“That could take hours. And you are unwell.”
“I’ll manage.”
“You are stubborn.”
“Yeah, well.” I manage something that might be a smile. “Dragon fire doesn’t bind itself to just anyone, right? Maybe it chose someone too stubborn to give up.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. Almost a smile. “Nicolae and Andrei will go with you. They will keep you safe… and keep you from doing anything foolish.”
“I make no promises about the foolish part.”
“I expect nothing less.” She moves toward the door, then pauses again. “The fire-blood chose well, I think. Even if neither of you understands why yet.”
She leaves before I can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean.
I stand alone in the cabin, bread forgotten, while my mind races through everything that’s happened since the crash.
K pulling me from the wreckage.
K carrying me through mountains.
K’s warmth surrounding me every night, his presence constant at my side.
The kiss in the stream. The wild passion that had followed. The name he’d whispered—Lyria.
The guilt on his face after.
He knew. Even without his memory, some part of him must have understood what was happening between us. What his fire had started when it chose to save me.
And I’ve been too busy surviving to process any of it.
Too busy pretending eight days with a stranger doesn’t mean anything. That his absence doesn’t feel like losing a limb.
“Figure it out later,” I tell the empty room. My voice sounds hollow. “First, find him. Then worry about your feelings.”
Except my feelings are pretty damn clear at this point.
I’m falling for a dragon who doesn’t know his own name.
And I need to find him before this bond—whatever it is—kills me.
I pull on my boots with hands that shake. Check my messenger bag for my phone, make sure it has charge. The necessities of a conspiracy theorist turned dragon rescuer.
Outside, Nicolae and Andrei wait by the village edge, packs ready, their expressions serious in the dawn light.
“You look terrible,” Nicolae says with his usual bluntness.
“Yeah, well, you look like my ex-boyfriend after he discovered craft beer,” I shoot back. “We all have problems.”
Andrei shoots his brother a look. “Ignore him. He has no manners.”
“It’s fine.” I adjust my bag. “Let’s just go.”
We start down the mountain. The path is steep, rocky, and every jarring step sends fresh pain through my ribs and shoulder. I push through it. Don’t have a choice.
Nicolae chatters as we walk—broken English and Romanian, pointing out landmarks. Andrei stays quiet, watchful.
How is this my life? Two months ago, my biggest problem was keeping my TikTok views up. Now I’m hiking through Romanian mountains, held together by dragon magic that’s unraveling with every step.
