read from living with predators my whole life. Was it out of fear that he didn’t open his eyes, or was it because he didn’t want to startle me? I’ll never know the answer to that unless I ask, and part of me doesn’t want to break the spell of that quiet moment.
All I do know is I have him in my arms and under my wing now, his warmth seeping into my skin where we touch. I’m taking a huge chance bringing him into the heart of my lair—this deep chamber carved into living stone that pulses with my territorial claim. Most unbonded creatures cannot stand being in a dragoness’s space for more than a few minutes. The pressure builds in their skulls; their instincts screaming at them to flee. I know even my father dares not tread down here without explicit invitation; the weight of my presence is too intense even for him.
My internal clock—honed by years of strict training schedules—tells me it’s about seven in the morning. Pale light filters down through the ventilation shafts carved high in the stone walls.I roll away carefully, moving with the practiced silence of a predator, leaving Fin sleeping peacefully in my bed. His flame-colored hair is spread across my pillow like living fire, creating a striking contrast against the dark fabric.
I creep through my lair and up the winding stairs to the main level of our quarters, my bare feet silent on cool stone. The kitchen smells of coffee already brewing—someone else is awake. I prepare a mix of meats and pastries to bring back down with me, selecting items from the well-stocked refrigerator and warming some in the oven. The scent of bacon and fresh bread fills the air, making my stomach growl.
Hemlocke is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, his long black hair loose around his shoulders and his magenta eyes tracking my movements with obvious relief. “Hey,” I say softly before moving to hug him from the side, pressing my face against his warm chest and breathing in his familiar scent of meadow grass and storm winds.
“We thought we had lost you.” He kisses me firmly, almost desperately, his hands coming up to frame my face. The kiss tastes of coffee and fear, finally releasing its grip. His fingers tremble slightly against my cheeks.
The soft purr that escapes me is involuntary but genuine, rumbling through my chest into his. I feel something in him settle and relax; the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “I was asleep most of the time. As far as I know, they were holding me, waiting for either of my dads to go on a rampage looking for me.” The memory makes my voice harder than intended.
“You heard them say that?” Corvus appears in the doorway, already pulling his phone out with quick, efficient movements. His silver eyes are sharp with concern and gathering anger.
“Yeah, let Mom and my dads know. We’ll go see them later today and talk.” I grab two different juices from the refrigerator—the cold bottles sweating condensation onto my palms—and add a carafe of fresh coffee onto the laden tray before turning to leave.
“Do you need help?” Keir appears beside me, leaning down to kiss me softly. His stormy gray eyes search mine, looking for signs of trauma or pain.
“Yes, please.” I look up into Keir’s eyes, and he smiles with that devastating expression that always makes my heart skip. He bands his arms around me carefully, keeping the breakfast tray secure between us. In seconds, reality folds, and he blinks us directly into my bedchamber, deep below.
The familiar disorientation passes quickly, and I find my footing on the stone floor of my lair. “Remember, avians have hollow bones and can break easily. I’m not sure how durable their human form is.” He kisses me again, his lips warm and reassuring, before blinking out of sight with a soft displacement of air.
Turning slowly, I see Finlay opening his eyes. Those beautiful honey-gold orbs lock onto me immediately, and I sigh at the intensity of his gaze. Heat blooms in my chest where the golden bond threads between us. “I brought breakfast.” I lift the tray slightly in my hands toward him, suddenly feeling awkward and uncertain.
Finlay launches out of bed with surprising speed and grace, crossing the distance between us in three long strides. He takes the heavy tray from me with gentle but insistent hands. “Please allow me the honor of serving you breakfast.” His voice carries an old-world formality that makes something flutter in my stomach. He glances around the interior of the room with opencuriosity, taking in the bioluminescent fungi growing in careful patterns, the carved stone furniture, and the personal touches that make this space mine.
I nod, leading him over to my little cozy nook tucked in the corner where my bookshelves tower from floor to ceiling. The shelves are packed with volumes collected over the years—everything from ancient dragon histories to modern romance novels I read when I need to escape.
“We can eat here.” I grab a thick, soft blanket from a nearby chest and throw it down over the circular padded bench that’s built into the alcove. The cushion is covered in a dark fabric that’s been worn smooth by use. I climb up onto it, folding my legs beneath me and arranging my wings so they don’t cramp.
He places the tray in the center with careful precision and climbs up beside me. The bench is large enough for both of us comfortably. He scoots until he’s right next to me, our thighs touching, and begins arranging the food and drinks with practiced efficiency. Fin leaves the beverages on the tray while spreading out the meats and pastries in an appealing display—making it look almost artistic.
“I didn’t know what you eat...” I hesitate, motioning to the spread with uncertainty coloring my voice. “I...”
He grasps my hands mid-gesture, his skin warm and slightly calloused, and brings them to his lips. He kisses each knuckle with deliberate tenderness, his breath warm against my skin. “I eat just about everything. Phoenixes are considered birds of prey.” A soft smile plays on his lips before he releases my hands, though his fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary. He makes a plate with a little bit of everything on it and offersit to me with both hands—a formal presentation that speaks of courtship rituals I don’t fully understand yet.
Fin clears his throat, and a brilliant blush flushes his cheeks, spreading down his neck and making his skin glow faintly. “It is customary for a phoenix to court its female and to build them a nest.” He bites his bottom lip nervously and tilts his head, looking at me with an expression that’s equal parts hopeful and anxious. “Hmm...” His honey eyes dart around the room, assessing the space with new purpose, then return to me. “How big are dragon eggs?” His brows pinch together in the center as he studies me, clearly doing calculations.
He’s already short-circuited my brain by saying he wants to court me. And now he wants to build me a nest—an actual nest for future eggs. The implications make my head spin. “Um... well, I’m young. But my dragoness is fully matured, and I’m a skull dragon now.” I fumble over my words, not sure what to say or how to process this sudden shift into discussing our future offspring. “My eggs would be... substantial. Probably similar in size to my mother’s, which are about three feet tall.”
“Breathe, Raven.” His hand comes to rest over mine, stilling their unconscious shaking that I hadn’t even noticed. His touch is warm and grounding. “A phoenix’s nest-building is a labor of love. It’s not done overnight, nor is it expected to be filled immediately.” His fingers brush over my knuckles with soothing strokes, and I feel my racing heart slowly calm down. “I have centuries to prepare the perfect space for our future.”
“Thank you, Fin.” I close the distance between us and kiss his cheek, tasting salt and something uniquely him—like cinnamon and smoke. I watch with satisfaction as he blushes even deeper, the color spreading to the tips of his ears.
We eat in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft clink of utensils and our quiet breathing. His old-world values and traditions are fascinating, speaking of a culture I know almost nothing about. It’s like the priestess at the Temple of Tiamat said during my blessing ceremony: the goddess chooses the mates we need, not the ones we think we want. Everyone has a place within the nest, a purpose that complements the others.
I watch Fin as he eats—he’s refined and precise in his actions, holding his fork with perfect posture, taking small bites, dabbing his lips with a napkin between each one. Everything he does has a purpose and an elegance to it that speaks of centuries of practice and refinement.
We can learn a lot from him, I realize. And maybe, just maybe, he can learn something from us too.
Later in the day,after we’ve finished eating and talking quietly about inconsequential things, I take Fin by the hand and lead him up through my lair. His palm is warm against mine, his fingers lacing through my own with comfortable familiarity. We wind through the tunnels carved into living stone, the bioluminescent fungi casting everything in soft blue-green light that pulses gently like a heartbeat. The air grows warmer and more humid as we descend deeper, and finally we emerge near the egg chamber.
“I’m sure you’re aware dragons prefer limestone for our egg chambers,” I say, and he nods, his honey eyes taking in every detail of the stone formations around us. The walls hereare different—smoother, water-worn, glistening with moisture. I smile and walk out into the secondary chamber behind the main laying room. “Black dragonesses prefer a more humid environment for our eggs. Our shells are thicker than other dragons’, so the moisture helps soften them when it’s time for the hatchlings to break through.”
