Page 39

AREK

T his is a dream. It must be.

Kyrie holds me in her lap, her fingers stroking through my hair, a lullaby on her lips.

“You died,” I tell her.

“You brought me back.” She grins.

“No, you’re not real.” I close my eyes, willing myself to wake.

But I should savor every moment I’m gifted with her, even if they’re not real.

My eyes fly open again, and in one smooth, liquid movement, I turn to grip her face, kissing her on the lips, as hard as I can.

Her body melts into mine, soft and perfect and even better than I remember.

“If I can only have you in dreams now, then I will never wake.”

I kiss her again, and she huffs a laugh into my mouth.

I pull away from her, wary of the way the dream seems to be slipping through my fingers.

“Why do you taste of ash?” I say, sadness burrowing deep inside my chest.

“Probably because I just burned Sola and her favorite priestess alive with dragon fire. From my mouth.” Her lip curls in disgust.

“This is a strange dream,” I say out loud.

Kyrie flicks my temple. “This isn’t a dream. Lara knocked you out with her magic. She said you were about to accidentally murder everyone in a ten-mile radius.”

My eyebrows shoot up.

“I felt you die.” The words choke out of me, and I hold her face in between my hands, searching her gaze for the trick, waiting to wake up and live my nightmare.

“Well.” She cringes. “Something did happen to me. But Han says we’re on even ground now, power-wise, you and me.”

“Han?”

“Han is her dragon,” a small male voice pipes up.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Tarron, holding hands with Shae and in the arms of his mother.

My jaw drops, and I shake my head.

Kyrie cups my chin. “He’s alive. I’m alive. You are alive.”

I take in a deep, shuddering breath, closing my eyes. “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

Kyrie’s mouth finds mine, still tasting of smoke.

It’s a gentle kiss, and I lean into it.

Until she pinches the hell out of my nipple, and I pull back. “Ouch. What the hells was that for?”

Amused, she winks at me. “You think it’s a dream, so I was trying to wake you up.”

I slap both hands over my nipples. “Where is my shirt?”

“You were covered in blood,” Caedia drawls. “We took it off you while I healed up all your bumps and bruises.”

Somehow, it’s Caedia’s strange way of speaking that makes me decide this is real. Not a dream.

Kyrie survived.

Tarron is alive.

We made it.

I blink rapidly. “You breathed dragon fire?”

“Yeah.” She grimaces. “I don’t recommend it. I feel like I licked a campfire while it was still hot.”

I throw my arms around her, holding her as tightly as I can, running my palms all over her body. She shivers, and her hot tears run onto the skin of my chest.

“I thought?—”

“I know.” A soft laugh and a sniffle.

“But—”

“Sola’s dead. Her priestesses are dead.”

“Kyrie saved me,” Tarron adds, not to be outdone.

I turn my head towards him, grinning up at the little boy. He rubs one hand over the tip of his pointed ear.

“A dragon carried me away, and then he picked Kyrie back up, and she was covered in blood, and it was so fun, and then he brought us back here.”

“Is that right?” I ask him, wonder lacing every syllable.

“That’s pretty much what happened.”

“Kyrie was cut up worse than anything, wasn’t she, Nana?” the little boy asks Shae. His mother hushes him.

I cut my gaze back to Kyrie, inspecting her.

“Don’t worry, I healed her, too.” Caedia rolls her eyes, but there’s a faint smile on her face.

“It’s over,” Morrow says, towering from the doorway, Lara leaning up against his chest. They’re both clean, hair damp, with dark smudges under their eyes from exhaustion. “The castle walls held. The tunnels fell, but we won.”

“How many of ours died?”

Shae nods her head, as if expecting the question. “Only fourteen.”

“Fourteen,” I repeat. “They will rest in peace.”

“We know they will,” Kyrie tells me, kissing me on the tip of my nose. “You might think you’re a big bad death god, but we know you’re all talk.”

I don’t think anyone knows that, but my dragon-fire-breathing mate thinks that, and hers is the only opinion I care about.

“When are you going to have babies?” Tarron asks.

“Tarron!” his mother says, scandalized.

Kyrie pulls away from me, a radiant smile on her face. “We have a lot to accomplish before we can give you friends, Tarron.”

“I think making friends for me is more important,” Tarron announces, frowning at her.

Kyrie snorts. “I am sure you do.”

She winks at me.

The conversation continues, everybody talking all at once.

All I can do is stare at Kyrie and wonder how fate managed to get it so right.

“I love you,” I whisper at her, my hands tightening around her hips and pulling her back onto my lap.

“I know,” she tells me, kissing my cheek.

It’s my turn to laugh. Only Kyrie would say something like that after the day we’ve had.

Only Kyrie could have stolen my whole heart in her clever thief’s fingers.