“Well,” she finally says, her voice shaky. “That was… efficient.”
“He touched you,” I say, as if that explains everything. Which, in fact, it does.
Brynn pulls the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands. “I know. I just…” She trails off, exhaling. “You moved so fast. I forget sometimes how much stronger you are than you look.”
“Hesitation gets you killed,” I reply, the old academy mantra leaving my lips without thought. I flex my knuckles. No pain. Good. “Or worse.”
A voice in my head reminds me that even though I’m running low on magical energy, Dayn’s essence probably juices my physical form too… wherever the hell he even is right now.
Brynn looks away, toward the train schedule flickering on a large screen. “Right. Worse.” Her gaze is distant, and I know she’s not thinking about those pathetic thugs in the alley. She’s thinking of Darkbirch. Of Chad. Of Heathborne. Of Draethys. Of our reality, which makes a back-alley skirmish feel like a damn playground squabble.
In the early morning hours, the familiar, though worryingly less-oppressive-than-normal weight of Darkbirch’s spiritual barrier settles over me, as we descend with Lucian. I’ve never met him before because he’s not a Darkbirch vampire. Apparently, our coven’s so strapped for defenses, Corvin had to get him sentfrom Bloodbane Coven to collect us. Which doesn’t help my angst levels.
Once we’re through the screaming barrier, the ancient trees close in and we land softly just outside the main gates of the academy.
Corvin comes out almost immediately. Warden Blythe stands at his side, her face as stern and unyielding as the stone walls behind her. Her presence is unusual; she rarely greets anyone at the gate. A knot of unease tightens in my stomach.
“Esme. Brynn,” Corvin says, his tone devoid of warmth. He looks exhausted, the lines around his eyes far deeper than I remember. “You had us worried.”
“We ran into some trouble,” I say, my tone dry.
That gets me the slight crack of a smile, but it soon fades. He glances at Blythe, who gives a single, sharp nod. “Before we talk, come with us. There’s something you need to see,” he says.
To my surprise, he turns and heads for the narrow, winding stone steps that spiral down into the earth. Toward the dungeons.
My hand goes to Brynn’s arm, a silent question. She looks as confused as I feel. We follow them down, the air growing colder, damper, until we reach the lowest level.
A single corridor stretches before us, lined with reinforced cells, their doors bound with glowing containment runes. Most are empty. But at the far end, three are not.
My steps falter. My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the three shadowed figures they hold.
Chad. Byzu. And Dayn.
7
ESME
The world narrows to the three cells. To the men inside them. My gaze locks on Dayn, and the dungeon’s chill is instantly incinerated by a wave of heat that ignites through my veins. Our bond, thrumming to life inside me. My skin and nerves prickle with awareness. The etched band on my finger feels suddenly warmer, heavier.
He stands motionless behind the bars, shoulders squared, jaw tight—but his eyes, those impossible gold eyes, burn into mine with an intensity that makes the stone walls around us feel like they're made of tissue paper, ready to disintegrate at his command. Or mine.
He's here. Alive. The relief that rushes through me is immediately chased by something darker, hungrier. Even locked in a cage like some rare, lethal beast, his power slams into me—a tidal wave of raw energy that doesn't just call to my bones but threatens to hollow them out and fill them with liquid fire.
A sharp, humorless laugh escapes my throat. I turn to Corvin, my voice dripping with disbelief. “Are you serious? You think this can hold them?”
Warden Blythe shifts uncomfortably, while a slow, dark smile tugs at Dayn’s lips. He doesn’t look at Corvin or Blythe. His molten gold eyes are fixed on me. “That’s a good question, of course,” Dayn says.
He lifts a hand and casually presses his palm against the thick, rune-etched bars of his cell, and the metal simply… melts. It turns to liquid silver under his touch, dripping onto the stone floor with a sizzle, pooling and hardening into a misshapen puddle. The containment runes flicker and die with a pathetic hiss. The entire process is silent, effortless, and utterly unnerving.
Of course, with my added darkblood power now tangled up in his veins, this is child’s play for him. Darkbirch’s spiritual power source hasn’t even finished recovering yet.
Dayn steps through the gaping hole in his cell door, the molten steel still dripping around the edges.
“We were just being courteous,” he explains, his voice a low rumble that echoes in the confined space. “As I have already indicated, we are here as allies, not prisoners. And we bring the same warning Esme does.” He finally tears his gaze from mine to look at Corvin. “The dragons are coming.”
Byzu and Chad don’t move in their cells yet, but they don’t need to. The air crackles with tension. Corvin and Blythe stand staring at Dayn, while my own heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic, chaotic rhythm of relief and fury. He’s here. He’s safe. And he…left mein that collapsing hellscape.
He looks back at me, amber eyes darkening as they rake over me. “Glad to see my wife made it out of Draethys,” he says. His voice drops, laced with that possessive tone that makes my pulse trip—half anger, half something much more dangerous.
