Stone scraped Serenna’s back, but the sting vanished beneath the molten drag of him. Each thrust peeled away the last of her control until all she could do was take, and break, and breathe him in.
The bond flared white-hot, and in that instant, she felt Vesryn fall apart.
Serenna shattered with him, body clenching so fiercely around his that the line between them disappeared. His name broke from her lips as pleasure flooded through her, blinding and complete, claiming every breath she had left.
Vesryn cursed, hips jolting once more before he stilled—buried deep, shaking as he spilled into her with a full-body shudder. He didn’t let her go. Breathless, he simply sank to his knees with her cradled against his chest.
He rested his forehead in the hollow of her throat, his voice a faint tremor against her skin. “Even if this bond never linked us,” he murmured, “I would’ve found my way to you.”
CHAPTER 30
JASSYN
Jassyn stepped through Lykor’s portal and into the wind. A plateau the rangers had named Stormspire lay shattered beneath them—stone split by old violence, earth stained violet as if the mountains themselves had been bruised. The thin air hit first, knifing straight into his lungs with a metallic charge.
Across the southwestern horizon, lightning forked through the clouds. The storm held its breath, watching and waiting with Skylash still chained somewhere within.
The rangers’ command tent snapped against its stakes, canvas straining to tear free. A cluster of dracovae stamped in the gravel, feathers rippling, scales catching flashes of distant light.
Some riders were mounted, waiting for orders. Others were already airborne, sweeping wide arcs through the sky.
Jassyn hadn’t slept. Not truly.
They’d named him First Keeper of the Ember Accord and moved on, calling it unity when only he surrendered. A blade of a title pressed to his palm, accepted because he didn’t fight it.
The day before had been drowned in maps, questions, and compromises disguised as strategy—decisions made too late to feel like anything but desperation.
Which faction could hold a mountain pass.
Who had enough training to survive the sky.
Who would be the first to fall when the Maw opened its jaws.
They’d looked to him to settle every dispute, as if steadiness meant readiness. As if stillness could stand in for experience. As though that alone made him fit to direct this campaign that might lead to war.
The unease still clung to him.
Vesryn had spoken the title without irony, as though it had always belonged to Jassyn. Kaedryn had pressed a claw to her heart, the other guildmasters mirroring her reverence.
And Lykor—Lykor had flanked him with the quiet menace of a weapon unsheathed. His lip curled at anyone who stared too long. A low growl would rise at the first hint of dissent, ending most arguments before they even formed. Wings flared like a warning, fangs bared like a threat—violence poised to strike before Jassyn ever gave the word.
Apparently, every reluctant leader needed an enforcer.
Jassyn had waited for someone to rescind the decision, to say the truth aloud—that he wasn’t the one they trusted to lead them into the storm.
But no one did.
So at dawn, he had Lykor portal them here outside the threshold, at the rangers’ outpost where they were preparing to breach the Maw.
Jassyn crossed the plateau toward the command tent, if it could even be called one. Just a strip of canvas lashed to stakes with ropes of force, already losing its fight with the endless gusts.
Above, the looming storm still refused to break. The druids swore it never would. And yet Jassyn sensed rain circling in the air, the sky swollen with unshed fury. The unnatural roiling sent a shiver through him, far more unsettling than any downpour.
Beneath the canvas, the others had already gathered. Cinderax lifted his head first as Jassyn stepped under, molten eyes flaring in silent greeting. Kaedryn glanced up, inclining her chin.
Serenna stood near Vesryn’s illusion map, pointing toward the marshes. The prince hovered at her shoulder, fingers drumming against his thigh.
Vesryn straightened, meeting Jassyn’s eyes. “Zaeryn has a flight of rangers airborne with their dracovae.” He gestured toward a cluster of glowing points along the river channels. “On our mark, they’ll sweep the Blackreach and harry any ships trying to force their way toward the Maw.”
