“He has NOTHING. He’s playing you, Alessandro, and you can’t see it because you don’t want to.” Her voice rose. “You said you’d prove you were different. And the first thing you do is make a decision about something that affects both of us without even asking?”
“This is about my family’s curse. My responsibility.”
“Your responsibility.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Right. I forgot. You handle everything alone. You don’t need anyone’s input. Especially not from the clumsy baker who doesn’t understand the ‘complexities.’”
“I never said that.”
“You don’t have to say it. You just do it.” She stepped toward him, and her anger found him through the bond, and beneath it, pain so sharp he had to set down the bowl. “I’m not stupid, Alessandro. I’m cautious. There’s a difference. And if you can’t tell the difference, then maybe I was wrong about you after all.”
The words landed.
“Marina…”
“Go to your meeting.” Her voice dropped. “Get your information. But don’t expect me to be here waiting to hear about it afterward.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I need space. The bond won’t let us get too far apart, but I can stay at Bea’s. The crystal shop is close enough.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’m taking a break.” She turned away. “Nine days until the full moon. Maybe by then, you’ll have figured out whose side you’re actually on.”
She walked out of the kitchen before he could respond.
Her grief gutted him. His knees went soft and he had to brace a hand against the counter. She’d trusted him. And he’d chosen Malachar over her without even realizing that’s what he was doing.
The worst part was, he still didn’t entirely understand why she was so upset.
The lunch meeting was a disaster.
Not because Malachar was obviously villainous; if anything, he was more charming than ever. He ordered a 2015 Barolo without looking at the price, asked thoughtful questions about Alessandro’s research, offered genuinely useful insights about dragon contract law.
The disaster was Alessandro’s growing realization that none of it felt right.
“Your little baker seemed upset yesterday,” Malachar said casually, swirling his wine. “I hope I didn’t cause any trouble.”
“She’s concerned about you.”
“About me?” Malachar’s eyebrows rose. “How curious. What could she possibly find concerning?”
“She thinks…” Alessandro stopped. What did Marina think, exactly? That Malachar was dangerous? That he’d been sabotaging the Dravens for centuries? That his interest in her recipe book wasn’t casual curiosity?
Said aloud, it sounded paranoid.
But Marina wasn’t paranoid. She was the most grounded person he knew.
“She has good instincts,” Alessandro finished carefully.
“I’m sure she does. Selkies often do.” Malachar’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Though instincts can be misleading. Youknow that better than anyone: how many false leads have you chased over the years? How many dead ends that felt promising?”
The implicit comparison stung. Was Malachar suggesting Marina’s concerns were just another dead end?
Or was he deflecting?
“Tell me about the information you mentioned,” Alessandro said.
“Ah, yes. The curse.” Malachar leaned forward, voice dropping confidentially. “I’ve been researching the original contract, the one that created the binding. There’s a loophole. A way to break it without the elaborate ritual your baker’s book suggests.”
