The (Not) Satisfied Dragon - Colette Rhodes Page 0,31

clay pots, and I left him to it as he picked out a selection for Shira. The Alchemist's dig about me being an out of touch son of Councilors was bothering me more than anything else she'd said. I knew I had a comfortable life compared to many other dragons in Avalon, but I liked to think of myself as well informed. Maybe I wasn't? That would have to change. We were going to run for the Council; we had to be better. We had to be the best.

“Carry this,” Levi instructed, shoving a bag of paints into my arms, then doing the same to Hiram, before grabbing one of his own. Ezra paid, looking bemused rather than annoyed, which was a relief. I doubted he’d ever bought a gift in his life.

We flew back with just our wings out so we could carry the copious amount of supplies. I knew as soon as we approached the den that Shira was still inside. When she'd left, it felt like she'd ripped my heart directly out of my chest, leaving a hole where it should have been. Since we'd semi reconnected at Flight Milain’s den, it felt like that hole had been closing. It was an incredible feeling.

The den smelled of freshly baked almond cakes when we came in, and it was so clean it all but sparkled.

“Don’t get any ideas, I was bored and nervous, so I cleaned. And then I baked,” Shira grumbled, coming into the entryway to meet us, wiping her hands on the front of her dress. We should try to find some trousers in her size, she’d seemed so much more comfortable in them. “How did it go? And what is all that?” she nodded at the bags we were holding.

“Levi should probably do the honors,” Ezra replied, leaning back against the wall.

I sniggered as Levi stepped forward, looking like a bashful little kid. “I thought you might like some paints?”

“Levi!” Shira squealed, grabbing his hand and beaming up at him. That was probably Shira’s version of jumping on him and hugging him. She was understandably reticent about physical touch.

Shira kneeled on the floor to look through all the bags we put down, and the way her face lit up made my heart stutter in my chest. Paints were a nice gift, but not super extravagant. Shira looked at them like they were a treasure chest of precious jewels. The biggest fucking kick in the teeth about that was Glendower had given her paints. In the gift giving race, we were currently coming second to a dead fae who had purchased her and kept her prisoner for four years.

Maybe Hiram's family could source some jewelry for her. A fat ruby necklace, perhaps.

“Can I paint the walls?” Shira asked breathily, taking the lid off a sage green pot of paint and inspecting it.

“You don't need to ask Shira, this is your home,” Ezra rumbled. There was tension in the way he was holding himself, but his eyes were filled with regret as he took in Shira's happiness at such a simple gift.

“At least you won’t have to spend your days baking now,” I teased. “Though I’m going to get myself some of that almond cake pronto.”

“You should, I think I have a knack for baking. Now stop distracting me and tell me how the meeting went,” Shira said, sitting back on her heels and looking up at us.

“Nothing much happened,” Ezra replied honestly. “Flight Milain didn’t show, the meeting was canceled and Enforcers sent to remind them to attend next week’s meeting.”

Shira’s face paled. Ezra moved forward like he was going to kneel and comfort her before hesitating and stepping back.

“It will be fine, Shira,” he said eventually, which wasn’t the most warming of reassurances, but offering emotional support wasn’t Ezra’s area of expertise.

It was definitely Levi’s. He kneeled on the floor with her and they started discussing her ideas for painting the hallway, taking her mind off the Council and whatever was going to come next.

The rest of us discreetly left them to it, letting Shira have some peace before the world turned upside down.

Well, a moment of peace. Like it or not, she and Hiram would need to have a tough conversation if we were going to move towards bonding, and it was going to be up to the rest of us to make it happen.

Chapter 8

I loved painting.

I hadn’t known for certain whether painting was something I genuinely enjoyed, or if it was just