The days since Nasyra’s memories returned have been the closest thing to peace I’ve known.
She sleeps in my bed. Not every night—she still needs space sometimes, still has moments when the memories press too close and she needs to process alone. But more often than not, I fall asleep with her fire warming my shadows and wake to find her curled against my side, her dark hair spread across my pillow.
The nightmares have stopped. For both of us.
This morning, I woke to find her watching me with those mismatched eyes, a small smile playing at her lips. “You snore,” she informed me. “Did you know that? Three centuries of pining, and nobody thought to mention you snore.”
“I don’t snore.”
“You absolutely do. It’s like sleeping next to a very large, very cursed bear.” She kissed me before I could argue further, and I forgot what we were discussing entirely.
That was this morning. That was peace.
By midday, everything has changed.
I feelit before I hear it—a ripple through the fortress, a disturbance in the ambient magic that makes my shadows stir with unease.
Nasyra looks up from the book she’s been reading, her fire flickering in response to my tension. We’re in the library, her legs draped across my lap while she studies one of Auren’s texts on Shadow Clan history. A domestic scene. Normal. The kind of moment I’d convinced myself I’d never have.
“What is it?”
“Something’s wrong.” I’m already moving, lifting her legs gently and setting them aside. “Stay here.”
“Like hell.” She’s on her feet before I can argue, shadow-flame already gathering at her fingertips. “Where you go, I go. Remember?”
I want to argue. Want to keep her safe, hidden, protected from whatever is coming. But she’s right—and more than that, I’ve learned my lesson. Keeping her away from danger didn’t save her the first time. It just meant she faced it alone.
“Stay close.”
We move through the corridors together, and I reach for her hand without thinking. Her fingers thread through mine, her fire warming my palm. Even now, even with danger prickling at the edges of my awareness, the contact steadies me.
The screaming starts before we reach the main hall.
Not screaming.Roaring.
Drayke stands in the center of the great hall, and the stone beneath his feet is cracking. Fire pours from his skin in uncontrolled waves, scorching the walls, melting the iron fixtures, filling the air with heat so intense, it’s hard to breathe. His eyes blaze with something beyond fury—something primal and desperate and barely sane.
Rurik has his arms wrapped around Drayke from behind, trying to restrain him. Auren stands in front, hands raised, speaking in low, urgent tones. Neither of them is making progress. The Guardian King is beyond reason.
“Selene.” Nasyra’s grip tightens on my hand. “Where’s Selene?”
The answer comes from Aisling, who appears at our side with her face pale and her jaw set. “Taken. They were on patrol—routine sweep of the eastern perimeter. Shadow dragons ambushed them, came from every direction at once. Drayke fought through, but by the time he reached her?—“
“She was gone.” The words taste like ash.
“They left a message.” Aisling’s voice is steady, but I can see the fear beneath it. “Burned into the ground where she’d been standing. ‘The weapon in exchange for the queen. Sunset tomorrow.’”
Lakhu. Of course, it’s Lakhu. He’s been waiting for exactly this moment—waiting for us to let our guard down, to focus on Nasyra’s recovery instead of his movements. And now he has leverage.
“Drayke.” I release Nasyra’s hand and step toward my brother, letting my shadows rise to meet his flames. “Drayke, look at me.”
He doesn’t seem to hear. His fire surges higher, cracking more stones, and Rurik grunts with the effort of holding him. The claiming bond must be screaming through Drayke’s head—wrongness where Selene should be, absence where he’s used tofeeling her presence. I’ve seen mated dragons lose their partners before. The grief can drive them mad.
“She’s alive.” I pitch my voice to cut through his rage. “If Lakhu wanted her dead, he wouldn’t have left a message. He needs her as leverage. That means we have time.”
Something flickers in Drayke’s eyes. Recognition, maybe. Or the first crack in the fury consuming him.
“He has her.” The words come out guttural, barely human. “He has my mate.”
