28
Standing in front of her father’s grave, Cate choked back another round of tears. No one needed to hear her cry again. Least of all her. But even as emotion clogged her throat, she found gratitude in the midst of terrible grief.
She wasn’t alone in the cemetery.
Rannock stood at her back less than ten feet away, standing strong beneath live oaks dripping with Spanish moss, silent and supportive while she said her goodbyes. Giving her space. Staying close in case she needed him. Guarding her solitude while dragon warriors patrolled the perimeter.
The trees swayed as one flew overhead. A whisper upon the breeze.
Stark relief filled her as her eyes closed. A fanciful thought. Nothing but her imagination. Dragonkind never flew in open skies without being cloaked by an invisibility spell. Cate knew it even as she took comfort in the pack’s protectiveness.
Something about being watched over soothed her.
Most people would dislike the idea. But after years spent mired in uncertainty, Rannock and his friends’ solid presence reached places deep inside her. Wounded places. Tortured places. Places she revisited tonight as she stared at her dad’s gravestone.
Pale marble with a simple inscription. Her dad’s name and a dash between two dates.
A gift from Rathbone and his brothers, along with the burial plot. How the Shadow Walker pulled it together so quickly, Cate didn’t know. She hadn’t asked. Numb from shock, deep in grief, she said thank you instead of questioning his generosity.
Knowing what she needed, Rannock hadn’t objected. He nodded instead, approving of the Triad’s thoughtfulness.
Something else to be grateful for in the midst of a nightmare.
Her throat went tight. An uncooperative tear fell.
She wiped it away, grounding herself in the here and now—in the soil in which she stood. Hallowed ground. The final resting place of so many over hundreds of years. The last place her father would ever visit.
Closed for the night, the graveyard lay quiet. No footfalls tapping along the stone pathways rising between tall headstones. No tourists murmuring in front of the many statues that stood watch over the cemetery. No one marveling at the tranquility to be found inside a home of the dead.
Crouching down, Cate set her hand on the fresh mound of dirt. She curled her fingers in the loose soil and swallowed the pain, determined to say what she must to a man she’d loved, but never understood.
“Goodbye, Dad,” she whispered, wiping another tear away. “It wasn’t always a fun ride, but you made it interesting. I would never have become who I am without you. Thank you for making me strong. I get my resilience from you. My street smarts and stubbornness, too. You did the best you could, were the best father you knew how to be, and I honor you for that. Niki would too, if she was here.”
Unclenching her fist, Cate smoothed her hand over dimpled soil. “Rest well. Be at peace. I miss you. I’ll miss you forever. I love you, Dad.”
Her quiet words drifted as insects buzzed, visiting bright flowers resting in their beds. Great oaks swayed above her head. The distant call of an owl echoed. Cate reached out and touched the headstone. Cool marble scraping against her fingertips, she traced her father’s name—Henry Biscayne—then pushed to her feet.
As she turned away from the grave, Rannock moved toward her. His boots crunched over gravel. He didn’t ask if she was all right. Her mate already knew she wasn’t, and wouldn’t be for a while. Understanding what she needed, he didn’t use words to comfort her. He used actions instead, reaching out, gathering her up, putting her back together, piece by broken piece, in the warmth of his embrace.
His compassion enveloped her.
Cate sighed as her eyes drifted closed. Snug and secure in his arms, she relaxed into him, giving him everything. Her love and acceptance. Her rage and grief. Past hurts, her sorrow-filled present along with every moment of her future, accepting the solace he offered without question.
Her dragon. Her lifeline. The only port in her storm.
Rannock had been that and more from the beginning. The moment she’d heard his voice over the line, she knew her life had change for the better.
Surrounded by his scent, she pressed her cheek to his chest. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he said quietly, matching the mood of the cemetery.
“Living up to the promise of your voice. Being my everything.”
“Bellmia,” he murmured, stroking her back, each caress a balm to her wounded soul. “You are a wonder. The privilege is, and will always be, mine.”
Standing at her father’s grave with his arms around her, he set his cheek against the top of her head. The message was clear—no rush. Rannock had all the time in the world for her.
Minutes ticked into more. Leaves rustled. Damp breezes drifted through the garden cemetery and around them. Her troubled mind settled, allowing her to take a full breath, the first deep one since being told her father was gone.
Giving Rannock a squeeze, she shifted in his arms. “Ready?”
“Whenever you are, lass.”
“He’s at rest now, Ran. Can’t fix it. Can’t change it. Nothing more I can do for him now,” she said, feeling the lump return to her throat. “Time to go home. I need to hug my sister.”
“As you wish, Bellmia.”
As she wished.
Her dragon’s answer to everything. He considered himself fortunate to have found her, but as he took her hand and led her out of the cemetery, Cate knew the truth. She was the lucky one, and always would be.
29
ABERDEEN, SCOTLAND — TWO WEEKS LATER
Planted in the middle of his bed, resting on one elbow, Rannock trailed his fingers down his mate’s back. Soft light spilled from the bedside lamp, highlighting the delicate length of her spine. He changed course, tracing her waist before sliding over her lower back.
He drew gentle circles with his fingertips.
A hum of pleasure left his throat.
Such smooth skin. So many intriguing curves and hollows to explore. The beauty of a warm, well-loved female. One who adored being in his bed. One he loved having there every day.
Lying belly-down on his sheets, Cate murmured as he caressed her again. He drew his fingers over the swell of her arse. A sensitive area for her, one he now knew by heart. Teasing her, he drifted over the crease, then dipped his hand between her thighs. He stroked gently, playing without adding any pressure.
Toes curled, her heels kicked up.
She turned her head on the pillow. “You’re killing me.”
He chuckled. “Wasn’t me that kept us up all day, lass.”
“Well,” she said, tucking her chin into her shoulder. “You’re hot, and I was in the mood to explore.”
“I hope the mood strikes you often.”
“You give me free rein, you might not get any sleep.”
“I’m happy tae live in a constant state of sleep deprivation.”
Her eyes crinkled at the corners.
Stretched out alongside her, he dipped his head. His lips brushed the back of her shoulder. He kissed her softly, then moved to her temple. “It’s after midnight.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-hmm.” Smoothing his hand up her back, he slid his fingers into her hair. He played in the shorter strands, enjoying its softness and the scent of her shampoo, something sweet with a touch of tartness. Just like her. Mouth drifting over her cheekbone, he breathed her in, taking her deep inside him. “Happy birthday, Catie-mine.”