Warriors should not cry. They should certainly not sob off and on for days.

Val swiped a sleeve across her cheek. She knew the being she had beheaded had not been her father. She knew it had been Uryen wearing her father’s face. And still the image stayed with her. In her too-frequent remembering she never saw the demon after death, no, she always saw her father before and while the blade cut into his neck and ended his life.

Maybe she was a warrior, but still…her first kill had been a demon who wore the face of her father. She would never forget it, never erase that horrible memory from her mind.

Kitty had been unrelentingly pragmatic. Stop crying. Cease. You did what had to be done, you have fulfilled the first part of your prophecy. And when those words did not make any difference, the magical sword had gone silent. Val had not known a sword could grumble and then give the silent treatment, but that’s what Kitty did.

Cyrus understood. He didn’t tell her not to cry. When she found a private place in the evening to simply let go and sob, he took care of the horses and built a fire without a word of complaint. He caught meat for their dinner and cooked it. Now and then he asked her if she wanted to talk. She never did.

She wouldn’t allow him to physically coddle her as he had immediately after the incident, even though there were times when she wanted very much to be coddled.

The more disturbing episodes, those where she wept until her eyes were burning and swollen and her chest hurt and she occasionally gave a scream of frustration, ceased after a couple of days. Tears occasionally dribbled down her face, and she got the hiccups far too frequently, and the vision of her father — not her father — remained. Reality helped her to heal. She began to focus on the memory of Uryen’s body on ground, Uryen’s flaming hair, Uryen’s screech.

She had done what needed to be done. It had been painful, but she’d survived. Cyrus had survived.

Her father had survived.

The barn was five days behind them when they stopped to camp by a small, clear pond. The foothills were only a day or two away. From there, onward and upward. And upward. She felt as if she were being drawn there, as if she had no choice in the matter at all.

Clear-eyed and hiccup-free, Val sat beside the fire Cyrus had built and put on her fiercest face. “Tomorrow morning, you will return to the village.”

Surprisingly, Cyrus was as determined as she. “No.”

Val sighed. “You are no soldier, and before much longer I will be in the middle of a war.” She could feel it coming. Close, so close.

“I am aware.”

“How can you be so unconcerned about your life? I’m trying to protect you!”

He was much calmer than she as he responded, “As I am trying to protect you.”

Seriously? “I don’t need protection.”

Kitty, who had been silent for days, finally spoke. Let him tag along. Why now? It wasn’t as if Kitty had expressed any fondness for Cyrus before now.

“You are destined to go to war, but no prophecy ever said you would fight alone,” Cyrus said. “You are to lead an army. I want to be a part of that army.”

“You’re a farmer!” It was meant to be an insult, but judging by his expression, it was not taken as such. How else was she supposed to scare him away?

He remained calm, as usual. “Very few warriors are trained from birth, as you were. Soldiers are also blacksmiths and bakers, shepherds and yes, even farmers.”

“You are no…” She’d intended to say warrior, but something in Cyrus’ eyes stopped her. He was determined. He was dedicated. At that moment he looked every bit the warrior.

“Fine,” she snapped. “But you are free to go at any time.”

“I have always been free to go at any time,” he said in an even voice.

It was true.

Kitty vibrated with some excitement, and she all but shouted, for Val’s ears alone, They’re coming! Get ready!

At that moment she heard someone — several someones — drawing near. Horses, at least a dozen. Gods! She had been so lost in her conversation, she’d let her guard down.

She caught Cyrus’ eye. “You want to be a soldier? I think your chance has arrived.”

At that moment, he heard, too. He did not have a sword, but he wore two knives on his belt, and he pulled them both.

More than a dozen, Val judged as the riders came closer. Perhaps double that number. Should they run? The odds were not in their favor. They could not know that those who approached meant them harm, but…

We do not retreat, Kitty said with some disdain.

Kitty in hand, Val stood on a boulder to the north side of their camp and waited. She could see them now, shadows in the night. Twenty riders. Her heart climbed into her throat. Twenty against two, and Cyrus…

She dismissed that concern. Cyrus was a fighter, too. She could see it in his stance as he stood on the ground beside her, knives at the ready.

Knives which would not do him any good at all if the riders came in with swords swinging.

They did not approach like attackers, which caused her to relax a bit. Just a bit. Still, they moved forward with purpose; they weren’t a group of hunters out to provide for their families on this fine evening. No, they were soldiers.

Finally, the leader of the riders came into view, and for the first time in her entire life, Val dropped her sword. Kitty protested as she bounced off stone and then hit the ground, but Val paid her no mind. She jumped off the boulder and ran. The tears she had worked so hard to shed came roaring back. Her heart pounded.

Her father leaped off his horse and caught her as she threw herself at him. She held on tight, and so did he. She sobbed again; her tears dampened his shoulder. That was his smell, his heartbeat, his warmth. How had she ever been fooled?

“What’s wrong?” he snapped.

“Nothing,” Val managed to say between sobs.

“Something is wrong.”

Her father ordered the men to restrain Cyrus, after judging that he was likely the reason for Val’s reaction. That ended Val’s tears. She lifted her head and jumped down and back, wiping away tears with one hand.

She turned to order the men not to lay a finger on her friend, but that order was unnecessary.

Kitty hovered in the air, dancing before Cyrus, threatening any who came close. Her blade was quick and sharp, and the wise soldiers steered clear.

“That’s my friend, Cyrus. He is not the reason I cried.” She turned around and faced her father again, and this time she smiled as she reached up to lay her palms on his cheeks. “Have I ever told you that I love your face?”

* * *

A dragon should heal faster!

Her attempts were not entirely wasted, but the results were far too slow. She wanted to wave her hand and have it done, but they’d been here for days and the healing was not complete.

Without warning, the dragon moved. He shifted his weight in a way he had not in the days since she’d cut him.

“You cannot fly,” she reminded him, not for the first time. It was dark. If the dragon breathed fire, someone would see. Stasio might find out.

I can, Pax directed her way. He looked at her. But I won’t. Not yet.

He took a wobbly stance, head down, wings dropped. He stood that way for a moment, and then he slowly and deliberately lifted his head. Pax looked to the sky as if he craved it. Maybe he did, but he understood the risk.

Did he care that showing himself would put her mother in danger? Of course not. Why would he?

His wings came up, stronger than they had been in days, as beautiful as they had been the first time she saw them. She waited for him to take flight, to undo everything she had tried to do…

But that wasn’t what happened.

She watched as he changed, shrinking in on himself. Flesh replaced scales. Hair replaced the horns on his head. Pax was in pain as he shifted; she felt that pain as if it were her own. The damage she had done to the underside of his wing remained, an oozing cut down his side and on the inside of his arm from armpit to elbow.

If he had shifted immediately after she’d cut him, the man would not have survived. What would have happened to the dragon in that case?

She did not want to know.

He walked to her, taking long strides on the hard ground. Those eyes — Pax’s eyes; dragon’s eyes — she should have known all along…

And then he stood before her, naked, wounded, and angry. Angry with her, with the wizard in the lands below, and with himself.

She had apologized to the dragon, and now she did the same to the man. “I’m so sorry. I could think of no other way…”

With his uninjured arm, he grabbed her. He placed his hand on the back of her head and pulled her close. The kiss was brutal, harsh, and beautiful. It fed her, as nothing and no one else could. He forgave her. He must. If not, how could he kiss her this way? How could he give so much of himself to her, if not for…love? She had never believed love was for her. She was death; she was demon. Who could love a demon whose very touch was death?

Pax. Pax loved her.

She touched him as they kissed, running her fingers over his skin from waist to armpit and then down again. She brushed his arm; she held him close.

And when he ended the kiss, he was wounded no more.

He rested his forehead on hers. “You were growing weak,” he whispered. “I felt it. You needed to be fed, and no one feeds you as the dragon does.”

Linara’s spirits fell. Her heart dropped to the cold stone ground they stood upon. Pax didn’t love her. He needed her. He’d needed her to be powerful enough to heal him, so he could…

Leave her? Kill her? Either would be painful.

“My need had not reached a critical stage.” Though…he was right. She had begun to hunger.

She felt his anger as if it were a tangible thing, a wave in the ocean or a stiff breeze that whipped the trees. And yet there was something more than anger. He wanted her, still. He hated and desired her, craved and despised her.

She loved him, no matter how he felt about her. They were connected now in a way they had not been before. Did he feel her love, or was it washed away by his fury? She did her best to hide what she felt. Deception was a gift she possessed that he did not.

Linara took a step away and pulled her shift over her head, so she was as naked as he. “A kiss is not the only way you can feed me,” she said without emotion. “If you are of a mind, of course.” She knew he was; he was aroused, and had been from the moment he’d shifted.

She reached for him, craving his body, wanting his love and knowing she would never have it.

And determined not to allow him to see the impossible love within her.