The cabin is destroyed when I arrive. Door splintered off its hinges. Wards shattered, their broken edges still crackling with the violence of their destruction. Scorch marks and claw gouges everywhere.
Rurik lies on the porch, unconscious, blood matting his red hair. He groans when I shake him awake.
“They took her,” he gasps. “Dozens of them. I killed three before they took me down. Drayke, I’m sorry?—”
But I’m already reaching for her. Straining against whatever blocks my sense of her. Searching with everything I have.
There. Faint. South. Underground.
I’m coming.I push the thought toward her with all my strength.Hold on, Selene. I’m coming.
FOURTEEN
SELENE
Iwake to darkness and pain.
Cold stone beneath me, rough and damp. Iron manacles on my wrists, chained above my head to a ring in the wall. Magic-suppressing chains that devour my fire with hungry cold, leaving me hollow where power should burn.
The bond with Drayke—so bright and warm just hours ago—is muffled to a faint whisper. I can still feel him, but distantly. Like hearing someone call your name from underwater.
But it’s still there. The claiming mark burns over my heart, warm even in this cold place, fighting the chains with stubborn persistence. He’s coming. I feel it through the muted thread that ties us.
The chamber around me is vast—cathedral-high ceiling lost in darkness, pillars carved with symbols, torches flickering in iron sconces. At the center stands a black stone altar, channels carved into its surface glowing sickly red.
Fresh cuts score my forearms. Shallow but numerous, still weeping crimson that drips down my elbows and feeds those hungry channels. My blood. Feeding the relic that stirs somewhere beneath this place, ancient and patient.
“Fire-Bringer awakens.”
Veylor emerges from the shadows behind the altar. Tall—over seven feet, with shoulders like a mountain and a face that’s a ruin of old scars. One eye milky and sightless. Right arm ending at the elbow. Left wing nothing but a twisted stump.
But it’s his remaining eye that holds me. Golden, but cold. Dead where Drayke’s blazes with life. This is a dragon who forgot what warmth feels like centuries ago.
“General Veylor.” My voice comes out rough, but steady. “The one-winged wonder. I’ve heard stories.”
He stops. Studies me with that single cold eye, head tilting slightly. Then his gaze drops to my chest—to the claiming mark visible through my torn shirt, still glowing faintly against my skin.
“Claimed.” The word comes out flat. Surprised, but not dismayed. “Your Guardian finally found his courage. Interesting timing.”
“Pity for you.” I force a smile despite the pain radiating from my arms. “A claimed mate can’t be drained. Your little ritual just became useless.”
“Is that what the old texts say?” He moves closer, crouching to meet my eyes. Close enough that I can smell sulfur and decay and the copper tang of old blood. “The old texts were written by dragons who wanted to protect their mates. Who wanted to believe the claiming mark made them untouchable.” His remaining eye glitters with something that might be amusement. “They lied.”
My blood runs cold. Colder than the chains. Colder than the stone.
“A claimed Fire-Bringer is harder to drain, yes. The bond interferes. The mark resists. It fights for you, protects you, slows the extraction.” He straightens, towering over me. “But not impossible. It simply requires... more effort. More blood. More pain. More time.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He gestures to the altar, where my blood already flows into the carved channels, pulsing with that sickly red glow. “The Relic stirs regardless. Your claiming mark fights the extraction—slows it, protects you from the worst of the drain. But it cannot stop what has already begun. It can only delay.”
He leans in close. Close enough that I can see the individual scars mapped across his ruined face.
“The difference is now your mate will feel everything we do to you. Every cut. Every drop of blood. He’ll experience your agony through that precious link, and he’ll come running straight into my trap. The claiming mark that was supposed to save you will be the weapon I use to destroy him.”
The backhand comes fast. My head snaps against stone, stars bursting across my vision. Blood fills my mouth.
“Continue the extraction,” Veylor orders, straightening. “Slowly. Let her mate feel every moment. Let him suffer as she suffers. And when he arrives, we’ll be ready.”
