“I have plenty of survival instinct.” My voice carries the sharp edge I’ve been told makes me difficult. “I just don’t let fear make my decisions. Unlike some people who hide in mountains and brood for centuries.”
Drayke’s hand squeezes mine under the table—warning or amusement, I can’t tell. Probably both.
“Fire-Bringer exceeded all projections.” Auren’s assessment is clinical, but I catch the warmth beneath it. “Welcome to the Brotherhood, Selene.”
I blink, not expecting formal acceptance. “That’s it? No hazing ritual? No dragon trials? I don’t have to arm-wrestle anyone or prove I can hold my liquor?”
“You survived the Relic.” Zyphon’s mouth curves—not quite a smile, but close. “That’s trial enough.”
“Also, you terrify Rurik,” Auren adds. “That earns automatic membership.”
“I do not—” Rurik starts.
“You called her ‘terrifying’ three times while she was unconscious,” Zyphon interjects.
“Terrifyingly attractive. Context matters.”
I point at Rurik without looking at him. “I like this one. He has good taste.”
Drayke growls—a low, possessive sound that makes Rurik raise his hands in surrender.
“Down, boy. I’m just appreciating the compliment.” I pat Drayke’s arm. “Your territorial instincts are adorable, but unnecessary.”
The strategy session lasts hours.
Marcus’s betrayal exposed weaknesses in our intelligence network—single points of failure that enemies can exploit. Auren spreads maps across the table, marking known rogue territories, suspected hideouts, the location where we buried the fortress and the Relic beneath it.
“No more single-source intel.” His finger traces a line between two marked points. “Every piece of information gets verified through multiple channels. We got lazy. Trusted too easily.”
“Marcus had been reliable for years.” Rurik’s voice carries uncharacteristic gravity. “He fed us good intel, helped us take down three rogue cells. Who knows how long Veylor had him turned?”
“Long enough.” Zyphon’s shadows seem to deepen around him. “He knew our patrol routes. Our response times. Where we’d be and when we wouldn’t.”
Selene leans forward, studying the map. “What about the Relic? You said dormant, not destroyed. Please tell me ‘dormant’ doesn’t mean ‘will definitely wake up and try to kill us again in a month.’”
“Dormant,” I confirm. “The claiming fire sealed it, but ancient artifacts don’t die easily. Given enough time, enough blood, it could wake again.”
“Fantastic. So we’re on a timer. Love that for us.” Her gaze sweeps the map, taking in the marked territories, the blank spaces between them. “Veylor escaped. He’ll regroup. Try again. Because villains never just retire to a nice beach somewhere and take up gardening.”
“Agreed.” Auren’s attention shifts to her, assessing. “You have thoughts?”
“Several. Most of them involve creative uses of fire.” She taps the collapsed fortress location. “He’s lost his stronghold and most of his forces. He’ll need to rebuild, which means recruiting. New rogues, mercenaries, anyone willing to follow a one-winged general with a grudge and questionable decision-making skills.”
“Go on.”
“We don’t wait for him to rebuild. We track him. Cut off his resources before he can gather them. Make it clear that anyone who joins him ends up ash.” Her finger traces a path across the map. “Zyphon marked him. How accurate is that mark?”
Zyphon straightens, shadows coiling around his shoulders. “Accurate enough. I can sense his general direction. Distance is harder, but if he stays within a hundred miles, I’ll know.”
“Then we use that. Keep pressure on him. Don’t let him rest, don’t let him recruit, don’t let him breathe.” Selene’s voice carries a hardness I’ve rarely heard from her—tactical, focused, deadly serious. “He wanted my blood to wake that Relic. He’s not going to stop wanting it. Which means we can’t stop hunting him.”
Auren studies her for a long moment. Then he nods—a sharp, approving gesture. “Strategic thinking exceeds expectations.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is.” Zyphon’s voice carries grudging respect. “Good instincts, Fire-Bringer.”
Pride swells in my chest—mine and hers, blending until I can’t tell them apart. My mate. My Fire-Bringer. Holding her own against dragons who’ve been fighting wars since before her grandmother was born.
