Finn moves to my side, his eyes tracking the diagrams with that same focus he uses when hunting. We arrive at the same conclusion simultaneously.
"The convergence point." Declan studies the diagrams. "Which means he needs both of you alive until the ritual. Everything has to be perfect for the working to succeed."
Fire blooms in the cave entrance.
Mikhail materializes from flames that don't burn the stone they touch. Phoenix magic defying natural law. He's tall, dark-haired, achingly beautiful in the way immortal creatures often are portrayed. His eyes settle on me with the clinical assessment of a researcher examining a promising specimen.
"Found my workspace?" Cultured refinement makes the words more chilling than any threat. "I've been perfecting this for centuries. Every variable accounted for. Every contingency planned."
Finn moves between us instantly. Fury and protective rage barely contained beneath human skin.
Mikhail's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Your new mate adapts well. For a newborn. Let's see if she dies as beautifully as Saoirse."
The Brotherhood moves into combat formation, but Mikhail just laughs. Fire explodes around him in a barrier that would incinerate anything that touches it.
Finn shifts. Thunder cracks as man becomes dragon, crimson scales gleaming in the firelight. He lunges at Mikhail, but the phoenix dissolves into flame, reforming near the entrance.
"Not yet, old friend." Mikhail studies his fingernails with affected boredom. "Tomorrow night. The convergence point where three ley lines meet." His eyes find mine. "Bring your fledgling dragon. I promise it will be educational."
Then he's gone. The fire consumes itself, leaving only ash and smoke and the scent of burned ozone.
My legs steady despite adrenaline flooding my system. Finn shifts beside me, already positioning himself between me and where Mikhail stood.
Fury burns across the bond. And underneath it, cold calculation. Mikhail chose to reveal the timeline. Which means he's confident enough in his preparation that our knowing changes nothing.
Or he wants us to know. Wants us to come to the convergence point. Wants us both there, together, bonded and strong and ready to die in exactly the configuration his ritual requires.
We return to the cliffs near Finn's cave where the Brotherhood has established defensive positions. Declan coordinates surveillance patterns. Kian tracks phoenix scent signatures across the northern headlands. Rafe shadow-walks between potential approach vectors. Grayson stands ready to intercept any advance threats.
And Finn takes me through aerial maneuvers—banking, diving, using thermals to gain altitude. The mechanics come naturally through dragon instinct, but precision requires repetition. I run drill after drill, testing limits, pushing my new body to understand exactly what it can do.
Pride radiates across the bond as he watches. And beneath it, fear that it won't be enough. Absolute certainty that he'll die before he lets Mikhail take me.
I land beside him as the sun climbs toward noon. Hours as a dragon. Less than a day. And tomorrow I face an enemy who's spent centuries planning this moment.
Clarity arrives with devastating precision. We're not ready.
I watch the sun climb higher. My muscles ache from training. My dragon is barely a day old. Mikhail has spent lifetimes preparing for this.
Tomorrow night, we fight anyway.
CHAPTER 13
FINN
The next afternoon, the sun hangs heavy in the sky and I watch Lila run aerial drills while Grayson observes from the cliffs below.
She banks left, adjusts wing angle, and compensates for wind shear. Less than a day as a dragon and she's already adapting faster than any newly turned shifter I've witnessed in millennia. The scientist mind serves her well—she treats flight mechanics like data to be analyzed, tested, perfected through repetition.
Grayson watches from ground level, to provide tactical assessment from a different perspective. He can see approach angles I miss when I'm flying beside her. The bear's patient instruction has been useful—he spots vulnerabilities in her defensive positioning that dragon instinct makes me overlook.
Tonight is the ritual—Mikhail's convergence point ceremony. We've spent the past day preparing, drilling, making Lila combat-ready on an impossible timeline. She's strong, adapting fast, but two days isn't enough time to face an enemy who's had centuries to plan.
I spy my phone vibrating on the rocks below where I left it. I fly down and shift. A swipe across the screen with my finger reveals it’s Declan.
"Talk."
"Flynn's Inn. Now." His voice carries the flat urgency that means blood has been spilled. "Moira's gone."
