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FORTY-TWO

T hirty minutes stretched to forty-five as Zina debated outfits, finally settling on comfortable jeans and a soft emerald sweater. She applied minimal makeup, ran a brush through her dark waves, and grabbed a small overnight bag—just in case.

Returning downstairs, she found Xai engaged in earnest conversation with Bryn about security protocols. He looked up at her approach, his words trailing off mid-sentence. The appreciative glance he gave her didn’t escape Bryn’s notice, judging by her smirk.

“Ready?” he asked, voice slightly rougher than usual.

“As I’ll ever be.” Zina accepted the travel mug Artemis pressed into her hands.

“The basket in the backseat has sustenance,” Artemis informed her, patting her shoulder. “Text us updates. Lots of details. Especially the juicy ones.”

“There won’t be juicy details,” Zina protested, cheeks warming. “It’s a research trip.”

“Sure it is.” Bryn grinned, making shooing motions. “Now go research the heck out of those mountain hot springs.”

Outside, Zina paused to admire the Aston Martin in daylight. The vintage beauty gleamed in the morning sun, its midnight-blue paint deep enough to swim in.

“She’s gorgeous,” she commented, running appreciative fingers along the polished door.

“A five-hundredth birthday gift to myself.” Xai opened the passenger door. “One should mark significant milestones appropriately.”

The leather seats embraced her in butter-soft comfort. The interior smelled of fine leather and Xai’s distinctive scent—a combination her lioness found embarrassingly appealing.

As they pulled away from the curb, Zina caught Bryn and Artemis watching from the window, giving exaggerated thumbs-up. She slid down in her seat, mortified.

“Your friends care about you,” Xai observed, navigating through Enchanted Falls’s quiet streets.

“They’re incorrigible,” she muttered.

“That too.” His smile—small but genuine—transformed his usually serious features. “You’re fortunate to have them.”

“I know.” She relaxed into the seat, surprising herself with her next admission. “After my parents died, I pushed everyone away. Bryn and Artemis refused to stay pushed.”

“Stubborn loyalty is underrated.” He guided the car onto the mountain road leading out of town, handling the powerful vehicle with effortless precision. “Noven shares that quality. He’s been my right hand for centuries despite my best efforts to drive him away.”

“He seems the opposite of you,” Zina observed. “All jokes and energy.”

“Balance.” Xai’s expression softened. “He reminds me not to take myself too seriously. Several centuries of responsibility can make one... rigid.”

“And send inappropriate GIFs, apparently.”

A genuine laugh escaped him—a rich, rumbling sound she’d rarely heard. “His communication style defies his age. I’ve given up asking why he texts like a teenager.”

The powerful car purred along the mountain roads, eating up miles as they climbed higher into the pristine wilderness surrounding Enchanted Falls. Ancient trees created dappled shadows across the winding road, and the scent of pine and wildflowers drifted through the cracked window.

“Your car suits you,” she observed, running her fingers along the polished dashboard.

“How so?”

“Classic but powerful. Elegant but with something wild underneath.” She traced the hand-stitched leather. “Like a very proper dragon in human form.”

His mouth quirked. “Should I be flattered or concerned by that assessment?”

“Definitely flattered.” She smiled, enjoying this lighter side of him. “Five hundred years. I can’t imagine. The things you must have seen.”

“Many wonders and many horrors.” His expression grew distant. “The Renaissance. The Industrial Revolution. Two world wars. The birth of flight and space travel. Humanity’s greatest achievements and darkest moments.”

“Does it ever get lonely?” The question slipped out before she could reconsider its intimacy.

His hands tightened imperceptibly on the steering wheel. “Yes,” he admitted after a pause. “Watching generations pass. Forming connections, knowing they’ll fade while you continue.”

“Is that why dragons keep to themselves?”

“Partly.” He glanced at her briefly. “We’re also territorial and stubborn. Not always the best combination for relationships.”

“My parents were different,” Zina said, surprising herself with the personal turn. “Twenty-eight years together, and they still looked at each other like newlyweds. My father used to say my mother was the sun his world revolved around.”

“They sound extraordinary.” His voice softened.

“They balanced each other. Mom’s intuition tempered Dad’s logic. His structure supported her creativity.” She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. “When they died on that final mission, it felt like losing both my parents and my role models for what love should be.”

“That’s a profound loss.” He was quiet for a moment. “Did you know our families crossed paths before?”

Zina turned to face him more fully. “No. When?”

“Seventy-three years ago. My mother suffered a rare draconic ailment affecting her fire production—potentially fatal for a dragon. After traditional healers failed, she sought out your grandmother, Eliana Parker.”

“Gran Ellie?” Zina straightened. “Mom always said she was the most gifted healer in the Parker line.”

“With good reason. She created a specialized herbal treatment when no one else could help. It saved my mother’s life.” His expression softened with memory. “I was there—young by dragon standards, perhaps equivalent to a human teenager. Your grandmother was formidable. She stood barely five feet tall but commanded a room full of anxious dragons without flinching.”