That was the truth that terrified him most. His dragon had taken control during their joining, and instead of the usual violent surge of shadowfire, there had been only harmony. Her lumen magic had wrapped around his darkness like silk, guiding it, containing it, transforming it into something that could claim rather than consume.
Their mate bond hummed between them—not the artificial connection of the shackles, but something ancient and undeniable. Something real.
Which made what came next infinitely more complicated.
Vaelrik sat up slowly, reluctantly separating from her warmth. “I should get dressed.”
Serenya raised an eyebrow as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for some trousers. “Regretting this already?”
“Never.” The word came out with more force than he’d intended, and he turned to meet her gaze. “But the political consequences of what just happened...” He gestured to the broken shackles scattered across the floor, then to the half-mate mark glowing on her chest. “Those will be catastrophic.”
She sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist as she studied him. “You’re worried about the Council?”
“The Council will never accept a witch as my mate.” He pulled on his trousers, the movement sharp with barely controlled tension. “The half-brand is visible enough to cause panic among the elders. And the fact that our shackles shattered will confirm our mate bond to any dragon with functioning eyes.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue. They both knew he was right.
“And what we saw in the Gloam,” he continued, running a hand through his disheveled hair, “what we encountered with the Shadowbinder—that is far worse. If the Council suspects we’re compromised by magic...”
A thunderous pounding rattled his door, cutting through his words like a blade.
“Vaelrik!” Kyr’s voice carried urgency and barely restrained panic. “Open this door. Now.”
Vaelrik’s blood turned to ice. He spun toward Serenya, who was already reaching for her scattered clothes.
“Stay here,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Get dressed. Don’t let anyone see you like this.”
Her eyes flashed with defiance. “I’m not hiding anything?—”
“Just for right now.” He moved to the door but didn’t open it yet, his hand resting on the handle.
The pounding came again, more insistent.
Serenya cursed under her breath but nodded, sliding from the bed with fluid grace. “Fine. But I’m not hiding us forever. I chose you and you chose me. Nobody else’s opinion matters.”
His dragon stirred possessively at her words. The half-mate mark pulsed in response to his attention, and he had to force himself to look away before his control snapped entirely.
The hammering on his door grew louder, and Vaelrik braced himself for whatever crisis waited on the other side.
Vaelrik cracked the door open just enough to see Kyr’s weathered face, his jaw carved from stone and eyes burning with barely contained urgency.
“Urgent Council summons,” Kyr snapped. “Serect’s demanding your full report of the Gloam mission.”
Vaelrik’s instincts prickled. “Right now?”
Kyr’s expression twitched, a muscle jumping along his scarred jaw. “Yes. He said it can’t wait until tomorrow.”
Vaelrik’s nostrils flared as he caught the undercurrent of something darker in Kyr’s tone—something that spoke of political maneuvering and barely concealed panic among the elders.
“Also,” Kyr continued, crossing his arms over his chest, “I can’t find Serenya. I checked her chambers and she’s not there.”
Vaelrik’s expression remained neutral, but inside, his dragon prowled with possessive satisfaction. The mate bond hummed warm and steady beneath his sternum.
He couldn’t hide this. Not anymore.
“That’s because she’s here,” he said simply.
Kyr blinked twice, slow and deliberate, processing the implications. Then he leaned sideways, peering past Vaelrik’s shoulder into the quarters beyond.
