He felt edgy before the knock on his door came. When he heard what the frantic woman who’d come to disturb him in the middle of the night had to say, he released a long trail of curses that he had no business saying in front of a lady.

“I’m going to strangle her,” he muttered as he practically ran out the door, pulling clothing and armor on his limbs as he moved.

Talia had sensed a danger. That much was okay. Annoying and frightening, but he could deal with it. What he had a problem with was the fact that Aleria, her sister, had been the one to come to him, because the idiot had just gone off on her own.

He wished he’d kept Kross with him. The man was needed in Norda in Vincent’s absence, but, right about now, he seriously fucking needed wings. It had taken Aleria a while to find him.

She’d initially been looking for Rhey, who dwelled beneath the castle in his den, a place so protected no mage could hope to locate it with spells. So, she gave up and came for him. According to her, Talia had left half an hour ago. She could have gone anywhere, in any direction, and by horse, too.

His guts told him to turn west. If she was indeed sensing the malevolent Enchantress, she must come from the continent. That meant heading to Norda, his home.

His dragon was there, just beneath the surface; not watching this time. Oh no. It was seething. Panting. All but ready to reduce the world to fire.

The very last thing he needed.

Preparing his own horse, Vincent managed to be on his way in record time. But was he even going in the right direction?

Yes.

A simple answer. How would the dragon know? It wasn’t like his senses were so astute that he could smell or hear a rider with close to an hour’s head start. But yet, the beast just knew where she was. Impossible. So why wasn’t he even fucking surprised, or doubting it?

Because she was their fucking mate, that’s why. Because there was a link between them, a bond as concrete as Demelza’s and Xandrie’s, although there was no mark on their palms, and as solid as Xandrie’s and Rhey’s, although Vincent had yet to take her for his own, in every sense of the term. He would. Soon.

As he rode his horse at high speed, he wondered why the dragon wasn’t more panicked right now. Vincent certainly was at his wits’ end, alternatively begging the gods that she’d be fine, and promising himself that he’d collar her and keep her on a leash, close to him at all times.

It was just as well that he’d never professed to being sane.

The dragon was calmer. Ready to attack at a moment’s notice, but steady, strong. Why?

For the first time, the beast did him a favor. His vision blurred and was replaced by a completely different landscape; a little town a few miles away. There was a horse, drinking water.

“Thanks for letting him drink.”

Talia’s voice. Somehow, he was in Talia’s mind, for one instant. It passed quickly, and left him confused, but a little reassured now. She was fine, for the moment at least.

But how could his dragon see through her eyes? It made no sense.

Shadow, the creature growled. Shadow-linked.

He got it, somehow. His dragon was his darkness, his shadow, and if, indeed, Talia was his, then her shadow belonged to the monster. The dragon could see her shadow, perhaps communicate with it, too.

He didn’t question how it was supposed to work. Instead, he did something dangerous. A slippery slope he might come to regret later. He decided to trust his dragon on this - just a little. Trust it to guide them to Talia.

He knew what had happened the last time he’d believed the beast would keep a woman safe and he certainly didn’t want a rerun of that. But he was a three- century-old powerful man now. He could keep it in check.

Hopefully.

He stopped in Vern, the small town where he’d seen Talia in his weird vision.

“My lord!” said a woman outside the lively pub he’d visited once or twice. She inclined her head and pressed her fist to her chest in respect.

“Greetings. Have you seen a woman pass through on horseback? Dark hair, in a hurry.”

He didn’t doubt it, but her nod reassured him, nonetheless. “Not even twenty minutes ago. Polite little thing. Wanted to give me money for letting her poor horse take some water,” she shook her head as though it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.

“She headed west, did she not?”

“Aye, that she did.”

“Thank you. I’ll quench my own horse’s thirst, if you don’t mind.”

“So long as you don’t flash your purse, you’re welcome to.”

Stopping, even for a minute, was downright painful, but he wasn’t one to exhaust his animal.

There’s another way, said the voice of the monster, and he ignored him. The dragon didn’t seem surprised. He didn’t push, either.

Vincent tensed, feeling like the beast knew him a little too well. No argument was going to make him relinquish the rules of their body now and his dragon was aware of that. But the dangerous watchful creature was waiting for an opportunity, that much was clear. When came a time where Vincent might have a doubt, he would use it.

Not long ago, he would have said that there was no way the dragon would ever win that internal fight. But if they were on a beach today, and a horde of orcs appeared near Talia, just like they had so long ago? If he was too far? There was a chance he might let the monster out.

He forced himself to recall what had occurred the last time he’d done that. To remember that the monster wasn’t one to protect.

She was already dead.

It was the first time that the dragon talked of it. Even back then, when it had just happened, his beast had remained silent, enraged, before simply withdrawing from their conscience.

Now, three centuries later, the dragon pulled a memory back from their minds. A memory Vincent had either suppressed or failed to notice.

Clarya on the beach, in her cougar form. She leapt at an orc, and a spear pierced her heart. Even at a distance, the eyes of the dragon caught it all. The dragon’s acute hearing heard every beat of her heart, until there were none.

Then, he’d beat his wings, flew over the monsters, and killed them all.

They’d failed the poor innocent girl, but he wouldn’t fail to avenge her.

Vincent felt sick to his stomach when his vision cleared up, returning him to the present. Not because of what had occurred then; because of what he’d done after. He’d blamed his dragon. Every day, for three hundred years, he’d cursed it, calling him an evil thing, a monster.

The dragon hadn’t been sealed by the guilt over what he’d done. He’d stayed away from the man who had given up on him, hating himself, and remaining in shadows where he was relentlessly told he belonged.

His dragon had remained soaked in self-hatred so long it was a miracle there was anything left of him by the time she came.

She. Their mate. Their treasure. The only person who could heal the beast who’d stopped believing in Vincent.

Damn, Talia was really everything to him - to them. If anything happened to her…

“Enough. Let’s fucking fly.”

The instant he decided to let go, his body started to convulse, burn, and bones cracked. Oh, bloody hell, had it been as painful the last time? Thankfully, it didn’t last long.

Then, there he was. The thing he’d most dreaded for over three hundred years. The blue-scaled monster, in the streets of a village full of people. Not long ago, Vincent would have believed the dragon would have taken pleasure at seeing them all burn.

He leaped in the air and thrust with his long wings, heading west.

* * *

Flying was the best thing he’d ever done, except perhaps, dry-humping and kissing Talia. Still, it was up there with that. Speed. Raw power. Vincent’s stomach was dropping, and, at the same time, he almost begged the beast to go faster, loving the ride.

Closing the distance between Vern and Norda - which would have taken a good hour by horse, took just a few minutes.

The dragon’s teasing demeanor changed when its keen eyes narrowed in the direction of a black hole, a breach in the transparent golden wall, close to the fortress, but too small to demand attention. The hole was on the left flank of the stone wall nearest his home, and his men hadn’t noticed it yet, focused as they were on the foreign dragon darkening their view.

Vincent kept on searching, ignoring his men, who’d started to shift, no doubt intending to confront him. Finally, he saw her, coming out of the nearby woods. She’d left her horse somewhere - on foot, she sneaked along the side of the fortress, heading towards the Aether wall.

His adorable little idiot. What if his men saw fit to attack her?

Vincent’s beast flew down at high speed, landing in the middle of his keep. Men were shouting around him, lances at the ready, demanding he shift back.

The dragon didn’t want to, Vincent felt that. But he certainly saw that he would be of little help to Talia in his current form, so, reluctantly, he withdrew back into a corner of Vincent’s mind.

Silence. Complete, utter silence from his men, then shouts and applause. He had to laugh.

“Find me some clothes,” said he - someone was already throwing breeches and shirts to him. “Your future mistress is down on the side of the fortress,” he gestured. Someone created a hole in the wall. Ignore it. Stay put and take care of whatever comes out of it once they reach the palace.”

They weren’t warning their enemies of the fact that they were coming for her.