The storm had passed, and the cold lingered—just the way I liked it.

  I rose early, as I always did, and walked the upper ledges overlooking the valley. The wind swept the fresh snow into waves across the stone, quieting everything except the echo of my thoughts.

  As I dressed for the day, pulling on a dark tunic and fastening the warm leather bracers that lined my arms, my thoughts returned to the conversation with Thor the night before. He had come to speak with me and our brother, Vaerik, his voice still edged with wind and storm. He told us they’d found a dragon last night in the blizzard, one that had wandered unknowingly into our territory. Aria had insisted they bring her in—said something about a feeling. She always trusted her instincts, especially when they stirred like that.

  I’d nodded, only half-listening at the time. Another lost traveler, I assumed. One more dragon pulled in by the mountains. Nothing unusual.

  I was headed toward the common room, still adjusting the bracers on my arms, when a scent caught me—light, elusive, impossible to place. But it tugged at something deep inside me. It pulled. Demanded.

  So I followed it.

  My steps carried me through the winding halls of ice and stone, past glowing crystal sconces and frost-laced archways. The scent grew stronger the deeper I went, and then—just as I turned a final corner—I heard her.

  A voice, rich and aching, weaving through the air like starlight and sorrow. The most beautiful voice I had ever heard. My breath caught, and I moved closer, drawn to the sound as much as the scent.

  I stepped into the entrance of the echo chamber—and saw her.

  She was standing alone, singing with her eyes closed, her voice so full of longing it tore through the walls and rooted itself in my chest. The scent that had drawn me was still there, but the moment I heard her voice, everything else faded. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. Her voice was that of a sound dragon, but her presence was something else entirely.

  I clapped when it ended. I didn’t mean to. I just… needed to break the spell before it swallowed me whole.

  And then she turned.

  Beautiful. Dressed like fire made flesh, violet and silver and dark like dusk. The gown clung to her frame, the fabric catching the faint light in shimmering ripples, like dragon scales spun from dusk and starlight. Her black hair was woven into a loose braid over one shoulder, strands escaping to frame a face that was both fierce and soft, shadowed in memory and grace. Her violet eyes—unblinking and clear—locked with mine as she walked, her every step measured, poised.

  I opened my mouth to ask what she’d been singing—what memory or emotion had laced each note so delicately—but the scent hit me again.

  Stronger.

  Undeniable.

  For a moment, all I could do was stare.

  As she came closer, the scent hit me again—stronger this time, unmistakable. It was layered and distinct: warm like sunlit stone, laced with something soft and grounding, like wild lavender caught in a breeze. It was her. My mate.

  My pulse stumbled, and my breath caught in my throat. It was her. There was no question now.

  She said her name was Sovarielle Narethin.

  And I knew.

  My mate.

  But she didn’t react. Not even a flicker. No widened eyes, no change in her breath or posture. Just calm, measured curiosity. It confused me. It worried me.

  Why didn’t she feel it?

  Her lack of reaction puzzled me, but I managed to pull myself together enough to speak. “Veskairan Aelthros,” I said, my voice a little rougher than usual.

  Confusion still gnawed at the edge of my thoughts. Why hadn’t she recognized the bond? Why didn’t her expression shift—not even subtly? I searched for the signs in her tone, in her scent, in her stance. Nothing. She looked at me like I was no one at all.

  She turned toward the center of the chamber again, that beautiful voice now absent, but its memory still reverberating around the ice walls.

  “I’m sorry for the song,” she said, brushing her hands down the folds of her gown. “I don’t usually just… burst into song, but this room—it felt like it was carved for a sound dragon. I couldn’t resist.”

  I hesitated before speaking, afraid that my voice would betray everything I was trying to keep buried. I felt the pull toward her—an overwhelming instinct to step forward, to close the space between us, to gather her into my arms and never let go. But I didn’t. Not yet. Not until I understood why she didn’t feel it. Not until I knew what had gone wrong.

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  “There’s no need to apologize,” I said finally, and even to my ears, the words sounded reverent. “That performance was… stunning. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  I couldn’t stop looking at her. I forced myself to meet her eyes, and even then, I caught myself studying every line of her face—searching for a sign that she felt it too. But still, there was nothing.

  Was I wrong? No. The scent was too strong, the pull too sharp.

  She said my name again. “Veskairan. Aria told me you’re one of the leaders of this horde.”

  The way she spoke it—soft and curious, without recognition—still sent something electric down my spine. I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted to hear my name in her voice until that moment. It was music in its own right. A sound I already knew I would crave.

  I gave a short nod. “I am.”

  She studied me with those violet eyes, thoughtful. “That makes sense. Your presence matches everything she said.”

  I meant to respond, to thank her, to say something clever, but the words stuck in my throat. I offered a faint smile instead. “Please… call me Vesk.”

  She tilted her head. “Only if you call me Elle.”

  That made my smile deepen, just a little. That name suited her far too well.

  There was a pause. I needed more time. To think. To adjust. To understand.

  So I asked, “Would you like a tour? I imagine you’re curious about the rest of our halls.”

  She nodded. “I’d like that.”

  I led her from the echo chamber into the winding halls of the Skyfang caverns, still unsure if I was breathing correctly.

  I barely remembered where I took her. My mind was fractured—split between the mate bond pulling at me with every step and the absence of that same recognition in her. I showed her the arches of frozen quartz, the chambers carved into the heart of the mountain, the spiraling walkways etched by generations of dragons. But what stayed with me wasn’t the tour itself. It was her.

  Every answer she gave to my questions etched itself into memory. Her voice, her cadence, the way she tilted her head when she was thinking. Her laugh—soft and fleeting—when I told her how the ice sang when the wind struck it just right.

  I watched her as much as I listened. Trying to puzzle her out. Why wasn’t she reacting like I was? Why did her scent burn into my bones like a truth she couldn’t see?

  By the time we reached the common hall, I was more torn than ever.

  And then Aria appeared.

  She ran across the room, arms open, and wrapped Elle in a warm embrace.

  A sharp, possessive instinct rose in me. A growl nearly broke from my throat, but I swallowed it down before it escaped. What was wrong with me?

  Aria pulled Elle into conversation and laughter like they were already old friends, and I found myself stepping away. I needed space. I needed answers.

  I crossed the room to where Thor stood, his arms crossed as he observed the pair.

  I didn’t hesitate. “What did you learn about her?” I asked, sharper than I intended.

  Thor turned, brows raising. “Why?”

  “When you brought her in,” I pressed. “Did she say anything about where she came from? Her history? Did anything seem… off to you?”

  Thor straightened, arms still crossed, but his voice was cautious now. “She said she’d been alone a long time. That Aria insisted we bring her in because she seemed lost, and the storm was worsening. Why?”

  I didn’t answer. Not yet. I just kept watching Elle across the room, her laugh curling through the air like a melody that refused to leave my head.

  Thor’s brow furrowed deeper. “What’s going on with you, Vesk?” he asked, voice low, almost wary. “You’re the patient one—calm, collected. But right now, you’re wound tighter than I’ve ever seen you.”

  I finally looked at him, opened my mouth—then paused.

  Elle was a sound dragon. She could probably hear everything we were saying.

  Instead, I reached out to Thor’s mind, brushing against it with practiced ease.

  Elle is my mate, I said silently. I can smell the bond between us, but she isn’t reacting. Nothing. Not a flicker.

  Thor’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t speak. Not aloud.

  I added, I need to understand why.

  Thor’s mental presence sharpened. When Aria and I found her, she didn’t realize she had trespassed into claimed territory. Said she hadn’t seen any markings.

  He hesitated, then added, She couldn’t smell the boundary of our territory, Vesk. Anything. She said it was from an injury when she was young. Didn’t give all the details, but… it was clear. She has no sense of smell.

  If she really is your mate, he continued after a pause, then she isn’t reacting because she can’t smell the bond between the two of you.

  I felt a flicker of sorrow through our link—quiet, but unmistakable. My brother’s sadness bled into the silence between us, heavy and unspoken.

  I turned my attention back to her, to Elle—now standing beside Aria as she was introduced to a small cluster of our horde. I watched the way she smiled, the way she tilted her head to listen, the way her presence shifted subtly to match the flow of conversation. She looked like she belonged already.

  And yet, everything Thor had told me echoed like thunder in my mind.

  She couldn’t smell anything.

  What did that mean for her? For me? For us?

  She would never know I was her mate unless something else told her. The scent—the anchor for our kind—was gone for her. Taken. Robbed. And I didn’t know if it could ever be replaced.

  The realization sat heavy in my chest. This bond, this connection that should have been immediate and unshakable for both of us—she was blind to it. Through no fault of her own.

  But it changed nothing about how I felt.

  If anything, it made me more certain.

  But she didn’t know.

  She couldn’t feel it.

  Not yet.

  And maybe she wouldn’t for a while. But I had made up my mind.

  If she couldn’t smell the bond, then I would have to be patient. Every instinct in me screamed to reach for her, to tell her, to pull her close and never let go—but I couldn’t do that. Not now. Not like this.

  So I would stay near. I would learn the rhythm of her breath, the cadence of her laughter, the hesitations in her speech. I would be her shadow if I had to—silent, steady, waiting.

  And when the time came—when something in her soul finally stirred in response to mine—I would be there. Ready.

  Until her heart recognized what her senses could not, I would not waver. I would not retreat. I would be constant.

  But there was one thing I was certain of.

  I couldn’t let her leave.

  She’s not leaving, I told Thor, locking eyes with him. I’m going to stay close. She’ll feel it eventually. She has to.