Lykor’s jaw locked. The dracovae didn’t deserve this. Loyal. Obedient. Bred to follow, now yanked into another’s recklessness. A casualty of incompetence, not war.
Next time, he hoped lightning would skin Zaeryn from the sky instead. He wouldn’t mourn.
Lykor blew out a sigh as Aesar adjusted their weight. Cinderax crouched low along Trella’s spine, claws hooking into the saddle’s harness. Trella dipped hard, wings folding tight as she sliced downward.
Air rushed past Lykor’s ears as he reached for the ember burning steady beneath his ribs. He lifted a hand toward the dracovae flailing below andpulled.
Flames tore free from its feathers like a serpent ripped from the marrow of the sun. Fire lashed wide as he flung it past the Dreadspire’s peaks, hurling it into the Maw.
For a heartbeat, a strange stillness rippled across the sky. Even this far from the threshold, static crawled under Lykor’s skin, lifting hairs, building pressure in his bones.
Above the broken ridge, sparks gathered, braiding into light. Then lightning twisted from the clouds, wild and veering, bent on pursuit. Drawn to the flame Lykor had cast into the Maw like a lure. Chasing. Hunting.
Lightning collided with fire in an eruption of violet and gold, cleaving the sky in a searing spray of sparks.
As the impact dissipated, Zaeryn’s dracovae caught a current. Barely. Trailing smoke, it banked low, gliding earthward. Scorched, but alive.
Cinderax rumbled an approval before launching from Trella’s back. He glided toward Vesryn, who’d already made it to the ground with Zaeryn.
Lykor didn’t watch the dracovae’s rescue. He studied his hand instead. Flame coiled around his fingers. Proof. Purpose. A weapon.
The lightning hadn’t struck the fire at random. It hadfollowedthe flame. Pursued it like prey. He’d bent the Maw’s fury from the sky. Turned it aside.
Maybe he couldn’t fly to Skylash on his own with the others. But he could still protect them.
An echo stirred in his mind.I need you.
Lykor exhaled through his nose and crushed the flame in his fist. The ember snarled in his ribs, but he forced it down. Shoved the fire back into the cavity in his chest where all dangerous feelings belonged.
Some things were safer caged.
CHAPTER 4
LYKOR
Lykor shadowed Jassyn, masking the impulse as unscheduled perimeter security—guarding their most important asset.
At least, that was the lie he sold himself. That following at a distance wasn’t about knowing where Jassyn went after the night soured into something indecent. The moons bled silver across the sleeping city, and Jassyn, of all people, shouldn’t have been wandering Asharyn’s streets alone.
Lykor had only learned of it through Fenn’s newest assignment—organizing a protective detail. That evening, the newly promoted captain had handpicked a fresh squad of wraith with some measure of Essence talents, specifically telepathy. Discreet enough to report on their charges. Loyal enough not to question the order.
They watched Serenna too. Anecessityrather than surveillance. Precaution.
Once, Lykor might’ve called it meddling. But now it proved Fenn could think ahead, and that Lykor didn’t have to grind every burden to ash alone.
Fuck, at this rate, he’d have to promote him again.
The alert had impaled his mind the instant Jassyn had slipped from the palace, carrying with it the nauseating reminder that Aesar had fallen asleep in Kal’s bed. Surfacing from sleep with a muttered curse, Lykor had gently eased a purring Aiko from his chest before wrenching himself free from Kal and informing the sentry that he’d handle this one personally.
The streets lay empty under a scattering of stars as Jassyn’s silhouette cut through the city with irritating precision. Subtle as a beacon. He even nodded to a druid sentinel, as if this midnight stroll was perfectly normal.
Lykor’s jaw ticked as he trailed behind, fire sparking at the thought that Jassyn might be meeting someone. And if it happened to be Zaeryn, casting those honeyed glances at Jassyn again, he’d pluck her eyes from her skull and return them in a chalice.
FOCUS.
Jassyn veered off the main street, angling toward the lake, where reeds hissed in the wind. Where privacy beckoned, every step reeking of purpose.
Lykor told himself it didn’t matter. If Jassyn sought solace elsewhere, that was his right. His choice.
