meat over the open flames and curing hides. Her people had kept carefully tended fires in their huts in the trees, gathering at night to eat, to tell stories, to sing and dance, to live.
Her favorite stories had always come from her father. Though Havil had been known for many things—like being the only male warrior of any tribe in the region—he’d perhaps been most beloved for his storytelling. Whether he was sharing one of the tribe’s old legends or recounting the impressive deeds of a living huntress, he’d instilled every tale with the appropriate enthusiasm, suspense, and degree of seriousness. Leyloni had learned so much from his storytelling, especially in how his stories, even those of events in which he’d partaken, had never been about him.
Havil had been about the tribe above all else, and he’d always had a talent for making everyone around him feel important and integral to the tribe’s survival. He’d been selfless.
Selfless to the very end.
But the sorrow of those memories, the all too fresh pain of those losses, could not outweigh Leyloni’s present feelings.
Night had long since fallen. The fire’s warm orange glow was in gentle defiance of the darkness beyond it, which would have seemed so impenetrable and ominous to Leyloni had she been by herself. With her tribe gone, her kin dead, and her home burned, a night as deep and black as this would have been enough to crush her. And part of her may well have welcomed the silent stillness of oblivion.
Yet she was not alone, and her wounded heart still bore ample room for joy. For love.
She was sitting on the blanket with Serek cradled in her arms, gently rocking the baby as he cuddled against her chest with one of his hands loosely curled over her heart. He stared up into her eyes so trustingly, so lovingly, that her chest ached with the love she felt for him.
And it was love. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t carried him in her womb, didn’t matter that she hadn’t birthed him, it didn’t matter that it had only been a few days since he’d come under her care. The feeling was there. The attachment was there. When they reached the Snow Tree tribe, she would claim Serek as hers. There was no way she’d give him up. He was hers…her son.
Serek’s eyelids fluttered, and his head lolled.
Leyloni lifted her hand, settled a finger upon his forehead, and lightly ran it down the bridge of his nose. His eyes closed. She smiled and repeated the action, feeling Arysteon’s gaze on her all the while.
I have a male. I have a mate.
Those thoughts had run through her mind repeatedly since the moment she’d touched her dragon. As much as she’d longed for a male, she’d never believed it would happen for her, and never would have imagined her mate would be a beastman like Arysteon.
The amazement on his face had not diminished since he’d changed around midday, having persisted through everything he’d done. Walking, running—and falling a few times—jumping, testing the dexterity of his new fingers by tying and untying knots, exploring his lair, which must have seemed so much larger to him now; Arysteon had done it all with plain wonderment in his features. He’d examined his own body many times, testing the range of movement afforded by his new limbs. He’d pushed his balance to its limits and beyond. When the rain had stopped earlier that evening, Arysteon had stepped outside and stared at the forest in fascination, and then he’d laughed with Leyloni and Serek as the three of them splashed in the puddles near the cavern’s entrance.
She had not missed how often his eyes had fallen upon her throughout the day. She had not missed that the fire in them was a little brighter, a little fiercer, every time.
And she could not ignore what his gaze made her feel.
She glanced up at her mate.
He was seated across from her with his legs crossed and his tail curled around him, its tip lazily flicking. His long, blue hair hung loose around his broad shoulders. The firelight made his scales glimmer, but it was his eyes, gleaming with that hungry spark, that she couldn’t look away from. They burned with a desire that warmed Leyloni infinitely more than any campfire could.
Her connection to Arysteon went far, far deeper than she’d imagined possible. She felt it within her heart; it was an unseen thing that tied her to this dragon in