“Help with what? Dying faster?”
“Help with aiming.” His grin is sharp and slightly unhinged. “Trust me.”
I don’t trust him even a little, but I drink anyway. The liquid burns going down—not like alcohol, but like actual fire, searing a path from throat to stomach. When I open my mouth to curse at him, a small flame hiccups out.
“What the hell was that?”
“Dragon’s breath concentrate.” Rurik looks delighted by my horror. “Heightens Fire-Bringer abilities for short bursts. Also makes your burps explosive, so watch where you aim those.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“After target practice.” He points at the pillars. “Hit the far one. Don’t miss.”
I don’t miss. Whatever was in that flask has turned my fire from a campfire to a blowtorch—concentrated, precise, and impossibly fast. The flame bolt leaves my palm and strikes the distant pillar before I’ve finished aiming, punching a hole clean through the stone.
“Holy shit.”
“Told you it would help.” Rurik claps me on the shoulder. “Again. All of them. Fast as you can.”
I destroy seven stone pillars in under a minute. When the effects of the concentrate wear off, I collapse on the ground and stare at the sky, wondering when my life became this strange.
“Good instincts,” Rurik says, standing over me with that wild grin. “You’re terrifying, Fire-Bringer. In a good way.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is one.”
The fightwith Drayke happens on day ten.
I’m sparring with Zyphon—shadows versus fire, his darkness trying to smother my flames while I try to burn through his defenses—when I hear them. Drayke and Auren, standing at the edge of the training yard, voices low but not low enough.
“She’s not ready for field operations,” Auren says.
“Agreed.” Drayke’s voice is flat. Final. “She stays at the fortress when we track Veylor.”
The fire I’m channeling flares—a burst of heat that makes Zyphon pull back, shadows recoiling from sudden brightness.
“Selene.” Zyphon’s warning comes too late.
I’m already moving. Already crossing the training yard with fire licking at my fingertips and fury burning in my chest. Drayke turns as I approach, expression shifting from neutral to wary.
“I’m not ready?” The words come out sharper than I intend. “I’ve been training for two weeks. I’ve destroyed a Relic. I’ve survived rogue attacks and kidnapping and having my blood drained into a magic altar. But I’m not ready?”
“Your control is still inconsistent.” Drayke doesn’t back down. Doesn’t flinch. Just stands there with that immovable calm that makes me want to set him on fire. “In a controlled environment, you’re improving. In chaos, with real enemies?—”
“In chaos, I burned a Relic into dormancy.”
“You almost died doing it.”
“I almost died because I was captured and tortured, not because my control slipped!” I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin, close enough to see the tension in his jaw. “I won’t be just a mate on a leash, Drayke. Stuck in the fortress while you go off to fight, waiting to find out if you’re coming back alive.”
“I never suggested?—”
“Then let me fight beside you!” My voice echoes off the stone walls. Flame crackles around my clenched fists—controlled, focused, burning with everything I’m feeling. “Instead of protecting me from everything, let me protect myself. Let me protect you.”
His nostrils flare. The dragon prowling beneath his skin stirs—I can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way his eyes brighten with inner fire.
“You’re not ready.”
