Vaelrik had fought every enemy the Ashen Realms had ever named, but the shadow-plague followed no martial logic he understood. It moved with predatory intelligence that made his curse pulse with sick recognition.
As Serenya reached for her water, the shackle pulsed faintly on her wrist, responding to his magic with warm light that made the curse shift beneath his ribs like a restless predator. The shadowfire paced toward her lumen glow, seeking the structure and calm her presence offered. He clenched his hands to keep the dark fire from rising.
Her magic calmed him—and he hated needing that. Hated that the curse responded to her with something like relief. Hated how the Council would use that connection against them both.
Vulnerability was a luxury he’d never been able to afford. The bond they were forming felt like a weakness that could destroy everything he’d built through decades of discipline and control.
Serenya must have sensed his internal struggle through their connection because her voice shifted, becoming deliberately clinical.
“These attacks form a spiral pattern pointing toward the Gloam,” she said, her tone too steady for a witch who’d just fought nightmares made of flesh. “Whatever’s orchestrating this wants something there.”
Vaelrik listened, noting the cracks beneath her professional composure. Through the shackle bond, he could sense her fear, her determination, her anger—emotions she kept locked behind sarcasm and scholarly detachment for some reason.
“So, just in case you may be wondering, I grew up in a witch enclave,” she mentioned casually, too perceptively, “before Obsidian dragons burned it to the ground during the Wars of Ash.”
Vaelrik’s jaw tightened. Eris Hollow. He remembered that mission—remembered sending the Obsidian soldiers on the Council’s orders despite his reservations. The truth twisted inside him like a blade, but he said nothing. How could he? She wouldn’t understand. Her lumen sigils reacted to hiscurse as if recognizing the guilt he couldn’t voice—light bracing instinctively against the chaotic pulse under his ribs.
“But why drudge up my past? Clearly, you must have heard about that incident before. So why don’t you tell me about your curse since it’s pretty much the only reason I’m here,” she said, those luminous green eyes fixed on his face with curiosity rather than irritation.
No one ever asked him about his curse. No one cared beyond its tactical applications. But Serenya waited, expression sharp but patient, not demanding.
“The Siege of Vornak,” he said finally. “A cultist carved a forbidden sigil into the earth beneath my feet. When I went into the rift to seal it, a fragment of the Shadow Sovereign’s essence latched onto me.”
He didn’t tell her about the night he’d lost control and nearly burned an entire garrison alive after that. Didn’t mention how the curse whispered in voices that sounded like the dead. But she read the silence anyway, filling in the horror he couldn’t speak aloud.
Her expression softened—something that looked dangerously like compassion. The look rattled him more than any kill ever had. She saw the monster and the man, the weapon and the prisoner, and didn’t flinch from either.
The space between them seemed to contract, tension crackling like electricity. Her scent filled his senses—wildflowers and lightning and something uniquely her that caused his dragon to stir with possessive hunger. The mate bond thrummed, demanding he close the distance, and claim what belonged to him.
Vaelrik found himself leaning forward, drawn by instincts he’d spent a lifetime suppressing. She didn’t back away surprisingly, her luminous eyes holding his with steady courage that made the curse purr with dangerous longing.
Her lips parted slightly, and he could feel her pulse quickening through the ward-shackle’s connection. The air between them grew heavy with unspoken possibility, charged with the electric potential of shadow and light discovering perfect, perilous balance.
SEVEN
SERENYA
The air between them crackled with electric tension as Vaelrik leaned closer, his smoky gray eyes darkening with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. Serenya found herself drawn forward despite every rational thought screaming warnings, her body responding to the pull of something deeper than magic or politics. His scent filled her senses—leather and spice and something uniquely dangerous that made her lumen sigils flicker beneath her skin.
Their faces were mere inches apart when the ward-shackle around her wrist suddenly erupted in violent sparks, searing heat biting into her flesh like molten metal. The pain tore through their connection with vicious intensity, his shadowfire clearly flaring through his veins in response to whatever had been building between them.
“Damn it!” Vaelrik cursed, jerking back from her so abruptly his chair scraped against the basalt floor. He put several feet of distance between them, his broad shoulders rigid with tension as he gripped the edge of his kitchenette counter.
The pain ricocheted between them through their bond, sharp and unforgiving. Despite her best effort to remain stoic, Serenyacouldn’t suppress the yelp that escaped her lips as the shackle’s heat branded her wrist.
For the first time since their binding, their magic didn’t harmonize—it collided. Not in attack, but in overload. Too much heat, too much shadowfire, too much closeness for a bond still half-formed. Her lumen magic and his shadowfire seemed to crackle under his skin from the intimacy like an imminent explosion, white-gold light warring against violet-edged darkness until the very air seemed ready to ignite.
Serenya pressed her back against her chair, her mind reeling. She couldn’t believe they’d almost kissed. Never in a million years would she have imagined wanting to kiss a dragon—especiallyhim. But something in that moment, in the vulnerability she’d glimpsed beneath his controlled exterior, had made her lose control.
“The ward-shackle bond is strengthening faster than anticipated,” Vaelrik said, his voice carefully modulated despite the chaos radiating from him through their connection.
But Serenya caught the careful phrasing, the way his eyes wouldn’t quite meet hers. He was hiding something more than magical resonance.
“I apologize,” he continued, running a hand through his black hair. “That was completely out of line. My curse almost lost control because of it, and if I ever lose control...” His jaw tightened. “I won’t just burn myself from the inside. I’ll burn you too because of our shackle.”
Fear prickled down her spine, but not the kind she expected. What terrified her wasn’t the thought of his curse consuming her—it was realizing she’d genuinely wanted him to kiss her. What would happen if she gave in to that want completely?
“Theoretically speaking,” Vaelrik said, his voice dropping to something rough and low, “not that we would ever... but if I wereto be intimate with someone, I would need my dragon instincts to take over the curse instincts.”
