Page 16

ARATON

T he forest swallows me whole as I retreat from Ronnie's cottage, my body still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure.

My zarryn snorts impatiently, pawing at the needle covered ground when I approach, silver coat gleaming under fractured moonlight filtering through the canopy.

I run my hand along its shaggy neck, feeling the twin tails swish against my legs.

"Patience," I mutter, though I'm in no position to preach it.

I just took Ronnie against the wall of her home like a man possessed. Like a stranger. Like someone I barely recognize.

Swinging onto the zarryn's back, I guide it deeper into the forest, needing distance to think. The creature moves with surprising grace for its size, navigating between ancient trees with practiced ease. My wings flex unconsciously behind me, adjusting to accommodate the movement.

What in the fuck was I thinking?

Three years of wondering, of searching, of that gnawing emptiness that I refused to acknowledge—and I reduced our reunion to a vengeful fuck against a wall. I didn't even see her face properly in the darkness.

"Real charming, Velrien," I scoff at myself, letting the zarryn choose its path as we wind further into the thickening trees.

The forest air feels cool against my heated skin, carrying scents of herbs and earth. It should be calming, but my mind races faster than my mount ever could. I flex my fingers, still feeling the ghost of Ronnie's softness, the way she trembled and yielded despite her defiance.

That defiance. Gods , how I've missed it.

No one challenges me the way she does. No one else makes me feel so fucking alive, so driven to conquer, to possess. Three years, and the fire between us hasn't dimmed in the slightest. If anything, it's grown more dangerous, more consuming.

The zarryn finds a small clearing and I dismount, needing to move on my own two feet.

My wings spread fully, stretching to their impressive span—nearly fifteen feet of dusky gray-blue feathers flecked with silver.

The muscles along my back relax as I give them a powerful flap, stirring the night air around me.

She ran from me. Left without a word, without explanation.

The rage I've nursed for three years bubbles up again, hot and demanding.

I've built an impressive life, carved out respect and position through wit and strategy rather than inheritance, yet she reduced me to a snarling beast with nothing but her presence.

"Fucking unacceptable," I growl to the empty forest, pacing the clearing's perimeter.

Yet here I am, prowling through these woods instead of continuing my journey south. Here I am, still caught in her orbit after all this time.

I pause, running a hand through my short-cropped black hair, feeling it stand in its perpetually tousled state. The realization hits me with startling clarity: I'm not ready to let her go. Not again. Maybe not ever.

A slow smile spreads across my face, tugging at the dimple in my right cheek that only appears when the emotion is genuine. I know exactly what I'm going to do.

I'm going to stay.

Not just stay—I'm going to reacquaint myself with Ronnie properly. Remind her of the chemistry that crackles between us whenever we're within ten paces of each other. Remind her body who it belongs to, even if her stubborn mind refuses to admit it.

The game is just beginning.

"What do you think?" I ask the zarryn, who huffs disinterestedly in response, more concerned with the patch of grass it's currently sampling. "Should we find accommodations in this quaint little village?"

It had been fun in the beginning, those monthly visits to her shop.

The way her gray eyes would spark with irritation when I entered.

The way she'd snap and snarl, all while her body betrayed her with subtle signs of arousal that my heightened senses never missed.

I'd push and prod and charm until that iron will of hers bent just enough for us both to get what we wanted.

Then I'd leave, and spend the next month thinking about her far more than I should have.

"Time to start fresh," I decide, mounting the zarryn once more. "Show her what happens when she tries to take what's mine."

The possessiveness in my voice surprises even me. I've never been one to claim ownership of anyone. Women have always been a pleasant diversion—a night or two of mutual pleasure before we part ways, no strings, no complications.

But Ronnie... Ronnie was never just a diversion. I just wasn't ready to admit it until she disappeared.

As we make our way back toward the village, a plan forms. I'll find lodging, establish myself.

Perhaps introduce myself to the locals, learn the rhythms of this place she's chosen to hide in.

And then I'll begin my siege—slow, deliberate, calculated to drive her absolutely mad with want and frustration.

Just like old times, only better. This time, I won't be leaving after a night of satisfaction.

This time, I'm playing for keeps.

I spend the night in a modest inn at the edge of the village, paying extra for discretion and a private room where my wings won't draw attention. The innkeeper—a stout woman with shrewd eyes—asks no questions when I place three novas on her counter.

Morning breaks with golden light spilling through shabby curtains. I wake restless, my body still humming with unresolved tension despite last night's encounter. The taste of Ronnie lingers on my tongue—spice and sweetness I've craved for three years.

I dress quickly, choosing a simple dark tunic that accommodates my wings.

My reflection in the small mirror shows a face sharper than I remember, golden eyes glinting with determination.

I've spent too long being diplomatic, charming my way through court for a master who's now dead. Time to be direct.

The village is already bustling when I step outside. It's smaller than I expected—picturesque with its stone buildings and flower-lined paths. I keep to the shadows of buildings, my wings tucked close. No need to announce my presence just yet.

I follow the winding cobblestone street, memorizing each turn while searching for any sign of Ronnie. The air smells of baking bread and river mist, laced with wild herbs from nearby fields. The village feels... content. Settled. This peaceful existence seems at odds with the fiery woman I know.

A melody of laughter draws my attention to the village square. I halt, pressing myself against the wall of a nearby building.

There she is.

Ronnie steps into the morning light, her deep auburn hair caught in a loose braid that hangs over one shoulder.

She looks... different. Softer somehow, despite the same lean, wiry strength in her arms. The sunlight catches the constellation of freckles across her nose and shoulders.

She's wearing a simple dress that hugs her curves—curves I rediscovered last night.

But she's not alone.

My blood freezes as a tall male figure approaches her—a fucking xaphan with massive gray wings that brush the ground as he walks.

He towers over Ronnie, lean but powerful with short white-blond hair and sharp features.

Even from this distance, I can see his pale silver eyes catch the light as he says something that makes Ronnie's lips curve into a smile.

A smile I've been dying to coax from her. I mostly get her snarls.

"What the fuck?" I mutter, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

The knife twists deeper when a small child darts between them, all wild black curls and bubbling laughter. A little girl, no more than three years old. My breath catches in my throat when I see the tiny, downy wings sprouting from her back—silver-tinged and unmistakable.

Something visceral and ugly claws at my insides. Three years. She left me three years ago.

The timing fits perfectly.

The xaphan reaches down, scooping the child into his arms with practiced ease. She giggles, pressing her tiny palms against his face as he pretends to bite at her fingers. It's the casual intimacy of family.

A family that includes Ronnie.

"Stop!" the child squeals, loud enough for me to hear across the square. "Down! I can do it myself!"

The xaphan sets her down with exaggerated care, and she promptly runs circles around Ronnie, who catches her mid-spin and tickles her sides. The sound of their combined laughter feels like shards of glass in my ears.

Is this why she ran? To be with another xaphan? One with pure silver eyes and noble bearing, not a mongrel courier with wings the color of storm clouds?

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.