“Elowen’s notes,” he explains, flipping to a dog-eared page. “She studied the old dragon-pacts before Revaster twisted them. Says the stone was forged in the Heartforge beneath Drak’Vahl—the ruined citadel in the Emberfall Glades.”
I lean in, shoulder to shoulder. “My clan’s ancestral seat. Been abandoned for a long time. Ever since it was burned down.”
Gamble’s fingers brush mine over the page. “The ritual needs three things: dragon blood, elf-song, and the Heartforge’s flame. We have two. The third…” He taps a sketch of a circular dais ringed with runes. “Needs us both, at moonrise, on the longest night.”
I trace the runes with a claw-tip. “That’s three days from now.”
“Plenty of time to flirt shamelessly in taverns,” Gamble says, batting lashes.
The food arrives—platters of roast meat, honey-glazed roots, warm bread, cider that steams. We fall on it like starving wolves. Between bites, Gamble feeds me morsels from his fingers, licking honey from my lips when I let him.
The tavern hums around us. Laughter, clinking mugs, a bard plucking a lute in the corner. Someone starts a drinking song about a dragon who stole a prince’s heart. Gamble joins in, voice clear and sweet. The room roars approval at Gamble’s tuneful assistance and I can see the pride in the boy’s face as he begins to show off for the crowd.
I pull him into my lap, nipping his ear. “Behave.”
“Never.” He wiggles deliberately. My cock stirs and I pinch his thigh in warning. He only laughs.
Hours slip by. We pore over the journal, heads bent together. Gamble translates elvish while I add draconic lore. The stone pulses faintly, as if listening. By the time the fire burns low and the bard switches to slower tunes, we have a plan: reach Drak’Vahl, perform the rite, shatter the curse.
Simple.
But maybetoosimple.
We step outside into crisp night air. The square is empty, lanterns swaying. Snow crunches under our boots. It all seems tranquil, but something isn’t quite right. My senses heighten and the effects of the cider disappear instantly as a high-alert clarity comes over me.
Then the shadows move.
Hunters pour from alleys and rooftops—twenty, thirty, more. Revaster’s elite: black armor, crimson runes glowing on their blades. A warlock hovers above, staff crackling with blood-magic. The air reeks of sulfur and intent.
Gamble’s hand finds mine. “Told you the flirting was too good to last.”
I grin, all teeth. “Hold tight.”
I shift. The change is explosive—bones lengthening, wings erupting, scales rippling like shimmering stars in the night. Gamble scrambles onto my back as I rise on hind legs, thirty feet of fury and fire. The hunters hesitate, then charge.
I breathe.
Dragon fire rolls over the front line in a wave of gold and crimson. Men scream, armor melting. Gamble’s legs clamp my neck; his hands weave spells as he rides me like he was born to it, laughter wild in my ear.
“Left!” he shouts. I bank hard; his spell shatters a warlock’s barrier. I snap the man in half with my jaws.
They swarm. Arrows ping off my scales. A net of crimson chains lashes toward us—Revaster’s binding spell. Gamble flings a handful of glittering dust; the net freezes mid-air, turns to butterflies, dissolves.
“Show-off,” I rumble.
“Jealous?” He leans forward, kisses the ridge of my neck. “Focus, Daddy.”
A hunter leaps for my wing. I crush him under one claw. Another drives a spear into my flank—pain flares, hot and bright. I roar, spin, tail lashing. The spear snaps and the man flies into a wall.
Suddenly, Gamble’s magic falters. The fire stone burns against my chest, drinking his strength. I feel it through the bond—his knees weakening, his grip slipping.
My rage ignites, white-hot. I spread my wings wide, beat them once. The downdraft flattens hunters like wheat. I breathe again—this time a focused lance that carves a path through the square. Gamble clings tight, chanting under his breath, weaving a shield of green light around us.
We burst free of the swarm, launch into the sky. Arrows whistle past. One grazes Gamble’s arm; he hisses but doesn’t let go. Iclimb hard, wind screaming, until the village is a toy below and the hunters are ants.
Only when the air thins and the stars wheel overhead do I level out, banking toward our camp in the foothills—a hidden hollow I scouted at dusk, ringed by wards and old dragon runes.
I land soft as a cat. Gamble slides from my back, legs trembling. I shift to two legs, catch him as he sways.
