“Mira?” She looked up. Heather’s gaze, surprising in its intensity. “The attack last night.”
“Yeah. A bunch of them, in a van just like the one in the driveway.”
“And?”
Mira blinked. What exactly was Heather waiting for her to say? Her aunt sighed. “Mira, your dad only talked to me once about the night you left home. But even I can see the connection here. They came for you then… and now they’re back to finish the job.”
“Whatjob?” Suddenly, anger was coursing through her body. Conrad looked up, clearly sensing her emotion even through the language barrier. “What the hell could they possibly want with me? With Dad? With Mom?” The word felt rusty in her mouth, and it was that more than anything that brought hot tears to her eyes. “You’re telling me all this is some action movie conspiracy theory, but itcan’tbe. We were just a normal family.”
“I don’t know if that’s true, Mira,” Heather said gently. Mira could feel the eyes of the wolves on her, thoughtful, curious. “Your father always said he had something to tell you—”
“Yeah, well, he made a lot of promises before he died. It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” She knew her anger wasn’t fair, knew it was stress making her lash out… but right now, it was all she could do to stop herself from smashing all the plates and knocking the table over for good measure. Instead, she got to her feet abruptly, feeling her chair skid out behind her, and stormed down the hallway, feeling uncomfortably like a teenager again. She’d been heading for the bathroom, but some old flicker of muscle memory turned her around at a different doorway, and she found herself standing in her childhood bedroom.
The air was thick in here, and she let the door click shut behind her, trying to catch her breath. This was technically a spare bedroom now, though Heather hadn’t changed much about the decor… all of Mira’s childhood posters were still up on the walls, and all her keepsakes and treasures were still cluttering every available surface. She’d always had a fondness for amassing trinkets.
Footsteps in the hall outside. She pulled her door open, expecting to see her aunt—but it was Conrad, looking relieved to see her. Something on her face must have revealed how she was feeling, because without a word he pulled her into a hug. For a moment she froze, surprised by the gesture… then she leaned into the embrace, letting the warmth of his arms chase away a little of the stress and frustration that had been building up in her all morning.
“Sorry for leaving you without a translator,” she said when they finally broke apart, Conrad’s hands still resting comfortingly on her shoulders.
“No trouble. Your aunt is trying to give our new friends a week’s worth of meals in one sitting, from what I can tell.”
Mira laughed, dashing away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. “That sounds about right.”
“Did your aunt say something that upset you?”
“Sort of,” she admitted, resting her head against his chest for a moment to gather her strength. The drumming of his heartbeat was a comforting rhythm. “Just… stuff about my mom and dad, about the attack that night. She was saying there was stuff I didn’t know about them. Which… she’s right, obviously, they both died when I was just a kid, of course there was stuff, but… I don’t know. It just rubbed me the wrong way.”
Conrad just held her close. He really was good at silences, wasn’t he? Nobody she’d ever spent time with was as comfortable as he was at just letting the air settle around them. Finally, she felt a little of the tension drain out of her, and she exhaled.
“I’m being a brat, aren’t I?”
He huffed laughter, pulling back to look down at her with that distant smile in his blue eyes. “You’re going through a lot.”
“I grew up here,” she admitted softly, looking around her childhood bedroom. “Maybe that’s why I’m acting like a teenager again. But… I don’t know. I’m meant to be an adult by now, but I keep waiting to feel like it. Why do I always feel like my life’s barely begun? I mean, honestly. I’m nearly forty.”
The way Conrad laughed surprised her. He waved a hand apologetically, clearly fighting to control it, and she folded her arms across her chest, torn between annoyance and delight. Had she ever seen him lose that icy composure to laughter? “I’m sorry, Mira,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s entirely inappropriate of me to laugh.”
“What’s so funny?”
“A translation issue. Cultural, rather than linguistic. For a dragon, the age of forty is… well, we consider any age in the double digits childhood, effectively.”
“You—” She blinked, thrown by this. She’d always gotten a mature vibe from him, but this was still a revelation. “How long do dragons live, then?”
“That depends on the dragon. But—to put it simply—dragons don’t die of old age.”
“You don’t…” She studied him for a long moment. There had been a lot of new information over the last twenty-four hours. Maybe that was why she was struggling so much with this final piece. “So theoretically, you’re going to live forever.”
A slight quirk of his lips. “It would be hubris to expect eternity. But yes, in theory alone.”
“So how old are you?” He winced, just a little. “Sorry if that’s rude.”
“Your curiosity is understandable. We don’t tend to keep count.”
“I suppose there’s not much point.” She felt like she was either going to pass out or burst into hysterical laughter. But something about Conrad’s expression made her focus. “Why are you looking at me like that?” She sighed at his hesitation. “Come on. Spit it out. I’ve already thrown my adolescent tantrum for the day, you’re safe.”
“Mira, I think you’re a dragon.” The words came out in a rush, and he held her gaze with something like defiance. “I felt it when we met. The wolves felt it, too. Even that human out there in the shed saw it.”
“That guy?” She wrinkled her nose. “What would he know?”