SELENE
The great hall is a tomb.
Centuries of dust coat every surface. Broken furniture lies scattered across the stone floor. Moonlight streams through shattered windows, casting pale beams across the destruction. And at the far end, standing before a crumbling throne, Veylor waits.
He looks worse than I remember. The wing I’d watched Zyphon’s shadows tear is still missing, the wound scarred over but clearly not healed. Burns cover half his face—marks from our battle at his fortress—and his eyes have the wild, desperate gleam of a cornered animal.
“Guardian King.” His voice is a rasp, broken and bitter. “Come to finish what you started?”
“You started this.” Drayke’s hand releases mine, and he steps forward, dragon fire crackling beneath his skin. “When you attacked my territory. When you tried to take my mate. When you spilled her blood for your relic.”
“Your mate.” Veylor’s laugh is ugly, broken. “The Fire-Bringer who should have been my weapon. Do you know how long I searched for her bloodline? How many years I spent tracking the Ward family, waiting for the power to manifest?”
Cold slides down my spine. “You knew about me. Before I even knew what I was.”
“I knew about your grandmother. Watched her die, actually.” His smile is poison. “She was too old to be useful, but I made sure she knew—before the end—that her granddaughter would serve my purposes eventually.”
Fire explodes from my hands before I can think, before I can breathe. Grief and rage and power pour out of me in a torrent of flame that turns the air to glass.
Veylor barely dodges, shifting into his damaged dragon form. Even wounded, he’s fast. Even dying, he’s dangerous.
But not dangerous enough.
Drayke shifts, bronze scales erupting, and the two dragons clash in a storm of fire and fury. Claws rake across scales. Teeth snap at throats. They crash through pillars and walls, destruction raining down around them.
I don’t stand idle. Every time Veylor tries to break away, I’m there with fire—cutting off escape routes, forcing him back toward Drayke. We fight as a unit now, mate and Fire-Bringer, our movements synchronized without words.
Veylor screams in frustration, lashing out with poisoned claws that scrape across Drayke’s shoulder. Blood steams in the air, and my heart lurches—but Drayke doesn’t slow. Doesn’t falter. Just roars with renewed fury and drives Veylor back.
“You can’t win!” Veylor’s voice is half-roar, half-shriek. “Kill me and another will take my place! The Relics will wake! The Fire-Bringers will burn! Everything you love will?—”
My fire takes him in the side, cutting off his rant. Not enough to kill—but enough to make him stumble.
“You talk too much,” I say.
Veylor is desperate—fighting with the savage intensity of a creature that knows it’s going to die. But Drayke is stronger.Faster. Fueled by centuries of discipline and weeks of rage that’s been building since the moment Veylor touched me.
Zyphon’s shadows snake across the floor, binding Veylor’s remaining wing. The one-winged dragon screams, thrashing against the darkness, and Drayke strikes.
His jaws close around Veylor’s throat.
One savage twist.
The crack of bones echoes through the great hall.
Veylor’s body goes limp. Drayke releases him, lets the corpse crumple to the stone floor, and shifts back to human form. Blood covers his chest—Veylor’s, not his own—and his eyes still burn with dragon fire.
For a long moment, no one moves. The only sound is our breathing and the distant crackle of flames.
“It’s done.” His voice is rough, raw. “He’s dead.”
I cross the distance between us and throw my arms around him, not caring about the blood or the destruction or the corpse cooling behind us. He’s alive. We’re alive. The bastard who tried to use me as a weapon is finally, irrevocably dead.
“It’s over,” I whisper against his chest.
His arms tighten around me. “This battle is over. The war is just beginning.”
“I know.” I pull back enough to look at him—my dragon, my mate, my partner in everything. “But we’ll face it. Like we face everything.”
