But Vaelrik stepped between them—not aggressively, but with absolute decisiveness. His voice dropped to controlled, lethal calm that made the lab’s shadows seem to deepen.
“Serenya is not the liability here,” he said, each word precise as a blade stroke. “She is the reason my curse hasn’t already consumed me or destroyed this entire city. Without her, everything collapses.”
The sincerity behind his defense hit Serenya harder than she’d expected. He didn’t owe her protection. Didn’t owe her anything beyond the bond forced on them both. Yet he’d chosen to stand with her. Instinctively. Immediately. Almost possessively. The shackle bond hummed in response, warm and terrifying in its intensity.
Kyr’s jaw worked silently before he turned and stalked from the lab, leaving them alone among the flickering shadows and preserved horrors.
“Why?” The question escaped before Serenya could stop it. “Why defend me so fiercely? You barely know me.”
Vaelrik’s answer came without hesitation, his eyes holding hers with unwavering certainty. “Because someone wants you dead. And I refuse to let them have you.”
TEN
VAELRIK
As Kyr’s footsteps faded down the corridor, Vaelrik stood in the flickering lamplight of the lab, the scent of metal, ink, and corruption magic clinging to the air. The shadows seemed to pulse with residual malevolence from the corrupted helm, but his focus had narrowed to the woman beside him. Her dark red hair caught the light, and her green eyes still blazed with defiance despite the exhaustion etched in her face.
The bond pulsed—once, twice—an echo of her weariness mingling with the remnants of his own rage. Her emotions bled through their connection like watercolors on wet canvas, and he found himself wanting to absorb every ounce of fear and uncertainty she carried.
Mine to protect. Mine to shield.
The thought came unbidden, primal as dragonfire, and he didn’t have the strength left to crush it.
“We’re not safe,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the soft hiss of gas flames.
“No,” he agreed quietly, his own voice rougher than intended. “We’re not.”
Their eyes locked, an unspoken truth settling between them with the weight of prophecy. Whoever hunted them wouldn’t stop. Whoever commanded the plague knew exactly what they were becoming together—a fusion of light and shadow that defied every law the Ashen Realms had built their power upon. And the Council had no idea how to contain the growing shadow-plague threat, much less comprehend what this growing resonance between witch and dragon meant for either of them.
Vaelrik suddenly felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since the Siege of Vornak a century ago. Determination that went beyond duty. Purpose that burned deeper than obligation. Maybe even the dangerous possibility of wanting a future—one that looked like peace instead of endless battle, warmth instead of the cold isolation he’d wrapped around himself like armor.
A future with her.
The thought should have terrified him. Instead, it felt like the first honest thing he’d admitted to himself in centuries.
He stepped closer—not touching her, but close enough that her warmth softened the cold ache that had lived in his chest since the curse first took hold. Close enough that the shadowfire beneath his ribs settled into something like contentment.
“But we keep fighting this,” he said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of an oath. “We find out who’s behind this plague. And we stay ahead of whatever comes next.”
Her breath hitched, more emotion in that single sound than any spell she could weave. The vulnerability in it struck him like a physical force—this brilliant, fierce woman who’d faced down dragons and corruption magic without hesitation, undone by simple honesty.
“And if the Council doesn’t approve of our methods?” she asked, her chin lifting with that familiar defiance even as uncertainty flickered in her eyes.
He didn’t hesitate. “Then they can choke on their politics.”
An incredulous smile spread across her face—the first genuine expression of joy he’d seen from her since they’d been bound together. It transformed her face entirely, softening the sharp edges of anger and exhaustion into something radiant that made his chest tight with wanting.
It was all he needed to see.
“Then we move forward,” she said softly, lifting her shackled wrist between them. “Together, obviously.”
This time, their partnership didn’t feel like a demand forced upon either of them. It felt like a beginning—not duty or political necessity, but choice. Raw and honest and terrifying in its implications.
They stepped into the corridor together, their combined shadows stretching across obsidian stone like intertwined wings. For the very first time in centuries, Vaelrik felt like he wasn’t walking alone through the endless maze of the Citadel’s halls.
She chose this. She chose?—
The Citadel alarms split the air—shrill, urgent, and unmistakable. A breach. Inside the fortress.
