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Seren prodded Deryn in the ribs.

“Hey, who’s structurally unsound?” Seren grouched.

“Maybe just your heart, my dear.” Ceridwen looked past Rhiannon’s shoulder, and Seren watched as her sister’s lips twisted into a sad little smile. When Lark gazed back, it wasn’t Ceridwen she looked at, though. And Seren, with her structurally unsound—damn Deryn for being on the money—heart where this one woman was concerned, smiled back, that very heart in her throat, pumping her life force, her magic, all for this woman.

Near her, Ceridwen sighed, squeezing Seren’s arm tighter.

16

LARK, PERFECT HITS & HOW-TO BOOKS

REPORTING DIRECTLY FROM THE TOWN HALL: UNPRECEDENTED AMOUNT OF FUNDS RAISED FOR THE REFUGE!

We are talking seven figures, dear generous souls of Crow’s Nest. We are talking years of funding for the Refuge secured! We are talking about a likely expansion for the institution. We are talking about a very bright future indeed, thanks to the efforts of the amazing team who worked their tails off to make sure everything went without a hitch at the fundraiser.

Kudos to them!

And kudos to everyone who donated and ensured that every single financial goal was met beyond anything that could’ve been imagined.

Thank you, Dragonites!

As promised, here’s our Best Dressed List. We also compiled our Worst Dressed List, but Mrs. Victoria Crowhart used her power of persuasion (read: threats) to disabuse us of the notion that we should publish that one as well.

So, in the spirit of only positive news, Mayor Allende, in her Valentino gown, absolutely demolished the short white carpet.

Headmistress Nox, in a vintage Dior dress, dazzled.

And to our particular delight, the Captain of the Dragons’ Fire Brigade, she of tattooed arms and rock-hard abs, Seren Crowhart, wore a tuxedo. We have photos… You will want to see them… As soon as we run them by Mrs. Victoria Crowhart and make sure she does not disapprove of us publishing them. Those threats were quite something.

Watch this space and watch Crow’s Nest become a safe and welcoming place for all in need!

—Crow’s Caw

The evening had been a blur. Lark barely remembered how she’d spent it. She barely remembered her list. She barely remembered where she was. All she knew was that she kept schmoozing. And getting hugs. And shaking hands. And making sure Victoria and Lachlan had it all under control in the kitchens. Kept cutting and setting up trays. Kept sending servers out. Lark even managed to stand still in the corner of the room and observe for herself, that much she remembered.

Just to see. Just to ensure that everything was okay.

That’s what she told herself. That’s what she felt was the right thing to do, since she was in charge of, well, everything.

What an absolute rush that was.

Lark Thibodeaux, of the darned Thibodeaux of Lafourche Parish, was running a fundraiser that had tipped over a million dollars raised for a survivors’ shelter and services.

Lark’s chest felt both tight and open, all-encompassing, as if her ribs had rearranged themselves to let the whole world in. The pride, the sense of accomplishment… And the tenderness. She was so full of feelings.

And so, she’d taken the time to just stand in that corner of the ballroom and watch the world she was now part of.

It was absolutely not to stare at Seren Crowhart, who looked absolutely out of this world in a tuxedo. No. That had not been part of her purpose.

And while she did believe that herself, she could not deny that a tiny sliver of her really did want to see Seren. To just take her in. To pass by her and inhale the hint of ocean salt that always clung to her, the fresh, free, amazing scent of Seren Crowhart…

Tiny?

Lark almost laughed at herself. There was nothing tiny in how she felt about Seren. Nothing tiny at all. The emotion that took over when Seren so much as breathed near her was also all-encompassing. Tender, fierce and exciting. And it made her tingly and hot all over. It made her think of fresh bed sheets and moonlit-washed bedrooms. It made her want to be daring. It made her want.

And so Lark had indulged herself, and it had been worth it. Even surrounded by her sisters, smooshed in a group hug, Seren had eyes only for her.

If there had been any lingering doubt about the idea of some other nameless, faceless woman—and, technically, Lark knew all the names of the women who had been loosely associated with Seren, or wanted to be, because that was simply how the island worked, everyone knowing everyone’s business and not shy about sharing—that doubt had been pulverized by Seren giving nobody any time of her evening.