Rurik is on his feet, body coiled, the warrior replacing the man who’d been about to kiss me.
“How many total?”
“Uncertain. Could be scouts. Could be a patrol. Marcus is shadowing them now.”
“We engage?”
“We observe. If they haven’t spotted us?—“
They keep talking, strategizing, planning. But I’m frozen in place, fingertips pressed to my lips where his thumb just traced.
So near. We were so near.
Selene appears at the edge of the clearing. Her gaze finds mine, flicks to Rurik, then back to me. Understanding dawns on her face.
She makes a hand signal I haven’t seen before.
I shake my head.What?
She points at me, then at Rurik, then makes a slow, exaggerated gesture of explosion.
Interrupted.
I nod, something between frustration and hysteria bubbling in my chest.
She smiles. It’s sympathetic and knowing and entirely too amused for the circumstances.
Later,she signs.There’s always later.
I hope she’s right.
The rogues turnout to be scouts—three young dragons on patrol, easily avoided with a wide detour that adds two hours to our journey. Marcus returns with a full report: no indication they spotted us, no alarm raised. Our guards handled the situation with quiet competence, slipping through the night without leaving a trace.
We fly until dawn, putting distance between ourselves and any further patrols.
I lean against Rurik’s scales, letting his warmth seep into my bones. The almost-kiss plays on loop in my mind—his thumb on my lip, his voice cracking on my name, the way he looked at me like I was something precious.
Later,Selene had signed.There’s always later.
I’m going to hold her to that.
By morning, the eastern mountains rise before us—dark and jagged and wrong in a way I can’t explain. The air feels different here. Heavier. Older.
I know this place.
The realization hits me in the gut. My grip tightens on Rurik’s neck, nails digging into scales.
He rumbles beneath me—questioning, concerned.
“I’m fine,” I manage. Then, because I’m done pretending: “Actually, no. I’m terrified. But I’m still going.”
His rumble shifts to something warmer. Proud. His wing tilts slightly, adjusting our path so I’m shielded from the cold wind.
The mountain looms ahead. Black stone against a bruised sky. Somewhere inside, Valdris waits.
And somewhere in my blood, I feel her calling.
Little Fire-Bringer. You came back to me.
