I think about his eyes. The way they’d flashed with that otherworldly light. The heat that rolled off him in waves. The predatory grace of his movements.
Dragon bloodlines, Grandma’s journal had said. They walk among us, hidden in plain sight.
No. That’s insane. He’s just a man. A weird, intense, frustratingly attractive man who lives in the woods and makes cryptic threats.
Another roar splits the air, followed by a crash that shakes the cabin walls.
I grip the bat tighter and wait.
An hour passes.Then two.
The sounds from the forest fade. The birds start singing again. Sunlight creeps across the cabin floor, marking time in golden stripes.
I pace. I check the windows. I read more of Grandma’s journals, searching for anything that might explain what I’ve stumbled into.
The Guardians protect our kind,one entry reads.They are the warriors, the protectors, the ones who stand between our world and those who would destroy it. They are dangerous, yes. But they are necessary.
Guardians. Is that what he is?
I flip to another page.
Fire-Bringers are rare. Most go their whole lives without knowing what they are, their power dormant, their blood unremarkable. But when a Fire-Bringer awakens—when they find their dragon—everything changes.
Their dragon.
I close the journal and stare at the door. A knock rattles the wood.
I’m on my feet instantly, bat raised, heart hammering. “Who’s there?”
“Open the door.” That deep voice, rough and commanding. The mountain man. “It’s safe. For now.”
I hesitate. Every sensible instinct screams at me to keep the door closed, to wait until he leaves, to barricade myself inside until help arrives.
But help isn’t coming. He was right about that much. No cell signal. No landline. No way out except on foot through monster-infested woods.
I move the chair. Undo the deadbolt. Open the door.
He’s standing on the porch, looking like he just fought through hell and won. There’s blood on his forearm—his own or something else’s, I can’t tell—and a fresh tear in his shirt. His hair is disheveled, his breathing slightly uneven.
But his eyes are clear. Focused. Fixed on me with an intensity that makes my stomach drop.
“You’re hurt.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“It’s nothing.” He dismisses the blood with a glance. “You need to leave this mountain. Today.”
“My car is dead.”
A flicker of something crosses his face. “I’ll take you to the main road. There’s a town fifteen miles south. You can get help there.”
“And if I don’t want to leave?”
He goes very still. “Then you’re a fool.”
“Maybe.” I lean against the door frame, refusing to be intimidated. “But this cabin belongs to me now. My grandmother left it to me. And according to her journals, I’m something called a Fire-Bringer, which apparently makes mevaluable to whatever creatures are stalking these woods.” I cross my arms. “So unless you want to explain what’s actually going on—what you are, what they are, why everyone seems so interested in my blood—I’m not going anywhere.”
He stares at me for a long moment. Something shifts in his expression—frustration, respect, something darker I can’t name.
“You’re stubborn.”
