"Move," a familiar voice rumbles.
The crowd parts without argument. Of course it does.
Roan strides into the clearing like he owns the ground he walks on—broad shoulders, thick arms, dark curls tied back at the nape of his neck. His eyes, warm brown and usually half-lidded with sleepy calm, are wide open now, sharp and focused.
On me.
"Zoryn?" he asks, like he needs confirmation his nose isn't lying to him.
I huff. "Who else would it be? You know any other dragons with my charming personality?"
He stops in front of me, and for the first time in my life, Roan—unshakeable, mountain-steady Roan—looks… rattled. I've known him since I was born, we've always been best friends—but this is the first genuine surprise I've ever witnessed in his eyes.
His nostrils flare once, then a few times more, and his pupils blow wide.
…Oh. Right.
Heat scent.
Fuck.
He seems to catch himself, blinking like he was just snapped out of a trance. "You… smell different," he admits awkwardly, voice softer now, like he's trying not to spook me.
"I bathed," I say dryly. "You should try it sometime."
Roan's lips tug into a small, helpless smile despite himself. "Still rude," he says, and suddenly he sounds like my Roan again. "Good. I was worried the bath might have turned you, I don't know, polite or something."
"Disgusting," I agree. "Don't worry, I could never."
His gaze flicks down my body, then jerks back up, guilt flashing across his face like he didn't mean to look. I guess it would be a little bit weird to see your partner in crime, best guy friend, favorite bro, with tits. I fight the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration.
He clears his throat, shoulders tensing under his tunic. "Are you alright?" he asks, serious again. "You scared half the tribe, you know. Fainting in front of everyone like that… getting whisked away by a handsome stranger."
"I did not faint," I grit out, then repeat my words from earlier, "I just… died a little. Temporarily."
His brows knit. "That's actually worse—by, like, a lot."
I roll my eyes, but the tight knot in my chest loosens a fraction. This interaction feels familiar and safe, easing some of the weight that's been gathering on my mind. Roan's always been like this—steady, warm, a little slow on the uptake but never cruel.
"Still alive," I point out. "Mostly. Just hungry enough to eat one of you if I don't find a food stall in the next five minutes."
He glances at the wolves, lions, serpents, then at Dad's barely-contained aura, and sighs. "Yeah, that tracks."
Then, with a quiet resolve I recognize from a hundred childhood scraps, he steps closer—into my space, but not in a demanding way. It's more like he's putting himself between me and the rest of the world.
"Come on," Roan says, tilting his head toward the market row. "I'll take you to the food. You can yell at everyone after you've eaten."
"I can yell at people hungry," I argue.
"I know," he says patiently. "The problem is it might not end with yelling if you're hungry.."
I snort, but I don't argue when he positions himself at my side. Not in front of me, not dragging me behind him—right beside me, our shoulders almost brushing. His presence is like a walking shield, calm and heavy, soaking up some of the stares.
Ashen bristles. "Why does the bear get to—"
Roan gives him a look—one look—and Ashen shuts his mouth immediately.
Riven clicks his tongue. "Tamed by a bear, wolf? That's embarrassing."
"Keep talking, catboy," I mutter, "I'll cook you."
"...Catboy?" Riven cocks a curious brow, but then his eyes gleam. "You'll cook me? Is that a promise?"
Dad makes a sound like he's developing a headache that could fell a god. "Enough," he repeats, more tired than angry now. "Roan. Make sure she eats. The rest of you—keep your distance for now, or I will personally thin your numbers."
There's a general grumble of protest, but no one openly challenges a dragon who's one inconvenience away from igniting the nearest pavilion and leveling everything in the valley.
Roan jerks his chin toward the stalls. "Come on, Zoryn."
We start walking. The crowd parts again, slower this time, but they move. Ashen falls into step a few paces back on one side and Riven mirrors him on the other. And, although he isn't following me directly, I feel the strange serpent's gaze like a cool hand at the back of my neck.
Great. I have an entourage. I love that for me.
Is this what being a woman is like? No wonder they all died! I'd let the gods take me away after dealing with this kind of attention for a lifetime, too.
As we get closer to the line of tents and wooden booths, the air fills with the scents of roasting meat, spices, grilled bread, and even some sweet fruit.
My stomach growls loud enough that Roan hears it and huffs a laugh.
"There it is," he teases. "Thought maybe the heat burned your appetite away."
"Blasphemy," I say, frowning at him. "Don't say shit like that even as a joke. Nothing can appease my insatiable hunger. Honestly, the heat might have made it worse."
He smiles fully this time, and for a second, it's just like when we were kids—him sneaking honey cakes to me behind the storage tents, me punching anyone who tried to take them.
"Okay, what do you want?" he asks as we near the stalls. "Smoked boar? Grilled fish? Those avian skycakes you like?"
"I want all of it," I say honestly.
"Doable." Roan chuckles. "On the bright side, I bet you'll get as many extra servings as you want now that you're…"
"A woman?" I ask, snickering at his awkwardness.
The bear presses his hand to the back of his neck, the tips of his ears burning pink. "...Uh, yeah. That."
Someone steps out of a nearby booth at that exact moment, turning too quickly, arms full of baskets and not watching where they're going. The impact isn't hard, but the person is smaller than me—much smaller, shorter by probably four or five inches. They stumble backward, wings fluffing out instinctively to catch their balance. Their feathers brush my arm, soft and surprisingly warm.
"I'm so sorry!" the stranger blurts immediately.
I grab their elbow without thinking, steadying them. "My bad. Should've been watching where I was—"
Then I get a good look at his face.
Big, dark eyes framed by long lashes. Delicate features, sharp but somehow soft at the same time. A few loose feathers are tangled in his blond hair, and his cheeks are flushed pink, whether from embarrassment or something else.
Avians, I realize. He's one of the birdfolk.
He realizes I'm still holding onto him at the same time I do. His gaze flicks from my hand on his arm up to my face, and then—slowly, like he can't stop himself—lower, down the line of my body and back up again.
His pupils dilate.
"Yes, definitely my bad," he says faintly.
I let go of him quickly, weirdly flustered. "Seriously, it's fine. No harm done."
He ducks his head, feathers shivering slightly. "I should have paid attention. I was trying to avoid the crowd and didn't think anyone would be coming this way so fast."
"That's on me," I say. "I don't know how to slow down."
Roan makes a quiet rumbling sound that might be a laugh.
The avian risks another glance at me—and immediately looks away again when our eyes meet, as if I burned him.
"You're…" he starts, then aborts the sentence. "Sorry. I shouldn't stare."
"Everyone else is," I point out. "Might as well get your look in now."
He makes a choked sound that might be horror. Or a suppressed laugh. It's hard to tell.
"I—I wasn't— I mean, I didn't—" he stammers.
"Relax, Birdie," I say, smirking a little. "I'm not going to peck your eyes out."
His mouth twitches. "I'm not… actually a bird," he protests weakly.
"Could've fooled me," I say, eyeing the wings. "Name?"
He hesitates, then straightens a little, clearly remembering his manners.
"Orien," he says, his voice soft but clear. "From the Windspire roost."
"Zoryn," I reply. "From 'having the worst day of my life.'"
He huffs out a tiny, reluctant laugh.
Roan gives him an assessing once-over. Not hostile, just curious. "You alright?" he asks.
Orien nods quickly. "Yes. I'm okay. Just… overwhelmed, I suppose."
"Yeah," I say, glancing back toward where the lions, wolves, and serpent are still lingering at the edge of the square like they loathe the idea of giving up their vantage point. "Feels like everyone's forgotten this is supposed to be a festival and not a circus."
Orien's ears go pink. "You're far too badass to be in a circus," he says quietly.
I blink at him, completely stunned for a moment. Did he just call me badass? I think I like this one. He's not noisy like the others, and he hasn't said anything remotely possessive.
He flushes deeper. "Um. I mean—sorry. That was rude."
"No, it was accurate," I say. "You get to stay."
Roan snorts. "We collecting people now?"
"Apparently," I say, eyeing the food stall. "I'll sort my harem later. Right now, I want skewers."
Orien makes a strangled noise. "Harem?" he repeats, scandalized.
I grin. "Kidding."
…Mostly.
Roan just shakes his head and steps up to the stall, already ordering enough food to feed a small army. Behind us, I can still feel Ashen's stare and Riven's interest. I can also sense that the damned serpent is still somewhere observing me, sending chills down my spine like I'm being watched by a predator. There's also the unmistakable suffocation of my dad's aura preventing them from closing in.
And somewhere just beyond the edge of my senses—there's a warm, stimulating, and comforting aura… a familiar fire, watching. My skin prickles, and the mark on my hip throbs once, like a heartbeat under my skin.
Ren.
Wherever he is, he's close.
I don't know why he ran away without a word, and I'm not sure when he's going to come back—if he's going to come back—but I don't want to worry about it. So, for now, I'm going to eat my damn dinner.
And if any of these beasts tries to get between me and my skewers, they're learning firsthand that being "breedable" does not mean "not dangerous."