And I can’t see him. Can’t talk to him. Can’t even ask if he’s okay.
My wolf presses against my skin. Howling protest. Demanding that I go to him. Demanding that I break through walls and guards and rules to get to him. Her mate, whether I like the idea or not. She knows what she knows, and separation is agony.
But my rational mind murmurs something different.
This is a test.
If the heat cycle fades, as it should, maybe I’ll wake up and wonder what I was thinking. Why I felt so desperate to reach him. Why watching them take him felt like loss.
Maybe distance will clear my head. Let me separate what’s real from what’s just my body reacting to impossible circumstances.
My wolf rejects this with every fiber of her being. Snarling fury. She doesn’t want this test. She already has her answer. Mate. Clear. Undeniable.
But I need more than instinct.
I need to know ifIchoose this. If my human heart wants him, or if it’s just my wolf making decisions for me.
Chapter 19
Jericho
Two days in the cell.
Viktor came three times. The first visit was interrogation—verifying intelligence, pushing for details I wasn’t ready to give without a guarantee. The second was tactical assessment—how I’d approach a raid on Vex’s facility, what defenses I’d anticipate. The third was this morning, brief: “Council convenes tonight. Be ready.”
Tonight. Because Aurora accommodates all its members, including those who can’t tolerate sunlight.
Between Viktor’s visits: silence. Concrete walls. Suppression field weight pressing on my dragon like an invisible hand. I use the time the way I’ve used every other period of confinement I’ve survived—preparing.
The Council will grant sanctuary, or they won’t. They’ll find my intelligence valuable, or they won’t. I’ll walk out alive. Or I won’t.
All outcomes are possible. None in my control.
The door opens.
Two guards. Professional. Neutral.
“Council is convening,” the lead guard says. “You’re summoned.”
I stand. They cuff my hands in front of me this time—a small concession suggesting they’re shifting perception of me; no longer pure threat. Just a man answering questions that will determine if he survives.
We walk through Aurora’s corridors. The facility is built into the mountain—stone and steel and efficiency. Operatives pass us in the halls. Some stare. Some look away. Everyone knows who I am.
Enemy. Defector. War criminal seeking sanctuary.
The truth depends on perspective.
We ascend two levels. The corridors here are wider, better lit. Administrative levels where decisions get made.
The guard stops at heavy double doors. Biometric scan. They open silently.
“Inside.”
I walk into the Council chamber.
Large room. High ceilings. Stone walls unadorned except for Aurora’s insignia—phoenix rising from flames. A semicircular table dominates the space. Nine people sit behind it.
Viktor Parlance at the center. I recognize others from intelligence files: Kael Craven, dragon, former king of the Craven clan, still carries himself like royalty even after stepping back from active leadership. Beside him, Caleb Craven, younger, sharper edges, the one who actually runs things now. Vanya Arrowvane, dragon shifter, former Shadowhand who defected from the Ivory League years ago—her presence here is a mirror of what I’m attempting.
