The heat of the pool soaks through my torn fatigues and into my skin, chasing away the phantom chill of that ruined city. I want to fume at him—at this intrusion, at the way he’s used his advanced draconic magic to twist my trial into something completely different—but the steam steals the bite from my lungs.
Dayn tilts his head, water beading on his collarbones before sliding into the pool. “Strip,” he says, half asking, half telling. “Your body is a map of the day’s wounds. Cracked ribs, gashed side, bruised pride. Let me read it.”
I stare at him, my heart pounding. Reality seems to blur at the edges, like watercolor bleeding into parchment. The man before me is Dayn, yet simultaneously… a projection, a dream-version conjured from magic and memory. Both real and unreal. The contradiction makes my head swim.
“I’m not actually part of your hoard, dragon,” I say, refusing to give ground even as the cave walls curve around us like conspirators. “In case you didn’t get the memo. You can’t catalog me.”
A slow smile, hot enough to scorch. “I already have, witch. Page one: the scar you try to hide beneath your left shoulder blade. Page two: the slight tremor in your right hand when you lie. Page three…”
His eyes track a bead of sweat as it rolls from my temple down my jaw. “Page three is the way you hold your breath when you’re cornered. The way your magic tastes of ozone and defiance right before you strike. Shall I continue?”
His eyes tell me,I know you better than you think, Salem.
Or Draxion, as he’d now call me.
I exhale, try to breathe steady.
And remind me, how did I get myself into thismess?Oh, that’s right. The path to this moment stretches behind me like a trail of bad decisions. First came my grandmother's spirit with her cryptic half-truths, presenting dragon's blood as my only salvation. I drank it, believing her—why wouldn't I? She was family. She neglected to mention the “forming an unbreakable bond with an ancient predator” part of the bargain. And then Helena's ghost wanted me to trust her too. Another dead woman with even less connection to me, offering even vaguer promises with possibly even more potential problems lurking between her words.
And Dayn… who’s been nothing but shadows and manipulation since I met him. Every truth wrapped in three lies. Every promise hiding a trap—until I’m left with his golden wedding band burned into my literal finger.
Yet here I am… again. Trapped by him. This time sharing his magical hot tub in a pocket dimension.
I swallow hard, my throat desert-dry.
“You’d better have a good reason for this, Dayn,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “I’m running out of patience.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, just stares at me across the pool with that smoldering gaze.
He barely even blinks, so much so that he almost looks carved from stone. I see his nostrils flare slightly as he inhales. Then he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing subtly.
“I'm here to give you time to think,” he says finally. “Because it’s clear to me that’s something you rarely have. You've lived your life bound to your coven, to its sensibilities.” His eyes flick briefly to the ring. “I can’t undo what’s been done. What circumstances transpired to make happen. But… we do still have a level of control—over the future.”
He leans back a little, calm, steady, though his amber eyes never break contact.
“You know the pieces of this board, Esme. But out there,you're not thinking for yourself. You’re moving the way your coven trained you to… the way they expect you to. Is that not a fact?”
For some reason my breath catches, my heart kicking up. Maybe it’s because I see the truth in it. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to admit it.
“In here, everything’s paused,” he continues, his voice lowering slightly. “The trial. The noise. Nothing changes if you take a minute to breathe. That’s all I’m asking for. One hour. To stop. To think. To be sure. And when you go back… whatever you do, it’ll definitely be because you decided to do it.”
The words sit there between us in the steam.
An hour. To pause…To choose?
It’s a laughably foreign concept—the notion of true agency. I almost choke on it. The idea is especially ridiculous coming from the mouth of this dragon, the last creature on Earth I would ever associate with freedom or consent. But in this moment, it somehow doesn’t ring false. It rings hollow. Echoes around in the empty space where my own choices might have lived. Because he’s right, in a sense. Every option I’ve ever been given has been a loaded gun, pointed somewhere between survival and obedience.
But it’s the same for all darkbloods. We do what we have to in a world that would rather see us gone. What passes for “choice” is really just the shade of the uniform we bleed in, and even that’s mostly decided for us.
Still, the adrenaline that’s been screaming through me for hours feels like it’s finally burning out. What’s left is a heaviness… an emptiness. The gash in my side throbs in time with my pulse. My muscles shake, worn right down to the bone.
I look at him. Really look at him. The dim light catches the gold in his eyes. His dark hair clings to his temples, damp with steam. And in that moment, I don't quite see a king or a captor.Just... something solid in the middle of the chaos. Something I could probably hate later. But right now, it feels… grounding.
“Why?” My voice comes out low. Rough. It feels like the steam has stripped away defenses, leaving my words rawer. “Why do you care what I choose? You’ve done nothing but try to push me where you want me since the day we met.”
He doesn't pretend otherwise. His jaw tightens fractionally, a muscle flexing beneath bronze skin.
“Because pushing you hasn’t worked,” he says. “It only makes you dig in harder.”
