Page 53 of Rejected By Dragons

"Of course." Nothing can be removed from the premises without being processed through the register. The highest value items require Rhiannon herself to enter them into the system.

I'm still blown away by the trust she's putting in me. The emotion tightening my throat must show in my expression.

She rolls her eyes and waves me off. "There's no need to make a big fuss about it. Now get back to work."

Chuckling and blinking hard, I nod. I add the key to my expanding ring of them, right next to the one that allows me into Amy and Rhiannon's home. I won't "make a big fuss about it," but all over again, I silently vow to prove myself worthy of all the kindness and trust they've shown me.

I redouble my efforts, working from sunup to sundown. Amy makes fun of me for being a stick in the mud when I tell her I'm too busy to hang out. When she pouts, but I assure her that, once the summit is over, we'll have a big girls' day out. She squeals and starts planning it right away, and I suck in a rough breath, hoping I haven't overcommitted myself.

In the end, worrying about how I'll cope with my overly-energetic new best friend getting carried away with planning things for us to do together takes a major backseat.

The final shipment arrives two days before the dignitaries are scheduled to arrive, and Rhiannon declares the situation "all hands on deck." Amy might not work in the store very much anymore, but she, Freya, Jett and a couple of Rhiannon's most trusted friends report to the stockroom to help out.

"Just like old times," Jett grumbles as he follows Rhiannon's directives to stack a dozen large--and extremely heavy--stone spheres on a big rack in the back.

I chuckle and shake my head, remembering how intimidating he was, that first day when he swooped down out of the sky and asked me what my business was in Unity. Today, he's acting like a petulant son reluctantly carrying out his mother's orders, because if he doesn't, he won't get dessert.

"He's always like this," Freya confides, striding past me with box of glowing crystals in her hands.

Jett turns and glowers at his mate. "I heard that."

She leans in to kiss his cheek, and the touch lingers. "I know."

Something in my chest twinges again at their easy intimacy, but I brush it aside. I may have lost Storm and whatever connection we shared, but I'm so much happier now, surrounded by friends who feel like family. I have absolutely zero reason to be envious of Freya and Jett.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I barrel onward, basically assuming the job of being Rhiannon's lieutenant. Besides her, I'm the one who knows the most about the shop's inventory at the moment, and she seems happy enough to see me taking initiative and helping out with directing traffic.

Everything's running like a well-oiled machine, then, until I pick up a crowbar to open one of the very last crates. I pause, a sudden tugging in my chest.

For a second, it's like the tug I felt, pulling me south back when I still lived in Wynrath Crest. In that moment, I realize that the urge to drive south has just...disappeared. It grew weaker with every mile I traveled after leaving the Air Kingdom, but its absence hits me all at once.

Because this tug? This impulse to open this crate?

It's stronger. Much, much stronger.

Almost too late, I remember Rhiannon's warnings. From the moment I began working at the shop, she cautioned me that some of the artifacts I encounter in her shop may be dangerous. Seductive, even.

The allure of whatever's contained inside this crate calls to me with an almost irresistible force. I check myself. It doesn't feel like a siren song, enticing me to step into deep waters and drown. It feels like...destiny.

So, yeah. It's probably a siren song.

"Rhiannon?" My voice trembles.

She jerks her head up immediately. Her gaze darts to the crate I'm standing over, crowbar in hand, and her eyes go wide.

"Ember," she says quietly. She's never sounded more calm, which is how I can tell she's panicked as hell. "Put down the crowbar."

The entire space goes quiet as I tighten my grip.

Then through sheer force of will, I set the tool down and step away. The warmth radiating from the crate only intensifies as I retreat. It's a swirling, shimmering sort of call. Dark, but in a good way. It promises to wrap me up in an embrace that's sheltered and safe.

For a moment, inexplicably, I have a flashing memory of my father, crouched beside me after a nightmare. Holding me in the dimness of the safest, best, warmest place.

But then it's gone.

"Sorry," I mumble. The crowbar drops from my hands.

Rhiannon crosses the space toward me, relief on her face. "No need to be, child." She glances at the crate. "I should have set that one aside. I'll...handle it. Personally."

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