“Your people have been preparing for this type of fight longer than you think,” Evelina continued, her eyes never leaving his face. “They’re strong, Damon. Stronger than you’ve given them credit for. They don’t need you to save them—they need you to trust them to save themselves while you do what only you can do.”
Below them, the battle raged on. But as Damon watched, he began to see what Evelina meant. His clan wasn’t just defending—they were coordinating, working together with a precision that spoke of long practice. They’d been preparing for this possibility, planning for the day their distant Alpha might not be there to lead the charge.
They were magnificent.
Isla.He tried again, pouring everything he had into the mental call.I’m coming. Hold on.
This time, something flickered. Not her voice, not even a coherent thought, but a whisper of presence, faint as a dying ember but unmistakably her.
“She’s alive,” he breathed, relief flooding through him like a tidal wave.
Evelina smiled, fierce and proud. “Then go get her.”
Damon pulled his aunt into a fierce embrace, breathing in her familiar scent. “If anything happens to you while I’m gone?—”
“Nothing will happen,” she said firmly, pulling back to meet his eyes. “We’ve survived worse than Veyrik’s games. Go. Bring Isla home.”
Damon stepped back, his body already beginning the shift. Heat raced along his spine as his human form dissolved, his muscles expanding and reshaping, his bones lengthening and strengthening. His clothes tore apart as his obsidian scales erupted across his skin like liquid shadow.
Within seconds, his massive dragon form stood where the man had been, his wings spread wide enough to cast shadows over both Evelina and Mikal. His molten green eyes fixed on the horizon, every sense straining for any trace of his mate.
Isla, I’m coming for you now,he promised as he launched himself skyward with a thunderous beat of his wings.
The wind beneath his wings carried him away from the battle, away from his people’s fight, toward an unknown destination and an uncertain fate. But for the first time since Kaelith’s betrayal was revealed, Damon felt something other than fear.
He felt purpose.
THIRTY-SIX
ISLA
The world tilted sideways as Kaelith’s arms lifted Isla from the SUV’s leather seat, her body limp as a rag doll despite her mind screaming in protest. Whatever they’d injected her with had turned her muscles to liquid, leaving her trapped inside her own skin.
Move,she commanded her limbs.Fight him. Do something.
Nothing. Not even her fingers would twitch.
The salty tang of ocean air hit her nostrils as Kaelith carried her toward the rhythmic slap of waves against a dock. Through her peripheral vision, she caught glimpses of a sleek yacht bobbing in the harbor, its white hull gleaming under the afternoon sun like a predator’s tooth.
They’re taking me to Crimson Ridge.
The realization crashed over her with sickening certainty. They were taking her back to Veyrik’s territory, where he held every advantage, where Damon would be walking into a trap if he came for her—when he came for her.
Her heart hammered as Kaelith’s footsteps echoed hollow on the wooden dock. Would they kill her outright, or use her as bait to lure Damon into whatever twisted game Veyrik was playing? Neither scenario offered much comfort.
“Easy now,” Kaelith murmured, his voice carrying none of the warmth she’d grown accustomed to. “Almost there.”
The boat swayed beneath them as Kaelith stepped aboard, and Isla fought a wave of nausea as he made his way below deck. Kaelith soon deposited her onto a small bed with surprising gentleness, arranging her limbs as if she were made of porcelain. The mattress dipped under her weight, and she found herself staring at the ceiling while her body refused to obey even the simplest commands.
“Please... let me... go.” Each syllable took monumental effort, her tongue thick and uncooperative. “Kaelith... you can... still...”
Something flickered across his angular features—a crack in the cold mask he’d worn since grabbing her. For a heartbeat, she glimpsed the man who’d joked with her about dragon politics, who’d walked her to Damon’s beach house with easy humor.
“You don’t understand,” he said quietly, but his bright blue eyes couldn’t quite meet hers. “It’s too late for?—”
“No.” The word came out stronger, fueled by desperation. “Remember... the good... about Damon. Your friendship...”
Kaelith’s jaw tightened, and she saw the war playing out across his face. Whatever Veyrik had promised him, whatever resentment had festered between him and Damon, it was battling against decades of genuine brotherhood.
