I frown, the words escaping me before I fully realize what I’m saying. “The dragons didn’t leave.”
“What?” Nix’s eyes widen.
“How do you know that?” Raiden’s voice is low, challenging, as he studies me with open intensity.
I open my mouth to answer, but no words come. How do I know that?
“The Witte Wieven, the druids, and the dragons . . . they were all guardians of this land, right?” I begin slowly, piecing it together as I speak.
Murmurs of agreement fill the room.
“Well, the Witte Wieven pulled away first. The druids did the same. The dragons simply followed suit. They didn’t leave—they’re waiting. If the right person calls, they will answer.”
The weight of what I’m saying sinks in, a revelation that shakes even me. Tristan’s eyes go wide as he leans forward. “So, you’re saying, if we free Maxon, he could call the dragons back?”
I nod, feeling the enormity of it press down on me. The room falls silent, each of them processing what this could mean. A prickle of awareness moves over me, and I stand, moving to the doors and opening them. Nymeria and Anika trot inside, both jumping straight on the bed.
“Okay, so we have the verse to guide us, kinda,” Kian acknowledges, “But what did Morrigan say?”
“She advised me not to do this on my own. That I will need all the help I can get.”
Chapter thirty-seven
Maxon
Ican feel it—a gnawing hunger, a deep, primal need clawing its way to the surface. It’s everywhere, an ache that reverberates through my entire being. It’s a hunger gnawing at my soul, demanding her presence, and only the depths of our bond can appease it.
The new moon is drawing closer. Despite the darkness, I can sense its approach like a predator senses its prey, a subtle shift in the night’s energy. The pull usually wouldn’t be this bad, but my body is screaming for replenishment, for the chance to heal. The dull, throbbing ache in my gums worsens, spreading with each passing second. My body is demanding my mate to heal it. I look down at the deep, gaping cuts across my torso and see the once-crimson flow of blood from my wounds has now reduced to a sluggish seep.
Yumekui's last visit left a mark on me far beyond the physical. My mind remains a haze of fragmented and scattered pieces of a puzzle I’m too weak to assemble. I remember the feeling of her presence, cold and consuming, like a shadow that lingered long after she was gone. I remember the sharp, searing pain, the way her touch drained more than just my strength. And then, nothing—just the fog, oppressive and unrelenting.
I close my eyes, trying to push through the hunger, to resist the primal urge clawing at the edges of my sanity. But the ache doesn’t fade; it deepens, growing more insistent. It’s not just hunger. It’s need—raw, unfettered, and terrifying in its intensity. It’s a need that only my mate can fulfil.
Chapter thirty-eight
Everly
Istand on the balcony looking out into the garden. Tonight is the first night of the new moon, and I’ve been locked away in my room with Zaria. The others have been kept away from me for their safety and mine.
The urge for Maxon’s blood burns through me, setting alight a fiery hunger coiled tight in my chest. It isn’t just the thirst—it’s the need. But that need is dangerous, and I know it. Zaria said if I let it consume me, I could fall ill—or worse, lose myself completely to madness. Neither option is appealing.
Fenris offered his blood, but I declined immediately, recoiling at the thought. It isn’t about him—it isn’t about anyone but Maxon. No one else’s blood can quench this. No one else can calm the storm raging inside me.
I force my attention to the garden stretching out before me.
The soft rustling of leaves in the breeze offers a temporary reprieve from the chaos in my head. My eyes drift across the courtyard, catching sight of the guards in their sage-green uniforms patrolling the grounds.
And then, like a whisper carried on the wind, I hear it.
‘Listen.’
The word is soft, almost tender, yet unmistakable. I blink and glance around, searching for the source.
No one’s near me. The guards are too far away to have spoken, and none of them seems to have noticed anything unusual. Yet the word lingers in the air, tugging at something deep inside me.
A warm breeze curls around my body, brushing against my skin. It sends the loose long-sleeved, light blue night dress floating around me.
‘Listen and follow. He will be waiting.’
