And then I see the blood.
It’s spreading across her shoulder, soaking through her shirt in dark, wet blooms. Her left arm hangs at an odd angle, three parallel gashes carved from shoulder to elbow. Deep. Vicious. Made by claws that knew exactly where to strike.
The dying rogue. He must have lashed out with his claws before the fire consumed him. One final act of spite from a creature already burning to death.
I shift before I hit the ground, the transformation agonizing, too fast, bones cracking back into human form. I’m running before I’m fully changed, catching her as her knees buckle.
“Selene.” Her name tears from my throat. “Selene, look at me.”
Her eyes find mine. Glassy. Unfocused. The color is draining from her face with terrifying speed.
“Drayke?” Her voice is thin. Wrong. “I don’t... I don’t feel right.”
I examine the wounds. My blood turns to ice.
The edges are already blackening. Dark veins spread from the gashes, crawling beneath her skin like poison-filled roots.
Because that’s exactly what they are.
“Poison.” The word comes out broken. “They coated their claws in Fire-Bringer poison.”
“That’s... that’s a thing?” She tries to laugh. It comes out as a cough.
“It’s designed to suppress your fire. Weaken your blood.” I gather her into my arms, trying to be gentle, trying not to jostle the wounds. “We need to get you back to the cabin. I have antidotes?—”
“Drayke.” Her hand finds my chest, presses weakly against my heart. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” The dragon howls inside me, rage and terror tangled together. “Don’t apologize.”
“I shouldn’t have... I didn’t mean to...” Her eyes flutter. “The fire just happened. I couldn’t control it.”
“You were magnificent.” The words rip from me before I can stop them, rough and raw and absolutely true. “Never apologize for being magnificent.”
Her lips curve. The faintest echo of a smile. “Magnificent. I like that.”
Then her eyes close, and she goes limp in my arms.
I run.
The forest blurs past me. Branches claw at my skin. My wounds from the aerial fight are still bleeding, but I don’t feel them. Don’t feel anything except the weight of her in my arms and the terror clawing at my chest.
She’s dying. Our mate is dying. Failed to protect her. Failed?—
I shut out the dragon’s howling. Focus on the path. Focus on reaching the cabin.
The antidote is in my pack. Rurik prepared it years ago, after we learned the rogues were developing poisons specifically designed to target Fire-Bringers. We thought it was paranoia at the time. Overkill for a bloodline that had supposedly ended centuries ago.
Now it might be the only thing that saves her life.
The cabin appears through the trees. I shoulder through the door, lay her on the couch as gently as I can manage. Her skin is ashen. The dark veins have spread to her neck, creeping toward her jaw.
She’s breathing. Barely. Each inhale shallow and rattling.
I tear through my pack. Find the vial Rurik made—thick glass, dark liquid, sealed with wax and a prayer. The antidote. The only thing standing between her and a slow, agonizing death.
I force it between her lips. Hold her jaw closed until she swallows reflexively. Once. Twice. The whole vial.
Then I wait.
