“So the fight never ends.”
“No.” His forehead touches mine. “But we don’t fight alone. Not anymore.”
The claiming mark pulses warm against my chest. Drayke’s heartbeat echoes in my bones—steady, certain, forever mine.
“Partners,” I say. Not a question. A statement.
“Partners.” His agreement is a promise. “Whatever comes. Whatever threatens.”
“Then bring it on.” I rise onto my toes, press my mouth to his. The kiss is slow, deep, tasting of fire and sweat and the future we’re building, battle by battle, day by day. His hands slide down my back, pulling me flush against him until I can feel every hard line of his body, every beat of his heart.
“I love you.” The words slip out between kisses, natural as breathing. “In case that wasn’t clear.”
He goes still. Then his grip tightens, and when he pulls back to look at me, his eyes are burning—not with dragon fire, but with something deeper. Softer. More devastating.
“It was clear.” His voice is rough. “But I’ll never tire of hearing it.”
“Good. Because I plan to say it often. Mostly when I’m beating you in training, just to distract you.”
His laugh rumbles through both of us. “That’s cheating.”
“That’s strategy.” I grin against his mouth. “Now. I’m ready. Prove it.”
His growl vibrates against my lips. “Prove it?”
“Prove I’m ready. Come at me, Guardian King. Full strength.”
I do.
And when I take him down three moves later—fire pinning his wrists, knee against his chest, grin spreading across my face—his laughter echoes through the training yard. Wild. Free. Proud.
“That’s my Fire-Bringer.”
“Damn right, I am.”
TWENTY
SELENE
The war room has never been this chaotic.
Maps cover every surface—not just the central table, but the walls, the floor, scrolls piled in corners waiting to be examined. Reports from scouts across three territories have been pouring in for days, each one worse than the last. Drayke stands at the head of the table, jaw tight, hands braced against the wood as he studies the markings Auren has made.
I’m tucked against his side, his arm around my waist even as he works. It’s become natural over the past weeks—the constant contact, the way we gravitate toward each other without thinking. The Brotherhood has stopped commenting on it. Mostly.
“Four confirmed locations.” Auren’s voice is flat, clinical, but I catch the tension beneath it. “Four Dominion Relics scattered across the territories. The one we sealed was the smallest.”
“The smallest?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. “That thing nearly killed us. Nearly controlled every dragon in range. And you’re telling me it was the smallest?”
“The weakest, more accurately.” Auren taps one of the map markers—a location far to the east, deep in mountainous terrain. “This one, according to our sources, could control dragonsacross an entire continent. If awakened with enough Fire-Bringer blood.”
Drayke’s arm tightens around me. A low growl rumbles in his chest.
“So this is just the beginning.” I stare at the map, at the four red markers scattered across territories I’ve never seen, never even heard of. “Veylor wasn’t working alone. He was part of something bigger.”
“First of many battles.” Zyphon’s voice drifts from the shadows. He’s been quieter than usual today—darker, if that’s possible. His shadows writhe around him with unusual agitation. “The rogues we’ve been fighting weren’t random attacks. They were tests. Probing our defenses while the real threats gathered strength.”
“What real threats?” Rurik leans forward, all traces of his usual humor gone. “Veylor’s forces were decimated. He barely escaped with his life.”
