Instinct takes over. My Bloodfire flares, hot and sharp, bracing my muscles before my mind fully catches up. My pulse roars in my ears as adrenaline floods my system, fear and focus colliding into something electric and feral. My hands curl, magic coiling tight, already reaching for threats that aren’t there.
Not here.
Not now.
I spin toward the sound and run. My boots pound against concrete as I race for the back lot, my breath burning, every sense stretched too tight. The air tastes scorched, thick with ash and ozone. With each step, the heat intensifies, pressing against my skin as an invisible wall.
I burst into the open and skid to a halt.
Scorched earth spreads out before me in a vast, blackened crater, concrete fractured and smoking. At the center of it stands Scorch, dragon fire still rolling off him in shimmering waves, heat distorting the air so badly the world around him bends and warps like a mirage. The power radiating from him is immense, barely contained, furious, and incandescent.
Ronan stands at his side, smaller but no less dangerous, eyes glowing with that eerie leprechaun shimmer. He’s perfectly still,head tilted slightly as if listening to something only he can hear, fingers twitching while he traces invisible probability veins in the air. The luck magic around him hums, taut but restless, reality itself subtly adjusting under his influence.
My heart is still hammering too fast, my Bloodfire buzzing under my skin, but I force myself to slow, to see instead of react.
This is what Oracle warned me about.
Chaos invites panic.
Panic invites loss of control.
I draw in a steadying breath, grounding myself as the heat ripples across my face and the aftermath of the explosion settles into something tense and expectant.
Whatever just went off wasn’t an accident.
And whatever comes next is already in motion.
“There!” Ronan points.
Scorch releases controlled flame. Fire burrows into the earth, and I hear metal singing. Gold conducts heat. Copper channels energy.
“Luck-bent explosive traps,” Ronan grins. “I find the probability veins where chance runs thickest. Scorch superheats them into trigger points.”
“When Viktor’s vampires step on them…” Scorch adds, smoke curling from his nostrils, “… luck inverts. Small blasts become catastrophic. Misses become perfect hits.”
Another explosion, controlled and devastating.
They’re weaponizingpossibility.
Letting out a relieved sigh, I ease my magic and leave them to it. As I turn back toward the clubhouse, a shape moves along the perimeter, slow and deliberate, like a shadow that’s shifting with purpose.
My steps falter.
The air thickens, pressure settling at the base of my skull, designed to be feared. Every instinct I have lights up at once, ahardwired scream that says predator, that urges me to turn, to run, to put distance between myself and whatever just slid into my awareness. My pulse jumps, breath catching as dread coils tight in my chest, cold and suffocating.
Then I spot him.
Dread.
Patrolling the perimeter with quiet precision, fear rolls off him in invisible waves that scrape against my nerves. I grit my teeth and force myself forward, pushing through the instinct to flee, reminding myself that the terror isn’t meant for me.
Not this time.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he says without turning.
“Neither should you.”
His eyes hold a faint gold-white, godform bleeding through. “I’m keeping humans away. My fear pushes them back instinctively.”
