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I lean against the rough stone wall, letting it scrape against my wings as I struggle to contain the fury building inside me. The logical part of my mind recognizes I have no claim on Ronnie—we never had anything beyond those heated nights. But logic has no place in the storm raging through my chest.
The little girl breaks free from Ronnie's grasp and spins with her arms outstretched, her tiny wings fluttering with the motion. Something about her face catches my attention—the shape of her eyes, the curve of her smile. There's something hauntingly familiar that I can't place.
I watch as Ronnie checks the position of the sun, says something to the xaphan, and kisses the child on top of her head. Then she's moving, heading down a side street while the other two continue in the opposite direction.
Without conscious thought, I follow her, keeping to the shadows. My mind races with questions, theories, and a possessive rage I've never felt before.
Three years of emptiness suddenly make sense. Three years of searching, only to find her building a life with someone else—another xaphan, no less.
I need answers. I need to know why she left. Why she chose him.
And most importantly—I need to know about that child with the silver-dusted wings.
16
RONNIE
Morning light bathes my small garden in golden warmth as I press a kiss to Millie's unruly curls. "Be good for Uncle Ady," I murmur against her hair, breathing in her scent of sunshine and wild herbs.
"I'm always good," she protests, luminous gold eyes—so like her father's—widening with indignation.
Adellum's lips quirk into that almost-smile he wears around Millie. "We'll paint today, little spark," he says, his massive gray wings shifting slightly as he takes her tiny hand in his. "Perhaps a lunox this time?"
"Blue face!" Millie squeals, her downy wings fluttering with excitement.
I watch them walk away, my chest tight with familiar contradictions—gratitude for Adellum's unwavering presence in our lives, and dread of what lies ahead at my shop. Last night's encounter left me raw, exposed. The phantom press of hands against my hips, the heat of Araton's breath on my neck?—
I shake my head, forcing those thoughts away as I make my way through the winding paths of Saufort to my store. The villagers nod and smile as I pass, unaware of the tempest ragingbeneath my skin. When did their acceptance become so precious to me? When did this place become home?
The stone-fronted building of Wynn's Trade & Tinctures welcomes me with its familiar solidity. Inside, shelves of neatly labeled jars line the walls—each one a testament to the life I've built without him. The scent wraps around me like a protective charm as I move through my morning ritual. Unshuttering windows, dusting counters, checking inventory.
My fingers trace the edge of the tall apothecary cabinet behind the counter, a gift from Harmony when I opened the shop. Everything here represents a choice I made, a deliberate step away from the monthly madness that defined my relationship with Araton.
The corner where Millie's drawings hang catches my eye—bright splashes of color depicting our little family. Me with too-red hair, Harmony with exaggerated wings, Adellum towering like a friendly giant. My heart constricts. What would happen if Araton saw these? If he realized?—
The bell above the door chimes, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. Wiping my hands on my apron, I call out, "I'll be right there."
I emerge from behind a shelf of tinctures and freeze. Time collapses between us.
Araton fills the doorway, golden eyes catching the morning light. His broad shoulders and lean frame are just as I remember, perhaps more defined now. The short-cropped black hair still has that perpetually tousled look, as if invisible fingers have been running through it. His wings—those magnificent dusky gray-blue appendages flecked with silver—are half-folded behind him, too large for my modest shop.
"Good morning, fierce one," he says, voice low and rich with amusement.
My chest tightens. Three years, and he still calls me that ridiculous nickname.
"What are you doing here?" I demand, gripping the edge of a shelf to steady myself. Last night rushes back—the intensity, the mindless pleasure. But in daylight, there's nowhere to hide from the consequences of my weakness.
Araton's lips curve into that infuriating smirk. A dimple appears in his right cheek—the genuine one, not the practiced charm he uses on others.
"This feels familiar, doesn't it?" His eyes sweep the shop, taking in every detail with calculated precision. "You, bristling like an angry lunox behind your counter. Me, crossing your threshold uninvited." He takes another step inside, the door swinging shut behind him. "Reminds me of how we first met."
Irritation flares hot beneath my skin. "That arrangement is over," I snap, moving behind the counter to put something solid between us. "I'm not interested in you showing up in my new town, in my life."
"Your new town," he echoes, tracing a finger along a shelf of dried herbs. "Your new life. Very cozy." His eyes find mine, humor fading into something sharper. "Did it ever occur to you that I might have been interested in what you were running from?"
Fear slices through me—cold and precise. Does he suspect? Does he know about Millie?
"It doesn't matter," I say, forcing steel into my voice. "We had an agreement. Once a month, no strings, no expectations. That ended when I left."