When she finally breaks away, we’re both breathing harder. Her eyes are bright, her lips swollen from my kiss.
“Same goes for you, dragon.” Her thumb traces my lower lip, her gaze following the motion. “I didn’t come back from the dead just to lose you now.”
“You won’t lose me.” I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in. “I’ve waited a very long time to hold you again. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.” She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, and there’s something fierce in her expression—something that makes my chest ache with how much I love her. “Because after this is over, we have a lot of time to make up for.”
She kisses me again, quick and fierce, then steps back. “But first, we have a prince to kill and a Fire-Bringer to rescue.”
“Your priorities are impeccable.”
“I know.” She grabs a final blade—a throwing knife that she slides into her boot—and heads for the door. “Try to keep up.”
The Brotherhood mobilizes.
Fifty dragons. Every warrior we can spare without leaving the fortress completely undefended. It’s the largest force we’ve deployed since the war against Valdris, and as I watch them assemble in the main courtyard, I feel the weight of what we’re about to do.
This isn’t a rescue mission. It’s a declaration of war against the Shadow Clan—against Lakhu specifically, but againsteverything his family has built. If we fail, the repercussions will echo for generations. If we succeed...
If we succeed, we get Selene back. We end the threat to Nasyra. We finish what started three centuries ago on that blood-soaked altar.
The courtyard thrums with barely contained violence. Dragons check their armor, their weapons, their readiness for what’s to come. The air smells of smoke and anticipation—the scent of war, familiar after centuries of fighting.
Drayke addresses the assembled force, his voice carrying across the courtyard with the authority of centuries. “They have one of ours. They expect us to negotiate. To hesitate. To be afraid.” His fire flickers around his fists, controlled now but no less dangerous. “They’re about to learn what happens when you take from the Brotherhood.”
A roar goes up from the assembled dragons—voices raised in fury, in anticipation, in the promise of violence to come. The sound shakes the stones beneath my feet.
Nasyra stands beside me, her shadow-flame flickering in response to the energy around us. She looks up at me, and I see no fear in her face—only determination. Only the fierce, stubborn certainty that got her through weeks of manipulation and a lifetime of betrayal.
Gods, I love her.
The thought hits me with the force of a physical blow. Not the old love, the grief-stained memory of what we had. This love—new and fierce and terrifying in its intensity. The love of who she is now, not just who she was.
“Ready?” she asks.
I take her hand, threading my fingers through hers one last time before I shift, before we become weapons instead of people.
“Ready.”
All four brothers shift at once—the first time we’ve done so since Selene’s first rescue. Drayke’s massive bronze form, wings spreading wide, fire already licking from his scales. Rurik’s red-gold chaos, smaller but faster, built for destruction. Auren’s gleaming precision, every scale perfectly aligned, every movement calculated. And me—obsidian and shadow, the darkness that hunts in the spaces between light, the curse made manifest.
Nasyra climbs onto my back, settling between my wings, her fire warming the scales beneath her. The sensation is strange—intimate in a way I wasn’t expecting. Her thighs grip my sides, her hands find holds in my spines, and I feel her presence settle against my consciousness like a second heartbeat.
Aisling mounts behind Rurik, her expression grim and focused. The redhead says something that makes Rurik’s dragon rumble—probably a threat about what she’ll do if he flies recklessly. Knowing Aisling, it involves medical procedures and no anesthesia.
And then we’re rising—fifty dragons and two Fire-Bringers, ascending into a sky painted with the colors of approaching dusk. The wind catches my wings, lifts me higher, and I feel Nasyra’s grip tighten, her fire flaring with exhilaration.
Below us, the fortress grows smaller. Ahead, the forests that hide Lakhu’s stronghold wait in shadow.
Lakhu wanted war.
He’s about to get it.
TWENTY-FIVE
NASYRA
The stronghold rises from the trees like a wound in the world.
