I looked away, unable to hold his gaze. The conference room felt too small suddenly, the walls pressing in. My breath fogged again, and I saw Keegan shift closer, ready to offer warmth if I needed it.
"The day my father lost control," I began, my voice barely above a whisper. "I was being bullied. Three boys from school. They had me on the ground, kicking me, and my father—" I swallowed hard. "He saw. And he snapped."
The memory rose up, vivid and terrible. Ice racing across the pavement. Screams cutting short. Bodies that stopped moving.
"Three children died," I said. "Because of me. Because I was weak and couldn't defend myself, and my father's dragon decided the threat needed to be eliminated."
"That wasn't your fault," Keegan said quietly.
"Wasn't it?" I turned to look at him, and I knew my eyes were too bright, too wild. "My mother said it was. Said I made him lose control. Said I ruined everything." I laughed, the sound bitter and broken. "And maybe she was right. Because a year later, he walked into the snow and didn't come back. And I've spent every day since then terrified that I'm exactly like him."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Then Ignatius spoke, his voice gentle but firm. "Your father lost control because he was untrained, unsupported, and pushed past his limits by watching his child be hurt. That is not the same as being a monster. And you—" He leaned forward, holding my gaze with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. "Youare not your father, Taranis. You have spent thirty years learning discipline that most dragons never achieve. You have contained your ice through circumstances that would have broken lesser men."
"But what if I can't anymore?" The question tore out of me, raw and desperate. "What if I get close to Cinder and something happens and I—" I couldn't finish. Couldn't say the words. Couldn't voice the nightmare that had haunted me since I was eight years old.
"What if you freeze him," Ignatius said quietly. "The way your father froze those boys."
I nodded, unable to speak.
Ignatius was silent for a long moment. Then he stood and walked around the table until he was standing directly in front of me. He placed one hand on my shoulder—warm, grounding, the touch of someone who understood exactly what I was carrying.
"Dragons who love," he said softly, "do not destroy what they love. They protect it. They shelter it. Ice dragons become the cold that shields rather than the cold that kills." He squeezed my shoulder. "Your father lost control because he was alone and afraid and had no one to anchor him. You have something he never had."
"What?"
"People who see you," Ignatius said simply. "Keegan. Max. Your teammates. And if you let him, Cinder." He released my shoulder and stepped back. "The cold responds to isolation, Taranis. It feeds on loneliness. The more you push people away, the harder it becomes to control. But connection—genuine, vulnerable connection—that's what grounds ice dragons. That's what turns the storm into shelter." He gazed at me in silence for a few seconds. “I wasn’t involved with the Council then, so I don’t know, but at the risk of resurfacing bad memories, do youknow why your mom behaved the way she did? She was fully human but obviously was aware of your dad.”
I shook my head. "She knew what we were, but they were fighting even before we had to leave Scotland."
“Is it something you want me to look into?” he asked very gently.
“I don’t want anything to do with her.” For so many years I’d dreamed she’d just turn up, tell me she’d made a mistake and that she loved me. But that never happened.
“You don’t have to be. She will be unaware of any investigation I do. But I think we need to know the background so you can keep your mate safe.”
“He’s not my mate,” I whispered and felt Keegan step really close this time.
Ignatius smiled. “We both know your dragon has already made that decision.”So had I.I stared at him, something breaking open in my chest. Something that had been frozen for so long I'd forgotten it was there.
Keegan spoke up, his voice warm. "We can help. And you stop trying to carry this alone."
"Will you teach me?" I asked Ignatius. "Whatever I need to know to keep him safe?”
Ignatius stood and offered his hand. I took it. “Welcome to the family.”
Chapter eight
The Crease - The blue-painted area in front of the goal where the goalie operates.
Cinder
Nancy's office smelled like coffee and antiseptic, a combination I'd learned to associate with safety over the years. She'd been my mentor at Denver General when I was newly qualified—the kind of nurse who could intimidate a surgeon with a single raised eyebrow and comfort a terrified parent with the same steady hands.
I sat across from her now, my own hands wrapped around a mug of tea I hadn't touched, watching steam curl toward the ceiling while I tried to find the words.
"I saw the article," she said quietly.