Luke thinks walking away protects me. My mother thinks hiding protects me. But I don’t need protection.
I need to be trusted. Respected. Allowed to fight my own battles.
And if that means facing the Syndicate again, so be it.
I check the chamber of my sidearm, the sound crisp and final in the quiet armory. Fire dances along my fingertips, coating the gun briefly in harmless flame before I rein it back in.
The mission awaits. And for once, I’m not running toward danger to escape or to prove something to others.
I’m running toward it because it’s my fight to choose.
Chapter 33
Luke
I slam my fist into the training dummy, feeling the satisfying crack of impact ripple through my knuckles. The leather-wrapped target swings wildly on its chain, and I hit it again before it can settle.
Again.
Again.
Sweat drips from my forehead, stinging my eyes.
Good. I deserve the burn.
My muscles scream from hours of drills; running the compound perimeter, scaling the rock wall in the training yard, emptying my ammo into targets until my hands shook from the reverberations.
The physical pain is a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest that won’t subside, no matter how hard I push myself.
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the ancient stone of the training yard, the walls still bearing the scorchmarks of dragonfire. The air carries the metallic tang of magic residue mixed with dust and sweat. This place has witnessed the training of countless dragon shifters… and now it’s witnessing my pathetic attempt to outrun my own feelings.
I sense them before I see them. Caleb and Dorian, watching from the edge of the training yard. I ignore them, steadying the bag before me.
“That’s enough, Kenan.” Dorian’s voice cuts through the rhythmic thud of my heartbeat.
I don’t look up. “Not now.”
“Yes. Now.” Caleb steps forward, his tone measured but unyielding.
Before I can protest, they’re flanking me. Caleb blocks my path away from them, his broad shoulders a living barrier. They maneuver me backward until I’m against the stone wall, effectively trapped between them.
Dorian crosses his arms, heat radiating from him in visible waves, phoenix fire simmering beneath his skin, a remnant of his mate’s influence.
“You’re a goddamn fool, Kenan,” he says, his typically light tone at odds with his words.
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand you just walked away from your mate because Vanya scared you.” Dorian’s eyes flash, his nostrils flaring with barely contained frustration.
“She’s not my—” I choke on the words. “It’s not like that—”
“Isn’t it?” Caleb’s voice is quieter than Dorian’s but no less firm, his amber gaze steady and penetrating where Dorian’s is fiery. “You can barely function when she’s out of your sight. You crossed mountains to save her. You’d burn the world for her.”
“That’s just—” I wipe sweat from my face with my forearm, the salt stinging a cut I hadn’t noticed. “I was responsible for her safety.”
“That’s not responsibility.” Dorian snorts. “That’s a mate bond.”
I stare at him, struggling to process what he’s saying. “There’s no bond. We’re not—” I swallow hard. “She’s too young.”
