I rest my forehead against the barrier, feeling the subtle resistance of the ward against my skin. The magic tingles slightly but doesn't push me away. "What happened to me? What am I forgetting?"
No answer. Just the steady presence of the beast on the other side of the containment field, watching me with those too-aware eyes.
I don't know how long I stand there. Long enough that the rune-sconces begin brightening slightly as dawn approaches outside. Long enough that my breathing steadies and the panic from waking fades into something duller. Long enough that when I hear footsteps approaching down the main walkway, I'm not surprised.
Malrec.
I recognize his gait before I turn. The measured pace. The weight of his steps. The way the air seems to shift slightly when he moves through it, carrying traces of his power even when he's not actively using magic.
I straighten, pulling away from the barrier, and force my expression into something neutral. Professional. Like I wasn't just having a breakdown in front of his most dangerous beast.
He stops several feet away, and I finally make myself look at him.
No anger in his face. No irritation at finding me here early and unassigned. Just... observation. Those ember-gold eyes taking me in with the same careful attention he gives the beasts, cataloging details I probably don't want him to notice.
In the dream, those eyes crinkled with laughter. With warmth. With affection so clear it made my chest ache.
Now they're just watchful. Assessing.
"Lenna."
My name in his voice triggers the now-familiar flutter of something I don't want to examine. Not fear. Not quite attraction. Something in between that makes my breath catch despite my best efforts.
I wait. He's clearly here for a reason, and I'm not going to be the one to break the silence.
Malrec's gaze flicks to Azhrael, then back to me. "Would you mind bridling him? He needs to go out to the pasture for a bit."
I try to rope in my surprise. I try to remember that my dream was just that — a dream. Malrec does not treat me like he knows me, like I know his beast or that I would be one he'd be unwilling to share.
I need to remember that.
8
MALREC
Damiros's residence overlooks the volcanic ridge with calculated precision. From his position, my brother can see the estate, the stables, portions of the feeding pastures—everything arranged for optimal surveillance without requiring physical proximity. The architecture reflects his philosophy perfectly: controlled, refined, designed to project authority through aesthetic rather than force.
I hate being here.
The meeting room where we sit is too clean. Too polished. The obsidian surfaces gleam under rune-glass lighting that creates soft contrasts instead of the harsh amber glow of the estate. Everything about this space feels curated, from the precisely arranged furniture to the temperature regulation that eliminates the natural heat fluctuations I'm accustomed to.
"The auction is coming up," Damiros says, reviewing documents spread across his desk. "We should finalize which beasts we're presenting. The demand remains highest for juveniles with combat potential."
I lean back in my chair, forcing my attention to the conversation instead of the persistent distraction that's beeneating at me for two days. "Khorvas is ready. He's reached maturity and his aggression patterns have stabilized enough for transfer. Vexris could go, but her temperament is still volatile."
"Khorvas, then." Damiros makes a notation. "What about Sythrak? He's been in the system for over a year."
"Sythrak needs another three months minimum. His containment response is improving but not reliable." I shift position, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders that hasn't dissipated since I woke this morning. "I'd recommend holding him until the next cycle."
Damiros nods, his sharp green-gold eyes tracking across the documentation with practiced efficiency. "Fair assessment. That gives us one confirmed for this auction. We'll need at least two more to meet demand expectations." He glances up at me. "Are you planning to acquire additional stock before then?"
"Depends on what becomes available." The words come automatically, my mind only half-engaged with auction logistics. "There's been discussion of an infernal wyvern that might be worth pursuing, but the price point would be significant."
"Investment versus return." My brother taps his fingers against the desk surface—a rare physical tell that he's calculating variables. "A wyvern would generate substantial interest, but the containment requirements alone would strain resources."
I should be focused on this. Should be thinking about logistics, profit margins, strategic acquisitions. Instead, I keep seeing Lenna's hand against Azhrael's jaw, the way she smiled at him with genuine warmth she's never shown me. The way she bridled him with practiced precision that shouldn't exist.
The way she looked at me two nights ago when I found her at Azhrael's enclosure before dawn—like she was trying to solve a puzzle I didn't know existed.
