Byzu’s portaling skills aren’t as sharp as mine, so the journey is not as swift as I would like. But truth be told, magic always has a price, even for dragons.
Crossing between magical and nonmagical borders, we stop to rest between stretches, keeping mostly to mountainous and wooded areas, out of sight. I’m tempted to travel by wing for at least part of the journey, but it risks drawing attention I’d rather avoid at this point. The time will come for its use.
As twilight bleeds across the sky, we reach the edge of a forest of ancient, black-barked trees, their branches clawing at the fading light.
Darkbirch. The name is a curse on my tongue, but it is now also a necessity.
Yet it carries the weight of too many memories. Nights of whispered plans beneath these same skeletal branches. Laughter in the dark when trust still felt possible. A handshake clasped in secrecy, the warmth of an alliance that once felt unbreakable. Once, this place had been more than a name. It had been a bond.A friendship that blurred the lines between duty and faith—between what I was sworn to do and what I chose to feel.
Now the air hangs heavy with the ghosts of it all: the changes in leadership, the betrayals, the loss, the impossible pull of what once was. Rage simmers beneath my skin, familiar and safe, yet somewhere under it… something far more dangerous endures.
A glimmer of possibility.
One that begins with the name of my wife.
I stare at the faint, silvery shimmer that hangs in the air before us, a curtain of spiritual energy that distorts the woods beyond. The coven’s defensive barrier. I feel it as a physical pressure against my skin, a low hum of ancestral power that tastes of old blood and forced oaths. The spirits of long-dead darkbloods mingle with the angry souls of clearblood captives. To all of them, I am an ancient enemy, a dragon who once set their forests aflame.
But I also feel the barrier’s weakness. The shimmer is thin inmany places, the energy frayed like an old tapestry. Recent… conflicts have taken their toll.
“They will not welcome us,” Byzu states, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his blade.
“No,” I agree, stepping toward the shimmering barrier. “They won’t.” The spirits within the ward stir, their collective presence focusing on me like a hundred unseen eyes. They recognize the scent of dragon, the reek of ancient conflict. But they will also sense something else. The trace of Salem blood that now permanently stains my soul. “But Esme’s mate might have some advantage.”
I step forward and reach with my hand, with the power coiled beneath my skin. I draw on the fire of my bloodline, but I let the shadow that now lives within me bleed into it, twisting the pure gold of my magic with the deep void-black of Esme’s. The air crackles. The silver light of the barrier recoils as if burned by my touch. I push with a precise, surgical pressure, weaving my hybrid energy into the ward’s loose threads and pulling them apart.
A hole tears open in the shimmering curtain, a ragged, silent scream in the fabric of their magic. It is just wide enough for two to pass.
“Impressive,” Byzu grunts, his suspicion warring with grudging respect.
“Her power has its uses,” I admit, and step through. The barrier seals itself again when I release my pressure.
The air inside is colder, heavy with the scent of damp earth, pine, and something else: the metallic tang of blood magic. Every shadow seems to hold a threat. Every rustle of leaves could be an approaching enemy. We are invaders here, now labeled ancient enemies of this coven. My muscles are coiled tight, ready to unleash the dragon at the slightest provocation, though I hope to avoid that. It would bring the entire coven down upon us, which wouldn’t be an ideal… reintroduction.
We don’t have to wait long.
They fall from the trees like spiders, silent and unnaturally fast. Pale skin, dark clothing, eyes that glitter with predatory light in the gloom. Vampires. At least half a dozen of them, moving with a coordinated grace that speaks of long practice. They surround us before we’ve taken ten steps.
A figure lands before us with a whisper of leathery wings, both fully functional. He is tall and aristocratically built, and his silver-speckled midnight eyes fix on me with an intensity that is pure hatred.
Isander.
“I smell a dragon,” he hisses, his voice a silken threat. He remembers me, of course. The scar of my talon is likely still healing on his wing, a permanent reminder of our lastencounter… though he’s flying again. I told Esme he’d recover. “And the puppet of our enemies.”
“I am no one’s puppet,” I growl, my own eyes beginning to bleed from amber to molten gold. The heat radiating from my skin intensifies, making the air around us shimmer.
“You defile our ground, dragon,” Isander says, baring his fangs. His wings flex, the edges sharpening like dark blades. “We should have finished you at Heathborne.”
“You are welcome to try again.” I let a sliver of the dragon show, my voice dropping to a guttural rumble that almost shakes the leaves on the ground. Byzu moves to my side, a mirror of my stance, his own power beginning to rise.
Isander lunges. He is a blur of motion, like a living shadow aimed at my throat. I meet his charge, my hand catching his wrist in a grip that could shatter bone. His strength is immense, but it is the cold, dead strength of the grave. Mine is the living fire of the earth’s core. We are locked in a stalemate, my heat warring against his chill.
Just as more vampires lunge forward, a new presence rips through the forest.
It is a feeling of absolute wrongness. The air grows thick, heavy, tasting of sulfur and old blood. A pressure builds that makes the vampires recoil, their predatory confidence dissolving into primal hesitation. Even Isander falters, his eyes darting toward the source of the disturbance.
From the deepest shadows between the trees steps Chad Valgrave. But it is not the man I saw in Rothmere’s study, nor the one Brynn trusted.
His eyes are solid pools of crimson, burning with an ancient, malevolent intelligence. His entire aura exudes an unfathomable darkness. Claws extend from his fingers and when he opens his mouth to speak, his teeth are filed to predatory points. A low growl emanates from his chest, a sound that promises violenceon a scale the vampires cannot comprehend. This is not a half-breed hiding his nature. This is a demon wearing a thin slip of human skin.
