“And looking now at their past I think it was Mother who was truly the strong one, especially at the beginning. Father was still young then and Mother had decades of long experience behind her before she ever came to Mysteria. Often it was her strength that gave Father the opportunities needed to build his. But most of all it was the strength of their love for one another that kept them going through the hardest times.”

Aidan Rhiannon plopped limply onto the bed with a heartfelt sigh. The sun was setting outside of his borrowed room in the Dragon Queen’s tower, and ordinarily he would be feeling energized by the oncoming night, but recent events had left him wrung out enough to sleep the night away and the following day too. I feel my age, he thought, and then some. He glanced at the mirror that hung over the fireplace, which reflected an empty room back at him. Though I probably don’t look it, he added wryly to himself. If I were still on earth, I’d get carded at all the clubs. It was true. Though he was twenty-eight and a father of three, he looked more like eighteen. Some of his youthful appearance was due to a naturally young-looking face, but most of it had to do with the fact that his life had stopped at the age of twenty-two.

Aidan was undead. Six years ago he’d encountered a crazed vampire trying to build an army of the undead. Aidan had killed the madman, but not before he himself had died and returned as a vampire.

He didn’t fit the vampiric stereotype very well. For starters, he was barely five foot two, and though he dressed in dark colors he didn’t even own any evening wear. Sure he had fangs, but they were usually displayed in a mischievous grin rather than a bloodthirsty snarl. His skin was pale, but not abnormally so, and he wasn’t corpse-cold to the touch either. The biggest visible difference, however, between Aidan and the Hollywood vampire was the wings. Aidan was an aerian, a member of Mysteria’s winged race. At the moment his white-feathered wings were folded loosely against his sides, but when fully spread their span was impressive, several times the diminutive aerian’s height.

“What are you thinking so deeply about?”

He turned his head, not bothering to get up off the bed at the sound of a familiar alto voice. “Pondering my age. There are times when I feel old and worn out.”

Flame Song Firedancer stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “You don’t have any claim on old age, youngster,” she said with a smile. “You’re still barely half as old as I am, after all.”

Aidan laughed at that. “True, true.” He sat up and scooted over on the bed to make room. “Have a seat.”

Flame Song sat down next to him and put her arm around his waist. He yawned and leaned his head on her shoulder. Flame Song was his wife of almost a decade now, the mother of their three children, and the love of his life. She was also an inch or two taller, which was why he was leaning his head on her shoulder and not the other way around.

“How are the kids?” asked Aidan.

“They’re fine. They still remember who we are, thankfully. I’m very glad that we retired from the adventuring business. I know what the Clan does is very worthwhile, saving the world and all that, but I don’t like being away from them.” She shook her head, sending a strand her wavy, flaming-red hair in front of Aidan’s nose. He brushed it away absently.

“I know what you mean. But at least this was a once only. It’s not every day that our skills are badly needed enough that Tara would call us back from retirement. And now all is well and we can go home. I want to leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Staying on a daylight schedule?” asked Flame. Aidan, being a vampire, found staying awake during daylight difficult. He could do it when he needed to, but generally their family kept nocturnal hours.

“Since we’re traveling most of the way with that caravan, I figure we ought to. We can switch back to nights once we get home.”

Having small children had changed the pair’s travel habits. Previously they’d traveled by air, making good speed on aerian wings. Flame Song was a shapeshifter and could take whatever from she chose, within certain limits. Her natural form was that of a firecat, an orange and white striped feline the size of a large tiger. But she spent most of her time in human or aerian from to keep Aidan company. They had often flown together, Flame in aerian form with the tips of her wings almost touching his. But now they had three small children, and the oldest had only just molted into her first set of real flight feathers. So now they were making the long journey to their home in the far north with a trade caravan.

Aidan yawned again and Flame Song found herself echoing it. “Well, in that case we ought to get some sleep,” she said.

“I’ll second that motion,” said Aidan. He got up off of the bed and went to change out of his street clothes. Flame Song followed his example and soon they were snuggled together in bed. He absently tugged at the black iron collar, set with a red stone, around his neck, adjusting it for greater comfort.

Flame Song reached over and touched the torc, asking sleepily, “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“It used to drive me crazy, but I’ve been wearing it long enough I’m used to it by now.” It had been ten years since Aidan had stolen the iron torc. In all that time he had only removed it once, and then only for the briefest possible instant. Flame’s hand moved from the dark collar to his soft white wings, and she stroked the feathers absently. He let out a long sigh and went still, dropping into a deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion. Flame Song soon followed him, though unlike her unbreathing vampiric husband she snored softly.