The Brotherhood is mobilizing for war. A war that might span years. Decades. Longer.
I slip away while the brothers argue over resource allocation, needing air. Needing space to process everything we’ve learned.
The fortress balcony has become my favorite escape. High enough that the wind carries away the weight of responsibility, far enough from the war room that I can pretend, for a moment, that the world isn’t falling apart around us.
Stars scatter across the sky—more than I’ve ever seen, unpolluted by city lights. The moon hangs full and heavy, casting silver light across the mountains. Beautiful. Peaceful. A lie told by the universe to make the darkness bearable.
A month ago, I was driving a dying Honda Civic up a mountain road to claim an inheritance I didn’t understand. A month ago, my biggest worry was whether my savings would lastthrough the winter. A month ago, I didn’t know dragons existed, didn’t know magic ran in my blood, didn’t know that ancient artifacts required Fire-Bringer blood to wake.
A month ago, I didn’t know what it felt like to be claimed. To be loved. To be part of something bigger than myself.
The balcony door opens behind me. I don’t turn—don’t need to. The warmth that wraps around my awareness tells me exactly who’s approaching.
Drayke’s arms circle my waist from behind, pulling my back against his chest. His chin settles on top of my head, and for a long moment, we just breathe together. Watching the stars. Feeling each other’s heartbeats.
“You slipped away.”
“Needed to think.” I cover his hands with mine, lacing our fingers over my stomach. “It’s a lot to process. Four Relics. Shadow creatures. Witch covens. The entire scope of what we’re facing...”
“Terrifying?”
“Overwhelming.” I tilt my head back against his shoulder, looking up at the stars. “Not long ago, I was worried about student loans. Now I’m planning wars against ancient evils that want to drain my blood for magical artifacts. The adjustment period has been... steep.”
His laugh rumbles through both of us. “You’ve handled it better than anyone I’ve known.”
“I’ve had good teachers.” I turn in his arms, facing him. In the moonlight, his features are carved from silver and shadow—sharp jaw, full mouth, eyes that glow with banked fire. Beautiful. Dangerous. Mine. “And a very persuasive dragon who kept saving my life until I agreed to let him claim me.”
“I seem to remember you being the one who demanded I claim you.” His hands settle on my hips, thumbs tracing circles against the fabric of my shirt.
“I have a flair for drama.”
“You have a flair for giving me heart attacks.” He dips his head, pressing his forehead to mine. “Every time you put yourself in danger. Every time you suggest using yourself as bait. Every time you look at a threat and decide to face it head-on instead of running.”
“Running’s never been my style.”
“I’ve noticed.” His voice drops, roughening. “It drives my dragon insane. The need to protect you. The knowledge that you won’t let me.”
“I let you protect me plenty.” I slide my hands up his chest, feeling his heat through his shirt. “I just won’t let you protect me instead of fighting beside you. There’s a difference.”
“A frustrating one.”
“You love it.”
“I love you.” The words come out easy now—natural, after weeks of saying them in training yards and war rooms and the quiet darkness of our shared chambers. “The frustration is just part of the package.”
I rise to kiss him—soft at first, then deeper as his hands slide around my back, pulling me closer. The claiming mark pulses warmly between us, a reminder of everything we are to each other. Everything we’ve survived. Everything we’re building.
When we break apart, I’m breathless. His eyes are glowing—dragon fire stirring beneath the surface.
“I don’t know what’s coming.” The admission slips out before I can stop it. “The Relics. The shadow creatures. The witch covens. Whatever’s coordinating all of this. I don’t know if we can win. If anyone can win against something this big.”
He cups my face in both hands, tilting my head up until I’m drowning in amber fire.
“We’ll face it.” His voice is absolute. Certain. The voice of a king who’s led his brothers through centuries of war and comeout the other side intact. “Whatever comes. Whatever threatens. We face it. And we don’t stop fighting until the threat is ash at our feet.”
“Promise?”
“Selene.” He says my name the way he says everything—with weight, with meaning, with the full force of four hundred years behind it. “I have spent centuries fighting alone. Watching my brothers fight alone. Carrying burdens that no one else could share because no one else could understand.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “And then you walked into my territory with a dead car and a bad attitude, and everything changed.”
