“She’s not just your mate.” He spreads the scrolls across the cracked table. “She’s the Fire-Bringer of the prophecy. The bloodline we thought ended centuries ago.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
“That’s not possible. The line was broken. We made sure?—”
“The grandmother hid her.” Auren taps a section of the scroll. “Bound her power. Raised her away from our world. But blood remembers, Drayke. And now that she’s in our territory, now that she’s awakening—” He meets my gaze. “Every dragon who knows the old prophecies will come for her.”
Rurik has gone pale. “Fire-Bringer blood can amplify dragon power. If someone were to use it in the wrong ritual...”
“Or awaken things that should stay buried.” Zyphon’s voice is barely a whisper. “The Dominion Relic. It’s been dormant for millennia. But with Fire-Bringer blood...”
“Enough.” I cut them off. “I know what’s at stake.”
“Do you?” Auren steps closer. “Because from where I stand, you’re letting fear of your own dragon blind you to the larger threat. Claim her or don’t—but understand that every day she remains unprotected by the full power of the claiming, she’s vulnerable. To the rogues. To their master. To magical compulsion that could turn her against us entirely.”
The dragon roars inside me. Furious. Possessive. Terrified.
Claim her. Protect her. Make her ours.
And if I lose control? If the claiming fire burns too hot?
“I need time.” The words scrape past my throat. “Time to strengthen her. Train her. Prepare her for what’s coming.”
“Time is the one thing we don’t have.” Auren rolls the scrolls closed. “But I’ll give you what I can. Rurik—increase patrols around the territory. Zyphon—reach out to your contacts. Find out what the rogues’ master is planning.”
Both nod. Neither looks happy about it.
“And you.” Auren turns back to me. “Go back to her. Protect her. But understand—if you can’t bring yourself to claim her, someone else might try to take that choice away from both of you.”
I’m out the door before he finishes speaking.
SIX
SELENE
Grandma’s journals are spread across every flat surface in the cabin.
I’ve been at this for hours, cross-referencing entries, building a timeline, trying to piece together the truth she never told me. The woman I knew—the one who baked cookies and told bedtime stories and always smelled like lavender—was apparently leading a double life as some kind of supernatural guardian.
And she thought I was destined for the same.
Fire-Bringer awakens the dragon and begins the prophecy,reads one heavily underlined passage.When dragon meets flame, the old powers stir. What was dormant will rise. What was forgotten will be remembered.
“That’s not ominous at all.” I flip to another page, squinting at Grandma’s cramped handwriting. “‘Old powers stirring.’ ‘Things remembered.’ Very specific. Very helpful.”
The candles flicker.
I freeze, eyes fixed on the flames. They’re dancing—not from a draft, not from movement, but as if responding to something. My frustration, maybe. My fear.
The flames lean toward me.
Just like that first night, when the fire roared to life on its own. Just like every time I get emotional and things start acting strange.
I look down at the journal in my hands. The edge of the page is smoking. Tiny tendrils of brown creeping inward from where my fingers grip the paper.
“Shit!” I drop the journal, shake out my hands. The smoking stops. The candles settle.
I stare at my palms. They look normal. No burns, no marks, no visible sign that I just nearly incinerated a hundred-year-old document with my bare hands.
