“Neither was the oven being hot, and yet.”
She grabbed the first aid kit and pointed at a chair. He sat, which surprised her. The Alessandro she’d met yesterday would have insisted he was fine, that he didn’t need help, that he could handle it himself.
But his exhaustion bled into her, too deep to maintain the facade.
She cleaned the burn gently. It wasn’t serious, barely more than a bad sunburn, but his skin was so warm. Dragon blood, running hot even at rest.
“You need to sleep more.” She kept her focus on the bandage.
“I need a lot of things.”
“Sleep is free.”
“Sleep requires…” He stopped. Started again. “I don’t sleep well. Haven’t in years.”
She felt it land in her chest like a stone dropped from height. Nightmares that left him gasping. Generations of failure pressing down. A curse that never stopped taking.
He’s so tired.
“My grandmother had insomnia,” Marina said. “She used to bake when she couldn’t sleep. Said the dough helped quiet her mind.”
Alessandro looked around the kitchen. The flour. The warmth. The bread rising in its proofing baskets.
“I can see why.”
The bell over the bakery door shattered the moment.
“MARINA!” Bea’s voice echoed through the shop. “If you don’t come out here right now, I’m going to assume you’ve been eaten by your new dragon roommate!”
Marina closed her eyes.
This is fine. Everything is fine.
Bea Thornwood stood in the middle of the bakery, purple hair practically vibrating with excitement.
“So,” she said, the moment Marina emerged. “You accidentally mated a dragon. That’s so you, babe.”
“How do you already know about that?”
“Honey, everyone knows. Mrs. Whitmore has a group chat.” Bea’s grin was incandescent. “Also, Estelle sends her regards. She’s very ‘concerned.’ By which I mean she’s delighted and wants all the details.”
Alessandro emerged from the kitchen, bandaged hand visible, expression suggesting he’d rather face a firing squad than a curious witch.
Bea circled him like a shark. “Oh, Marina. You didn’t tell me he was pretty.”
“I haven’t had time to tell you anything.”
“That’s fair. You’ve been busy.” She poked Alessandro’s arm. His indignation flared, sharp and immediate. “Solid. Good bone structure. Very broodable.”
“Did you just call me broodable?”
“Take the compliment.” Bea turned to Marina. “So? How’s the bond? Can you feel everything he feels? What’s he feeling right now?”
“Irritation.” Marina didn’t miss a beat. “And regret. Lots of regret.”
“I can speak for myself,” Alessandro said.
“And yet you’re not.” Bea grinned. “Strong, silent type. Classic.”
