Page 4

ROLLO

T he phoenix pup wouldn’t eat.

Rollo crouched beside the stone basin in the sunroom, holding out a bowl of crushed char-root and ground firepetals—normally irresistible. But the creature just blinked at him, its half-molted feathers ruffled and dulled to a soot-gray sheen.

“Come on, ember tail,” he coaxed softly, his deep voice low and warm like river rocks under sunlight. “Just one bite. For me?”

The pup squeaked, then turned its head and tucked it beneath a trembling wing.

Rollo sat back on his heels, exhaling. The fire hadn’t gone out of the little bird completely, but it was flickering. He could feel it in his bones, the way his bear paced restlessly beneath his skin, agitated by the wrongness in the air.

Something’s poisoning the magic here.

He’d known it for weeks—first in the uneasy silences of the forest, then in the way the sanctuary’s wards hummed low like they were preparing for a storm. It had only gotten worse since spring touched the air.

And now Delilah was back.

Just when everything else was going sideways.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, the stubble rasping against his callused palm. Part of him still reeled from seeing her yesterday. From the way she’d looked at him—like she wasn’t sure whether to slap him or summon a weather spell.

Not that he didn’t deserve it.

Rollo stood and adjusted the heating stones around the phoenix pup’s nest, letting the warmth rise before stepping toward the front of the sanctuary.

The morning mist was still clinging to the trees like a shawl, but the sun was breaking through in strips—thin gold brushing over the forest canopy. He opened the door and there she was standing right there on his porch.

Delilah.

Dark curls tied up in a green scarf, cheeks pink from the crisp mountain air. Her hands were shoved deep in her coat pockets, and her expression wasn’t quite apologetic—but it wasn’t biting either.

“Well,” he said, his voice raspier than he meant. “Wasn’t expecting company.”

She gave a half-shrug. “I figured since I stormed out the day before with all the grace of a hexed badger and yesterday snapped at you for simply checking on my grandmother, I should… at least show up before the gossip starts.”

Rollo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Appreciate the warning. I was bracing for magical scones with my face on 'em.”

That made her lips twitch. Just barely.

“I brought an apology,” she said, lifting a small cloth-wrapped bundle from her bag. “Dried orange slices. For the animals. Not you.”

He took it with a nod, fingers brushing hers as he did.

Static.

Or maybe not static. Maybe something else.

The contact was brief, but enough to rattle the calm he’d been piecing together. Her magic still shimmered under her skin, barely contained. And it recognized him.

He cleared his throat. “They’ll love ‘em.”

She stepped past him without asking for permission. “This where you keep the babies?” she asked, peering toward the sunroom.

“Phoenix pup’s sick. Won’t eat. That’s where I’ve been all morning.”

She paused. “The same one that molted early?”

Rollo nodded.

SHe bit her lip for a moment and he had to force himself to not remember what those lips tasted like.

“I thought it might help to lend a hand.”

He tilted his head. “Thought I wasn’t worth your energy?”

She sighed, not facing him. “Wren’s weak. Sicker than she’s letting on. It’s been... a lot. And then seeing you , running a sanctuary like some big-hearted mountain man...” Her voice softened. “It threw me.”

Rollo didn’t move. Didn’t speak for a moment.

“Not just big-hearted,” he said finally, stepping past her toward the enclosure. “Also stubborn. And usually sleep-deprived.”

She followed him into the warm room, kneeling down beside the pup without hesitation. Her fingers hovered over the tiny body, not touching, just sensing.

“He’s cold. Even with the stones.”

Rollo watched her, the way her eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed. She was still sharp. Still tuned to the threads most others missed.

“I run this place solo,” he said. “Started it a year after you left. Took over after the old caretaker passed. Seemed right.”

Delilah glanced up, surprised. “You do it alone?”

“Yup. Millie Grace helps sometimes, but it’s mostly just me and the critters.”

Her mouth pressed into a thoughtful line.

“You could’ve written,” she said after a moment.

Rollo’s heart thudded, slow and heavy. “Would it have mattered?”

“Maybe.”

They fell into silence, only the low chirp of the bunyip pups from the next room breaking it. Delilah reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny woven pouch, untied it, and sprinkled something fine and golden over the phoenix pup.

“Crushed sun-blossom,” she explained. “For hope.”

Rollo watched her hands, graceful and sure. Watched the way her hair glinted in the slant of light. He’d thought he’d forgotten what she looked like when she was focused. He hadn’t.

“You never stopped,” he said quietly.

She looked up. “Stopped what?”

“Being… this. Magic. Gentle. You.”

For a moment, something shifted between them—an ache too familiar, a longing they’d both buried deep.

Their fingers brushed again as they both reached to adjust the pup’s blanket.

Rollo inhaled sharply.

The bond snapped against him like a rubber band pulled too tight. It pulsed. Real. Alive.

Still hers.

His bear clawed beneath his skin, not wild, but desperate. Certain.

She was still his mate.

Delilah pulled back, too quick. Her hands trembled, just slightly.

“I should go,” she said, standing fast. “Wren’s probably wondering where I am.”

“Of course,” he said softly.

She lingered in the doorway, one hand on the frame.

“I’ll stop by tomorrow,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “See how the pup’s doing.”

Rollo nodded, unable to speak past the thick weight in his chest.

The door clicked behind her.

The phoenix pup stirred. And for the first time in days, it chirped.