I hit the outer wall at full speed, roaring loud enough to shatter stone. Bronze scales slam into ancient masonry, and the impact sends guards tumbling from their posts like broken dolls. Fire erupts from my jaws before they can draw weapons—a wall of flame that turns three rogues to ash before they finish screaming.
To my left, Zyphon crashes through the eastern battlements, shadows swirling around him like living weapons. To my right, Auren’s precision strike takes out a guard tower in a single blast of golden fire.
MATE. FIND MATE. KILL EVERYTHING BETWEEN.
My dragon isn’t interested in strategy tonight.
Neither am I.
I shift mid-landing,feet hitting stone as scales recede. Two short swords appear in my hands—weapons I’ve carried for three hundred years, forged in dragon fire and quenched in mountain springs. They sing as I draw them, hungry for the blood of those who took my mate.
The first rogue comes around a corner and dies before he sees me. The second manages a shout that ends in a gurgle. The third tries to shift, bones cracking as his dragon emerges?—
I take his head before the transformation completes.
Blood sprays across ancient stones. The fortress erupts into chaos around me—shouts echoing through corridors, footsteps pounding, alarm bells clanging somewhere in the depths.
Heavy resistance on the east side.Zyphon’s mental voice carries dark satisfaction.They’re trying to flank you. I’m cutting them off.
West corridor clear.Auren, cold and efficient.Proceeding to lower levels. I’ll secure your exit route.
Good. Let them handle the stragglers. My path is down—to her.
The claiming mark burns hotter with every step. Closer. She’s closer.
Four rogues block a stairwell leading down. They’ve had time to prepare, weapons drawn, scales rippling beneath human skin as their dragons surge toward the surface. The largest sneers as I approach, confidence born of numbers.
“Guardian King,” he snarls. “You’re too late. The Relic wakes. Your mate’s blood?—”
I don’t let him finish.
My blades become a blur of bronze-edged death. The first rogue’s sword arm separates from his body before he can swing. The second takes steel through the throat, blood fountaining as he collapses. The third tries to breathe fire—I’m already past him, blade buried in his spine, turning as he falls to face the fourth.
He turns to run.
Smart. Not smart enough.
My thrown sword catches him between the shoulder blades. He crashes down the stairs, and I retrieve my weapon from his corpse without breaking stride.
Down. The mark pulls me down.
The corridors grow olderthe deeper I descend. Rough-hewn stone gives way to carved pillars, torchlight to phosphorescent moss that clings to walls in patches of sickly green. The air turns cold, then hot, then cold again—temperature fluctuating with the pulse of ancient magic.
The Relic. I can taste its power on my tongue, feel it pressing against my mind. A presence vast and hungry, stirring from a sleep that should have been eternal. It whispers at the edges of my consciousness—promises of power, of dominion, of control.
I ignore it. Push it aside. Focus on the golden thread leading me deeper.
Drayke.Zyphon’s voice cuts through.I’m at the lower levels. Parallel corridor. I can feel the Relic from here.
Converge on the central chamber. That’s where they’ll have her.
Six rogues emerge from a side passage. Two shift to dragon form—cramped quarters, wings scraping stone as they try to maneuver in the narrow space. I kill them anyway, claws erupting from my hands without conscious thought. Partial shift. Dangerous. The line between man and dragon blurring.
I don’t care.
One of the shifted rogues catches my shoulder with a talon, tearing through leather and flesh. I barely feel it. Another’s tail sweeps my legs—I roll, come up slashing, open his belly from hip to ribcage.
Selene’s pain crashes through me in waves. Each pulse of agony makes my vision flash red, makes my dragon claw closer to the surface. She’s weakening. Fading. The claiming mark fights to keep her alive, but it’s not enough.
