And God help me, I want him too.
I press my palms against my face and groan.
Your therapist is going to need therapy after this conversation.I drop my hands and stare at the ceiling.“So, Dr. Martinez, I met a dragon. He’s brooding and overprotective and really hot—literally, his skin temperature is like a hundred and five degrees—and I think I might be supernaturally destined to be with him, but he keeps running away every time we touch. What do you think that means?”
I laugh. It comes out slightly hysterical.
Outside, the sun has set. The forest is dark beyond the windows, full of shadows and secrets and things that want to kill me. Somewhere out there, Drayke is probably brooding in a tree, telling himself all the reasons he should stay away from me.
Good luck with that. Because I’m not going anywhere. And whatever this thing is between us—this pull, this heat, this inexplicable awareness—I’m not running from it either.
I’ve spent my whole life being careful. Playing it safe. Making sensible choices and ending up alone anyway.
Maybe it’s time to try something different.
I check the locks on the doors. Set my pots-and-pans alarm system on the windowsills. Grab the baseball bat and settle onto the couch with Grandma’s journals piled around me.
The cabin feels emptier without him. Which is ridiculous. He’s spent most of that time either unconscious on my couch or ordering me around. There’s no reason his absence should feel like a missing limb.
But it does.
If I’m going to survive this—the rogues, the prophecy, whatever is brewing between me and a certain frustrating dragon—I need to understand what I am.
Fire-Bringer. The word feels different now. Not like fantasy nonsense, but like a piece of myself I’ve been missing without knowing it was gone.
I start reading.
And somewhere in the forest, I swear I can feel him watching.
FIVE
DRAYKE
The mountain fortress has stood for three thousand years.
Carved into the heart of the range, its walls are granite and dragon-fire, its halls lit by torches that never burn out. This is where my brothers and I have gathered since before humans built their first cities. Where we’ve planned wars, mourned losses, and kept the balance that protects both our worlds.
Tonight, the council chamber feels smaller than usual. Suffocating.
Zyphon lounges in the shadows near the far wall, his presence more felt than seen. Violet light flickers in the darkness where his eyes should be—a side effect of the curse that’s slowly consuming him. He hasn’t spoken since I arrived, but his attention is a weight on my shoulders.
Rurik sits backward in his chair, sharpening a dagger that doesn’t need sharpening. His wild red hair catches the torchlight, and there’s a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He’s enjoying this. Bastard always did love watching me squirm.
Auren stands at the tactical maps spread across the central table, his posture rigid, his expression carved from ice. Of all mybrothers, he’s the one I trust most to see clearly. And the one most likely to demand action, I’m not willing to take.
“Report.” His voice cuts through the silence.
I don’t want to do this. Every instinct screams at me to lie, to deflect, to protect her from my brothers’ scrutiny the same way I’ve protected her from rogues.
But the brotherhood doesn’t work that way. Secrets between us are weaknesses. And we can’t afford weaknesses. Not now.
“A human woman inherited property in our territory.” The words come out flat. Controlled. “The old Fire-Bringer’s cabin.”
Rurik’s dagger stills. “The granddaughter?”
“Yes.”
“And?” That grin is spreading. He knows. Somehow, the bastard already knows.
