“And they don’t bother you? It can’t be easy being around a woman sobbing at the drop of a hat.” I roll my eyes.
Kalos shakes his head on the way back from the pantry. “You are creating new life. My young grows in your belly. If I couldn’t stand a few moments of discomfort, I would not deserve to claim my place as her sire.”
His smile fades at his last words. His feelings are complicated, he said. And I’m trying to understand, but this is a story I only know bits and pieces of and started hundreds of years before I was even born.
He turns toward the stove and starts to cook. The air takes on a new tension, and when he speaks, I barely catch his words.
“You can ask about it if you have questions,” he says. “You deserve to have your questions answered.”
I do have many questions, and maybe I deserve answers to them… but Kalos doesn’t deserve to be interrogated about his past pain. But it’s always there. Always behind every word we say, each soft moment he gives me. He carries it with him so completely and silently. Never peeling back his protective layer, snarling when things brush against it.
I want to help him carry that, to give him a measure of peace if I can.
“Will you tell me about your son?” I ask. “You don’t have to, but… I want to know you.” I ache to know everything about this dragon.
And I want to give him the space he needs to remember the ones he’s lost.
Kalos doesn’t say anything at first, and the oil in the pan sizzles as he adds ingredients. A spicy fragrance begins to fill the kitchen by the time he finally speaks.
The pause was so long that I assumed he’s going to say that he doesn’t want to talk about it. I even expect that he may revert to the arrogant, glaring man who throws words like daggers.
I don’t expect Kalos to open his heart to me.
“His name was Luke,” he says, speaking to the food cooking in the pan instead of to me. “He had beautiful red scales which he got from his mother, but his eyes were gold like mine. He liked to find the shiniest rocks while in dragon form.” He huffs a sad laugh. “And gnaw on them in human form.”
His exhale shudders. “And he was perfect.”
I slide off the stool and go to him. Unable to stay away from his grief-drenched, melodic voice. I wrap my arms around his waist, resting my forehead against his back. Kalos places his hand over my arms to protect them from the spitting oil.
I let myself imagine an infant with Kalos’s gold eyes. I let the ache of Kalos’s pain become mine. I don’t know how to comfort someone experiencing grief. I can only be here.
He doesn’t stop speaking.
“Ava and I had been fighting.” His mate’s name had been Ava.
“Fighting?” I snap my lips shut, not meaning to interrupt. I peek around his body to see his face, but he still keeps his gaze on the cooking food.
Kalos curves his lips at my incredulity. “Yes, fighting. Just because we were mates doesn’t mean we didn’t fight. And having an infant is difficult. There’s much stress and it requires flexibility. Ava was feeling shut-in and angry with me.”
Kalos glances at me. His eyes are soft, and I hope I keep the inappropriate stab of jealousy from my expression. I didn’t ask about his mate, but this is what he’s willing to share with me.
“I was more involved with human matters than other dragons and took human form often. Our son chose to do the same. Dragons develop quicker than humans, but he was still an infant, and as you can imagine, human infants are much more work than a dragonling would be. It also meant that she had to take a human form to help care for him. She blamed me.” He shrugs. “As was her right. It was my fault. I was too intrigued by humanity and other paranormals that lived with them to set our home up in a high cave with other dragons. Technology and politics have always had a hold over me.”
“Ava indulged my interests, finding them odd, but we were heart-fated, how could she keep me from something that would make me happy? We lived in a modest keep where there were amenities enough to cater to a human child and my interests.” Kalos stares at the sizzling meat in the pan, seemingly lost in thought before he continues.
“She was so patient with the both of us, but needed a break. She needed to stretch her wings. And even though I knew she needed it, I begged her not to go, but she was Ava. Bright, beautiful, powerful. Female dragons do not kowtow to the wishes of males. She would not be kept from the skies because of pesky hunters that didn’t have any more magic than her claw shavings.”
He continues, “I wanted to go with her, but neither of us could stomach leaving our son alone with strangers.”
Kalos turns the stove off and braces his hands on the front of it. He doesn’t turn in my arms or move to get plates. His body is stiff under my hands.
I remain motionless. Not wanting to detract from his words even if I didn’t ask for these details. I care about him, deeply. I don’t want him to carry his pain alone.
“I felt it when she fell.” Kalos’s voice is hollow, echoing through the centuries since that moment. “It was unbearable.”
He pauses, so I tighten my arms around him.
“How did you survive?” I ask. The question has stewed in my mind since the moment he’d revealed he had lost a mate. Most mated pairs don’t survive losing the other.
Kalos closes his eyes, face stricken with pain. “I don’t rightly know, and I didn’t question it. I only focused on trying to save our son. He didn’t fade at the same time she did. I hoped that meant that he could survive her death as well, that the hatchling bond wouldn’t be strong enough to steal away his light, but as the days passed, he grew weaker. I did everything I could to try and save him…”
Kalos clears his throat and opens the cabinet to get a plate. His tone more brisk, businesslike. “When his light went out, I thought I’d follow him, but that didn’t happen. There were days that I wished I could, but I was the only one keeping their memories alive, hoarded in my soul.”
“And dragons don’t give up their hoard.” I blink away tears, but they soak through the silk of his robe, and he turns in my arms, hugging me to his chest even though I’m supposed to be the one comforting him. “I’m so sorry, Kalos.”
“I know,” he says, his hand cradling my cheek.
“I’ll hoard their memories too,” I whisper.
His chest hitches at my words, and I stiffen, thinking I’ve overstepped, but he exhales and his talons brush through my hair gently.
“Thank you.”
28
KALOS
THE TEARS in Katarina’s eyes aren’t like the moments of frustration from mood swings. These tears are for me, for my family, and each one sips away the futile sadness and rage that simmers in my throat whenever I let myself remember them.