Page 11 of Hex and Scales

“There’s nothing to talk about.” But Sabine’s voice lacked conviction.

“No?” Ilaria’s tone held years of gentle wisdom. “Then why are you out here instead of inside, plotting revenge on your cousin with Clover?”

Sabine traced the familiar pattern of her birthmark through her sweater. “Did you know he lost his mate eight hundred years ago?”

“Ah.” Understanding filled her grandmother’s voice. “And that knowledge hurts you.”

“It shouldn’t. I’ve met him three times. I barely know him.” Sabine kicked the swing gently, watching shadows dance across the garden. “And even if my tigress is right—even if we are mates—how can I compete with eight centuries of grief? He’s so... closed off. Cold. The last thing I need is to be mated to someone who can’t or won’t open his heart.”

“Is that really what worries you?” Ilaria’s knowing gaze saw too much. “Or are you more concerned about how deeply you already care? How much you want to help heal that pain, even if he never offers anything in return?”

Sabine’s chest tightened. “I hate that you know me so well.”

“Sweetheart.” Ilaria wrapped an arm around her shoulders, the scent of bread and magic enveloping Sabine in childhood comfort. “You’ve always had such a generous heart. Even as a little girl, you brought home every stray cat, tried to fix every broken toy. It’s not weakness to want to help someone heal.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to heal? What if he’s happier alone with his grief?” Sabine’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What if I’m not enough to make up for what he lost?”

“Oh, my darling girl.” Ilaria pressed a kiss to her temple. “That’s not how love works. You don’t have to be ‘enough’ to replace what was lost. You’re enough as you are. Being you might be exactly what that lonely dragon needs, whether he knows it yet or not.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Sabine protested weakly. “I don’t even know him.”

“No?” Her grandmother’s smile held centuries of feminine wisdom. “Then why are you already planning ways to help him heal, even if he never loves you back?”

The question hung in the star-scattered night. Sabine’s tigress purred, agreeing with Ilaria’s assessment even as Sabine’s human heart tried to deny it.

“This is crazy,” she whispered.

Ilaria’s laugh floated on the evening breeze. “Sometimes crazy can lead you to find your happiness.”

Sabine leaned into her grandmother’s embrace, watching the moon rise over Mystic Hollow. Her tigress stretched contentedly, already planning ways to make their dragon smile—even if he never became truly theirs.

She was so busy arguing with her inner cat about appropriate ways to cheer up ancient dragons that she almost missed her grandmother’s quiet words.

“Sometimes the hearts that guard themselves most fiercely are the ones most worth the effort to reach. Just... be patient with him, darling. And with yourself.”

Stars winked overhead as Sabine considered this, wondering when exactly she’d stopped fighting the idea of him being “their” dragon.

Probably around the same time she’d started plotting how to smuggle stress-relief muffins into his next investigation.

Her tigress approved thoroughly of this plan.

NINE

Strong hands gripped her waist, steadying her as flames roared around them. Through the inferno, Sabine glimpsed Ren’s face—anguished, desperate. Dragon scales rippled across his skin as he fought to maintain control. Behind him, shadows danced like living things, and the clash of steel rang out. Her heart shattered at his expression, raw with a grief that spanned centuries.

“I won’t lose you,” he growled, but the words seemed to echo from a distant memory rather than the present moment.

The scene shifted, battlefield smoke swirling into darkness. Now Ren stood alone, head bowed over someone lying motionless in his arms. The crushing wave of loneliness and heartbreak that emanated from him stole Sabine’s breath. The mark above her navel flared with phantom pain.

She jerked awake with a gasp, tears tracking down her face. The dream clung like cobwebs, refusing to fade. Her skin tingled where dream-Ren had touched her, and the echo of his grief settled heavily in her chest. Every detail of his face remained vivid—the clench of his strong jaw, the flicker of gold in his eyes, the way his full lips had trembled with emotion.

Her fingers traced the thin red line above her navel, which thrummed with an unfamiliar sensation. The usual dull ache had transformed into something electric, almost alive. Her inner cat stirred restlessly, pushing against the confines of her human form with unprecedented urgency. He needs us.

“He doesn’t need anyone,” Sabine whispered, but the words rang hollow. Her feline nature snarled in disagreement, and she couldn’t blame her. The devastating solitude she’d sensed in her dream... no one should carry that kind of pain alone.

She pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to banish the lingering image of Ren’s face. Futile. Every time she closed her eyes lately, she saw him—those broad shoulders that made her fingers itch to explore them, that subtle dimple that appeared when he almost smiled, those eyes that pierced straight through to her soul.

“This is ridiculous,” she told her reflection in the window. “You barely know him.”

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