Page 32 of Fallen Nocturne

“Last I saw, investigating the feed storage.” His smile is rueful. “I think she’s hoping to steal breakfast.”

We walk together toward the stables. I stay close to him, hyperaware of every movement. I notice the way his hand swings as he walks and the breadth of his shoulders beneath his coat.

These hands were on me last night. This voice commanded me to beg.

“Sleep well?” he asks as we walk.

My face flames. “I—yes. Did you?”

“Well enough.” He glances at me with mild concern. “Are you feeling all right? You look flushed.”

“Just warm from the walk,” I lie.

He doesn’t remember.

Or if he does, he is giving no indication whatsoever.

Disappointment curls in my stomach. I’d been so certain we’d shared something. The dreams were supposed to be mutual. That’s how it works in the old stories.

The path narrows ahead, rocky and uneven where the morning dew still lingers in shadowed places. I am not paying enough attention, too caught up in my thoughts.

My boot catches on a loose stone and I stumble.

Landon’s hand shoots out to steady me. “Careful.”

His fingers close around mine.

I freeze, waiting for the electric shock I felt in the dream, for the fire that raced up my spine when the masked man touched me. That sense of recognition so deep it felt like my soul crying out there you are, I found you.

Nothing comes.

There is only the familiar warmth of Landon’s hand and the gentle pulse of the mate bond between us. It is comforting and steady, but nothing like the consuming fire I remember. Being near him feels like standing beside a hearth, while touching the masked man felt like stepping directly into the flames.

“Rhianelle?” Landon’s voice holds concern. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

I realize I’ve been standing there, staring at our joined hands with what must have been a strange expression.

“Sorry. Yes. I’m fine.” I pull my hand back, confused and unsettled. “Thank you.”

He smiles and gestures ahead. “The ground’s tricky here. Watch your step.”

I do, but my mind is elsewhere.

Why doesn’t touching him feel like touching the masked man? They are the same person. The bond has brought us together in dreams.

Maybe dream magic is just different. More intense, more visceral. The boundaries are thinner there and our emotions are amplified. That has to be it.

Perhaps Landon simply doesn’t remember the dreams. Some people don’t recall their dreams upon waking. The bond has pulled us together while we slept, but perhaps only I retain the memories.

The thought is both disappointing and strangely relieving. At least I haven’t imagined it. The evidence of my body tells me that much.

I force myself to focus as we reach the stables.

The sharp tang of wyvern musk clings to the morning air. We find Coral nosing around the feed storage, exactly where Landon said she would be. She waddles over to me excitedly. Her stubby tail swishes back and forth as she chirps at the massive wyverns in the training ground. Landon has promised to teach her to fly.

I watch the older wyverns launch themselves into the sky with ease. Their wings beat in perfect rhythm. Coral tries to mimic them, flapping her small wings so hard she nearly tips over. I steady her with a hand on her flank. She chirps at me, undeterred.

Above us, three riders from Landon’s squadron practice aerial formations. Their wyverns are massive with wingspans that could shadow a house. They move in perfect synchronization, banking left in unison, then diving before pulling up at the last moment. The sound of their wings is like thunder. Coral watches with her whole body quivering, making small sounds of longing.