If you can call six bags packed with drive-through breakfast foods a 'feast,' then Julian comes, as Shanti says, bearing one.

He also comes with a warm, dry change of clothes for me, including a fuzzy pink sweater with a picture of a llama on the front.

It isn't mine—judging by the size and color, I'd say it's Chloe's—but I don't care: it feels like I'm being snuggled by a cloud. I might have to ask Chloe where she got it.

We sit on the floor in the only clear space in the shop—a small area in front of the old desk with the antique cash box—and indulge in a variety of exceptionally unhealthy food while filling Julian in on what he's missed. Shanti alone eats nothing, eyeing the array with mild distaste.

Usually, I would avoid such epicurean horrors myself, but at the moment I can't imagine anything more delicious than the greasy breakfast sandwiches, fluffy (if flavorless) hotcakes, and crispy hash brown squares I'm stuffing in my face.

At the same time, as my Wolf's metabolism and the hot food, warm clothes, and comforting atmosphere combine to speed me towards a swift recovery, my guilt grows teeth and begins to gnaw at me.

I ran.

I ran, and I left my Mate behind.

And I can't help thinking that, faced with a similar situation, Dane or Freya would not have done the same.

But I'm not Dane or Freya, I remind myself, and I did run, and now there's nothing to do but get myself well, listen to Shanti's tale, and hope that by the end of it there's still a chance to save my Mate from the danger I left him in.

"Spare yourself such unkind thoughts, my friend," Shanti says, reaching over to touch my hand as she seems to read my mind. "Courage is not the only virtue. Perhaps it would have been courageous to stand and fight, but it was wise to flee. You are no match for a rakshasa, and it would have been cruel to force the one who loves you to watch you meet so violent an end, even if it was an end met in loyalty to love. You have chosen instead a way of compassion—for yourself, and for those who love you; for it is clear that the dragon is not the only one who does."

She looks between Dane, Julian, and Freya, and they each nod in turn—two pairs of amber eyes and one of amethyst, but all equally bright.

"Mom and dad, too, Noah—not to mention Travis and Martin," Dane says, naming the other two-thirds of my triplet set. "And poor Monty," he adds. "He'd cry for the rest of his life if something happened to you."

"There are eight of us, Dane," I remind him. "Statistically, one of us is gonna die, eventually."

"Yeah, well, we're all gonna die, eventually, but I'll be damned if it happens on my watch," he growls, "and doubly damned if it's you."

Julian leans to rest his hand on Dane's knee. Something passes between them, quick as a spark, and Dane relaxes.

"Anyway," he turns his attention back to Shanti, "you were gonna explain some shit, right?"

As far as I know, Dane had an exemplary record as an officer and then as a homicide detective, but from what I've witnessed of his interview skills so far, I'm beginning to wonder if he didn't just rely on scaring the more impressionable suspects into confessing their guilt.

"Indeed." Shanti offers him a serene smile before turning her attention once more to me. "Let me begin with an apology. I am sorry, Noah; for I must confess that I am partly to blame for the fact that you are here at all. You remember when we met—when you first chanced upon this place—that I said I had cast a small spell of attraction to draw the right sort of person here?"

I nod.

"Well, it was a very specific spell, in fact. It was a spell to attract you, and only you, although I did not know it at the time. It was a spell to attract a dragon's heart."

I swallow around the sudden tightness in my throat.

"Why?"

"To understand that," she says, "we must begin further in the past."

Resting against the side of the tall desk at her back, Shanti crosses her legs and pulls her long hair forward over her shoulder, beginning to weave it into an intricate braid as she speaks.

"What I am about to tell you is a tale I have pieced together over the years—from the recollections of others and from my own memories—and it begins some years before I was born.

"In the last decade of the 19th century, two men set out on a quest for the ultimate prize—the magician's equivalent of the 'philosopher's stone'—something that would impart the dual gifts of immortality and a heart's desire.

"Rowan Oakfield and Aengus Thorne devoted their lives to this goal, and by extension the lives of all those whose destinies tangled with their own. Even so, despite their dedication, talent, and the wealth of learning they each accumulated, it seemed their efforts would be in vain, for the prize remained as elusive as smoke in their grasp. Their hopes of finding it began to fade, and as the pair entered middle age, they had all but given up and resolved themselves to more attainable pursuits.

"Then, one day, when the air was so thick with fog that one could hardly see one's own feet in it, Aengus Thorne chanced upon a strange little shop down a dirty side-street in London: the sort of place inhabited by 'foreigners,' and those for whom Aengus would have had worse names, and into which he would, under usual circumstances, never have ventured. On this day, though, to escape the fog a while, he went in.

"The shop was crammed with curios and old, outlandish tomes in strange scripts. Intrigued, Aengus began to browse this odd collection, and so happened—by chance, it seemed—upon exactly what he had been looking for: a book that spoke of dragons—the elemental serpents of water, fire, earth, and air—and of how to summon and speak with them, and to bargain for their favor.

"The man who owned the shop wondered at the wisdom of releasing this knowledge, but such was his custom; he did not take it on himself to decide if knowledge was 'good' or 'bad,' or to judge the intentions of those who came seeking it. He only provided it when it met a seeker's need.

"So, Mr. Thorne was allowed to depart that day, book in hand, and the strange little shop vanished with the fog. Aengus, at least, was never able to find it again, though he searched every corner of London many times.

"It took some years, but at last Rowan Oakfield and Aengus Thorne were ready to make their attempt. Aengus' wife had borne him a son—whom he adored—and a daughter—whom he did not. The daughter, though, was what he had been waiting for: the final ingredient in his great spell.

"That little girl, as you have deduced, was me. My mother was Rosie Macleod—after whom your Ambrose was named. She wanted to call me 'Katyayani,' which was her own mother's name, but 'Katherine' is the nearest she was allowed. Disliking this, she called me 'Kitty,' instead.

"I remember little of that time, save a vague impression that my mother was gentle and kind, that she loved me, and that did not deserve the cruel fate forced upon her by a man she had not married by choice."

Shanti's voice has so far remained even and calm, light and serene as bells sounded by a breeze, but now it takes on a harder edge. Her face is set, her expression unreadable, and she sits still as stone, only her lips moving as she speaks.

"And so, having everything they needed—seven fellow supplicants, a medium, and a sacrifice—Aengus and Rowan made their attempt. Over the waters of a sacred lotus pond, built for that purpose, Aengus summoned a great serpent, and the Naga king came; or, more accurately, he spoke through his native element to my mother, whose mind was receptive to such things.

"Then, of course, Aengus made his mistake, and attempted to exchange the life of his child for the extension of his own."

Shanti pauses and pulls down the front of her green silks a little, revealing a scar above her left breast.

"This is where he struck me, aiming for my heart. By fortunate chance, he missed, though I was gravely wounded, nonetheless."

Rearranging her garments, she continues.

"Thinking me slain, my mother went mad with grief. In her rage and despair, she set herself alight, attempting to extinguish her pain and to destroy her tormentors in furious flame.

"The water lord, too, was righteously enraged; doubly so—for it was from his own store of knowledge, in the form of a strange and humble little shop, that Aengus had discovered the very spell by which he was now bound.

"With my mother's destruction, though, Nagaraja was freed of the ritual's constraints. He might have departed, then; instead, as my blood spilled into the sacred pond through which he gazed, he saw that I yet lived, and was moved to pity; for without aid, the minutes of my life might be counted on one hand.

"Struck with guilt and a sense of responsibility for having supplied Aengus with the means and inspiration—however misinterpreted—of causing such harm, he resolved to help me, if he could.

"All water is one water, to the Nāgas, and so—possessed of his full freedom and power—Nagaraja manifested himself in the lotus pond there, amidst the roaring flames. Taking me in his arms, he then retreated to his native realm once more, to heal and raise me as his own.

"He nursed me himself—male Nāgas being able to produce milk, if needed—and by such sustenance I was endowed with and acquired all the traits of his nature. By the time I could speak, I was as much a nagi as if I had been born of one.

"So," she concludes, "I lived, and was raised in the jewel-like lotus lakes of the Naga realm, never dreaming I was not the same as the brothers and sisters with whom I played."

"Nagaraja never told you where you really came from?" Julian asks.

He's been leaning against Dane, half in his arms and seeming half asleep as Dane strokes his hair with one hand. The sight has been causing me pangs of irrational jealousy and longing, as I remember that I might be asleep in my own mate's arms right now, if I just hadn't been so damned curious. Then again, Aengus might have been watching us from within the walls the whole time, waiting for his chosen moment to strike.

The thought makes me shiver even as Shanti answers.

"He told me enough but, human or nagi, I was a child and did not understand. It was not until years later, after Aengus disappeared, that Nagaraja revealed the full truth."

She pauses a moment, taking a breath and half-shutting her eyes.

"After the tragedy of my mother's death," she goes on, "Nagaraja imagined that Aengus had learned his lesson, and that the harm was done; so when he learned that, in his hubris, Aengus had not only attempted the ritual a second time—successfully—but had bargained with a Lord of Fire, Nagaraja took it on himself to watch over him and those of his circle, to ensure that the knowledge he had provided was not further misused. When Aengus disappeared, however, Nagaraja grew concerned. It was then that he told me of my history and determined that care of this place—" she gestures at the shop around her, "—as well as responsibility for the knowledge it contains, should pass to me."

"Seems kinda cruel," Freya comments, "to put that on you."

"Nagaraja's remorse is deep," Shanti replies evenly, "and I owe him not only my life, but a life that he filled with love, kindness, and delight. When he asked me to take on this duty, I was honored to accept, for it was no longer a task he felt himself fit to carry out.

"Like all such elemental beings, my father can only cross the thresholds between realms at certain times, for certain purposes, or when summoned by powerful magics. Because of this, there were long stretches of time in which he was absent from this world, and it was during one of these that Aengus vanished.

"I, on the other hand," she adds, turning her dark eyes on me, "being partly human, may pass between realms as often as I like, and remain in either for as long as I choose."

I rub my hands over my face and sigh. Despite feeling much better for the hot food and warm clothes, nothing can change the fact that I still smell like fishy lake water, that I haven't slept in twenty-four hours, or that during those twenty-four hours I've almost died—twice.

I'm exhausted and worried, and what I want more than anything is to see Ambrose and know that he's okay.

"So...once again," I ask wearily, "what does all of that have to do with what's happening now? How are you involved with the thefts, and why did you need Ambrose to find his 'heart?'"

Folding her hands in her lap, Shanti regards me with a slight frown.

"You must understand that there are limits to what I can do to interfere in the affairs of this world," she says. "Noninterference is a central tenet of the Naga race, and I could face dire consequences for breaking it. That is, in part, why I banished you from this place for a time, and sought my father's advice: I needed his permission to act as I have now, and to reveal all this to you."

"The cat's paw stamps," I say. "That was you?"

She nods.

"When I learned of Rowan's death, and then the thefts began, I sought ways to warn the others of their imminent danger without revealing myself or taking direct action. I have a small gift of foresight—imparted, strangely enough, from my mother's side—and so I was able to predict when and where each relic would be taken. I thought the cat's paw—the reminder of my name and of that first failure—would serve as a warning, but it did little good. None of them were willing or able to do what was needed to prevent the theft of their precious gifts.

"At last, at Thaddeus' party, I risked a more direct approach—attending myself—but I was too late. Thaddeus was already poisoned and dying when I came upon him. I did my best, but I could not save him. Most fortunately, your Fae brother," she nods at Julian, "escaped a similar fate, thanks to Ambrose Thorne."

"Ambrose..." I think back to that night and to what, and how much, he might have known. "Did he burn Thaddeus?" I ask.

To my dismay, Shanti nods.

"Aengus Thorne was blessed with two dragons'-children—Ambrose and I—and yet he can call neither his own. Through his actions, I am Nagaraja's daughter, while Ambrose has always been Ainach's alone."

She pauses a moment, playing with the end of her now complexly woven braid.

"I did not know until quite recently—until the night that Brutus met his end—that it was Aengus who was behind it all, as he had always been. As for Ainach's involvement, and why I sought to draw his fated heart to me...perhaps he himself can tell you."

"Ainach? What do you—?" I glance up sharply, but at almost the same moment the door of the shop swings open.

As one, we turn and, framed in the doorway, I see something that makes my heart take flight even as it freezes with fear:

Ambrose stands there, his clothes torn and his long hair wild, three long gashes marring the right side of his face and blood staining his collar and the cuffs of his sleeves.

His eyes meet mine and light with sparks like coals that are blown upon, and my breath catches in my throat.

For a moment—a heartbeat, the time it takes a piece of ash to be torn apart on the air—I hesitate, not sure whether to be hopeful or afraid.

Making my choice, I rise and speak his name, and reach for him; and with a sigh of relief, he stumbles forward and falls into my arms.