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More tears rolled down Sorin’s cheeks—tears which Misha saw, but which could never fix the damage done. Misha seemed to consider Sorin for a moment, weighing what he’d said, then huffed as if to say, “Yeah, right,” but in such a way that it was clear he wasn’t as angry as he had been before.
“The truth of what happened isn’t straightforward,” Sorin admitted. “There’s a lot of context you need if you want to understand how and why things happened the way they did. Are you willing to listen to my side of the story?”
Misha rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t come all this way for the bagpipes, mudak. Go ahead. Tell me your story and I will listen, but I do not promise I will change my mind about you, no matter what you say.”
“That’s fair,” Sorin said. “If I were in your position, I would feel the same way. All I want is a chance to tell you what really happened, and why I’ve done the things I’ve done. And if you never find it in your heart to forgive me, that’s fine—I won’t hold it against you.”
Misha peered down his nose suspiciously at him, but had nothing more to say, so, taking a deep breath, Sorin plunged back into the nightmare that had started five hundred years ago, setting up the series of events that brought them to where they were today.
* * *
No one interrupted Sorin while he spoke, but that was only because Nate—bless him—had his elbow at the ready and was not afraid to use it to keep a very excitable Harry in check. By the time Sorin caught up to the events of the mating experiment, Harry looked ready to explode with questions, and as soon as he finished speaking, those questions burst forth in rapid succession.
“So you’re saying the bond between a dragonet and their eggs forms before first contact is made? Every dragon I’ve spoken to says that isn’t the case, and that’s why the eggs are taken away from unmated omegas as soon as they’re laid, but honestly, your version makes way more sense. I mean, eggs are inside of you before they’re born, which means there’s a whole lot of physical contact going on between a dragonet and their clutch both before and during the birthing process. But why would dragons lie about something like that? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe they just didn’t know? It seems there’s a lot they don’t know, doesn’t it? Dragons must not be naturally curious.” Harry scrunched his face. “Or maybe it’s that they’re curious about all the wrong things. Anyway, can you tell me more about the screaming? What does it sound like? When does it happen? I doubt the same hatchlings are screaming for you all these hundreds of years later, since they’d all be adults now, so then why is it still happening? And why only some of the time?”
Somehow, impossibly, he scrunched his face up even more.
“It’s certainly a curious phenomenon. I’m not sure there is any comparable equivalent I’m familiar with in the reptile world. It could be a form of speciation, I suppose, but I’m not sure I’m happy with that answer. It doesn’t feel quite right. I’m going to have to think on it. Anyway, I can see now why you wouldn’t want us to go through with the mating experiment. It sounds like you’ve gone through so much pain, and it really speaks a lot about who you are as a person that you would go to such great lengths to protect other omegas from suffering in the same way. I just wish someone would have listened to you. Not only would it have saved us all a lot of grief, but it would have helped me make more ethical choices in my pursuit of science. But I’m glad to be listening to you now.” Harry smiled at him kindly. “It sounds like you’ve spent a very long time not being heard, but that time is over. I can’t wait to listen to everything you have to say—hopefully next time with my notebook.” He looked wistfully in the direction of the front door. “I didn’t realize you’d have so much information to share about the inner workings of dragonets, so I left it in the ATV. Do you think we might be able to carve out a chunk of time to go over everything together again so I can take written notes?”
“Harry,” Nate admonished in a whisper. “He just unloaded a shitload of heavy trauma—can science take a back seat for a second?”
“Oh.” Harry’s face fell. “You’re right, Iggy. I’m sorry, Sorin. It wasn’t very nice of me to have asked you all those questions without stopping to consider your feelings first. I hope you don’t think I don’t care about the way you feel—it’s not that. I do, and I’m very sorry. I just get very excited when it comes to science, and sometimes it makes me forget that being a good friend is more important than being a good scientist. If it hurts too much to talk about, we can drop it. You are more than just a data source, and I’d hate to think my big mouth ruined our friendship.”
Was this guy for real?
Sorin glanced at Bertram, hoping his expression might reveal something, but it was blank at best. Curious, Sorin reached through their bond and felt both vulnerability and pain. Sharing his story hadn’t only been hard for him—it had dredged up difficult emotions in Bertram that he was not able to easily smooth over.
Not alone, at least.
Sorin, heart brimming with love for his mate, infused Bertram with subtle feelings of glowing comfort—the mate bond equivalent of rubbing his back. Bertram’s gaze flicked over to him, and as their eyes met, he felt the same love flow into him in return.
“I’m not upset with you,” Sorin said, looking away from Bertram to reassure Harry. “What I shared was personal, but most of it happened so long ago that the pain has had time to settle. It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to, and honestly, after spending so long without being heard, it’s almost refreshing to be asked for more details. I didn’t share what I did so you would throw me a pity party—I just wanted you to have the whole story, and it feels good to know that you didn’t just listen, but that you want to know more.”
A troubled look crossed Peregrine’s face. “While that is all good and true, darling, it doesn’t change the fact that old pain does still hurt regardless of its intensity.”
“It also does not change the fact,” said a tight-lipped Misha, “that old or new, your personal suffering is not an excuse to cause others pain.”
Bertram’s protectiveness reared up again, and this time, Sorin couldn’t stop him—he did spring to his feet. All eyes turned to him, some nervous, some combative, but no matter the underlying emotion, Bertram met each of them unwaveringly. He looked longest at Misha, who glared back, then shifted his focus onto Sorin.
“For the sake of maintaining polite conversation,” Bertram said as levelly as he could, “I need to excuse myself from the table. Sorin, if you need me, you can reach me through the bond—I won’t be far.”
“Are you okay?”
“I am. But this conversation is yours, and if I stay, I’m worried I’ll overstep my boundaries. You deserve the freedom to speak for yourself, and since I have felt the urge to speak for you more than once, I am removing myself before I inadvertently disrespect you.” He glanced at Harry. “Would you like me to try to find Steve?”
“Oh, no. That’s not necessary, but thank you.” Harry smiled. “If I know him, he’s probably basking in front of your fireplace. When he gets too hot, he’ll come back, and if he doesn’t, I’ll just go get him. That’s very kind of you to offer, though.”
Bertram nodded, locking eyes meaningfully one last time with Sorin before he turned and left the room.
“His dragon is very protective of you,” came a timid voice from farther down the table once Bertram had gone. It belonged to Wally, who sat with his knees drawn to his chest, hiding behind them like a shield. “I was worried, based off what I knew, that he might be violent toward us for entering his territory uninvited, but even when he was provoked, he was kind. I felt the anger in him, but he didn’t act on it.” Wally curled up a little tighter, his head sinking that much lower behind his knees. “It probably doesn’t mean much, but I don’t think you’re bad guys. I don’t think any of us are. It’s so much more complicated than right or wrong.”
“Yet great wrong was done to me,” Misha interjected. “No matter how tame the dragon is, or what the purpose of Sorin’s plan was, my mate was injured, my eggs were terrorized, and I was nearly killed. No amount of ‘greater good’ can excuse that.”
Peregrine perked up and seemed about to speak, but Sorin beat him to it. “I know how you feel,” he said. “I will never in my life forgive the dragons who took my eggs from me, either, and I’m sorry I caused you the same kind of pain. One of my deepest regrets is that I wasn’t strong enough to keep that from happening. If I had been there, Sandrine never would have had to make the choices that she did, and not only would you have been left alone, but the Vanguard would have been saved as well.”
“Oh, holy shit. Sandrine?” Nate popped forward in his chair, clutching the edge of the table. “As in, Sandrine Boudreaux?”
“Yes.”
