nodded. “I felt it.”
“I spoke to your mate in the realm of the dead,” Hadrian said and Rania watched her father assess him again.
“There is more to you than meets the eye, dragon.”
“She misses you.”
Ulrik nodded and dropped his gaze. “I miss her, too.”
There was such a wealth of love and longing in his voice that Rania’s throat tightened.
“She asked me to tell you to dream of her, if I ever met you. She said you can meet in that realm again.”
Rania watched her father’s eyes light then well with tears. He frowned and nodded, and when he spoke, his voice was gruff. “I thank you for this.”
She put her hand in Hadrian’s. “We’re going to have a son, Father. I hope you will teach him the stories of our kind.”
Ulrik smiled fully then for the first time. “A child!” he said softly, his eyes lighting. “Oh yes, daughter mine, I would like very much to have a family again.” He opened his arms to her then and she stepped into his embrace, hugging him tightly as her tears rose. She had a family again, thanks to Hadrian. Not just a son on the way, but twelve brothers and a lost father returned to her. From a life of solitude, Rania was surrounded by love—and the greatest love of all was that of her dragon shifter.
“I don’t understand,” Lynsay said to Abigail. “How can the swan be gone?”
They were standing by the pond at the big house, its turrets and gables towering over them. The older woman shook her head. “There’s no saying with wild things, dear. It was healed so it went home. It wasn’t banded so it was wild.” Her voice softened. “We had no right to keep it captive, dear.”
“No, but...”
Abigail patted Lynsay’s arm. “You did a good thing, dear, and you made a difference. You’ll have to imagine it safely on its way and be content with that.”
Lynsay wasn’t content with that. She felt cheated, again, denied something important to her. She just wanted to see the swan healed. She just wanted to know that it was okay, to see as much with her own eyes, but Abigail said she hadn’t seen it since the previous day.
Another chance for something had slipped through Lynsay’s fingers.
She trudged back to the pub, disgruntled and wishing for a change. She didn’t even know what she wanted. Great sex? True love? A sense of purpose? A partner? All of the above and more—but that seemed greedy. She knew she was lucky. She owned her own business and her home. She had financial security and good friends. She was healthy and pretty much happy.
If alone.
There was a guy standing outside the pub when the familiar structure came into view.
“We don’t open until noon,” Lynsay told him, intending to walk right past him. She lived in the small house attached to the pub. It was newer, but still a hundred years old.
He turned and smiled at her, the sight stopping Lynsay in her tracks. Had she ever seen such a great looking guy? His hair was dark and wavy, his eyes were piercing blue. His smile was so radiant that she felt as if she was standing in the sun. He was taller than her and broad-shouldered, if dressed in clothes that seemed a bit shabby and old-fashioned. Simple. He’d look amazing in a suit. She took a good look, figuring it couldn’t hurt, not caring if he was offended.
His smile broadened a little more. “Do you live here?” he asked and she couldn’t place his accent at all. It was a bit Scandinavian, but not quite.
“I do. I own The Swan & Thistle,” she said, but saw that he didn’t understand. “The pub. The bar. The restaurant. I have a cook, but it’s my place.”
He nodded and looked at the old building again, appreciation in his expression. She felt like the sun had slipped behind a cloud when he looked away from her, which just proved how much she needed a date.
“It feels like home,” he said softly when she had continued and Lynsay looked back, curious.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Not exactly,” he said, smiling again.
“Then where?”
“Iceland most recently.”
“What do you do?”
“I listen to stories, and I remember them. My mother taught me to do that.” He sobered, his gaze trailing in the direction of the big house. “But I have heard so many. I am afraid to forget them. I think I should begin to write them down.”
A