We have fifty-five minutes before we’re expected in the war room. Fifty-five minutes before the reality of four Relics and shadow creatures and witch covens crashes back down on us. Fifty-five minutes of peace in a world that’s about to get very, very complicated.
I make every minute count.
When we finally walk intothe war room—exactly on time, despite Auren’s skeptical look—the Brotherhood is waiting.
Zyphon stands by the window, shadows curling around him with restless energy. He’s already preparing to hunt the creatures that bear his curse, and nothing any of us said convinced him to take backup. Rurik sprawls in his usual chair, but his eyes are sharp, focused—the warrior beneath the joker ready for whatever comes. Auren has added more markers to the map overnight, each one representing a potential threat or ally.
And Drayke—my mate, my dragon, my partner in everything—takes his place at the head of the table with me at his side.
“Status report,” Drayke says, his hand finding mine under the table as naturally as breathing.
Auren launches into updates: scout positions, intelligence gathered, potential Fire-Bringer bloodlines identified in three territories. Rurik adds his own observations—supply routes, defensive weak points, places where we might establish safe houses for the women we’re trying to protect.
I listen, absorbing information, mentally cataloging details that might prove useful later. This is my life now. War rooms and dragon politics and battles against forces I barely understand. It should terrify me. Probably would terrify the woman I was a month ago.
But that woman didn’t have fire in her blood. Didn’t have a claiming mark over her heart. Didn’t have three overprotective dragon brothers-in-law and a mate who would burn down the world to keep her safe.
That woman was alone.
I’m not.
“Selene.” Auren’s voice pulls me back to the present. “You mentioned alliance-building. I’ve compiled a list of covens that might be approached. I’d value your input on strategy.”
Four months ago, I was working a dead-end job and fighting with my landlord over water damage. Now I’m being consulted on inter-species diplomatic relations by an ancient dragon warrior.
Life is weird.
“Show me what you’ve got.” I lean forward, studying the names Auren has listed. “And someone get me more coffee. This is going to take a while.”
Rurik grins. Zyphon’s shadows ripple with amusement. Auren’s mouth twitches in what might—might—be the beginning of a smile.
And Drayke—Drayke looks at me with so much pride and love and fierce possessive joy that my heart actually hurts.
“Welcome to the Brotherhood,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. “Officially.”
“I thought I was already official.”
“You were my mate. Now you’re their strategist.” His thumb traces circles on my palm. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there a ceremony? A secret handshake? Do I get a cool title?”
“You get the honor of listening to Auren drone about logistics for the next four hours.”
“Thrilling.”
“It’s a glamorous life, being a dragon’s mate.”
“Wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
And I mean it. Every terrifying, exhilarating, impossible moment. Every battle we’ve fought and every war we’re preparing to wage. Every quiet morning in his arms and every starlit promise on fortress balconies.
I squeeze Drayke’s hand under the table. He squeezes back—steady, certain, forever mine.
Let them come.
We’ll burn them all.
TWENTY-ONE
