Chapter 22
Ciaran
The portal shimmered in the cold night air, its edges rippling like dark silk. The wards pulsed faintly in my senses, a web of power strung tight. But they hadn’t accounted for someone like me—a Shadow Fae who lived in the spaces between.
As I stepped through, the world shifted. The familiar hum of Earth’s mundane energy was replaced by the electric pulse of something old, something alive. Dracara’s air carried the weight of ancient magic—thick and heady.
By right, I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not anymore.
But rights were for those who played by the rules. I’d stopped caring about those centuries ago.
The land of dragons unfolded before me. The main city rose in tiers, carved directly into the rolling hills and cliffs that dominated the landscape. Stone towers jutted into the sky, their surfaces weathered and moss-covered, yet solid as the mountains themselves. Timber-framed houses with steep, slate-tiled roofs lined cobblestone streets, their windows glowing faintly with warm, flickering light.
The timber-framed houses belonged to those few Supes who had been granted permission to live in Dracara. Scholars, historians, and mages provided intellectual stimulation for the dragons, offering knowledge, conversation, and insights into the ever-changing world beyond the city’s towering cliffs. Diplomats and emissaries from supernatural factions maintained embassies here, ensuring political ties remained strong between Dracara and the outside world.
Others served in more practical roles—craftsmen maintaining the infrastructure, farmers tending to livestock like goats for dragons who preferred fresh prey, and healers trained in both magic and medicine to mend injuries sustained in flight or battle.
Dragons roamed freely, their immense forms weaving through the skies and sprawling across courtyards. Their scales shimmered in hues both subdued and vibrant, catching the light of the setting sun. The air carried the sound of heavy wings beating against the wind, the low rumble of growls, and the occasional crackle of fire. It was a city built for them, not for the smaller beings that scurried at their feet.
This place had been my home once. Now, it was a reminder of everything I’d betrayed.
Not that I had any regrets.
Because now, everything I did was for her. My mate.
Just the thought of Tess sent a slow burn through my blood, a steady thrum of heat settling low in my gut. It wasn’t just desire—though that was ever-present. It was instinct, sharpened by purpose. She was the center of the storm, the force that pulled me forward, that made every risk, every deception, worth it. Even now, with danger pressing in on all sides, I welcomed the distraction of her in my mind. The way her scent clung to my skin, the way her voice curled around my name like a whispered invitation.
It made me sharper. More focused.
That was why I was here—to learn more about the chaos surrounding her. To ensure that no threat reached her without first going through me.
I ducked into a narrow alley between two towering stone buildings, their surfaces adorned with creeping ivy. My boots were soundless on the cobblestones, and the shadows clung to me like a second skin. My destination lay ahead.
Alarion’s manor was exactly as it always was—an architectural masterpiece of High Fae design, blending elegance with an undercurrent of restrained power. It stood tall and proud against the base of a hill, its stone walls gleaming faintly in the twilight.
The high fae wasn’t just an old friend—he was the Secretary of the Elder Council, a role that made him both invaluable and insufferable. His position granted him access to Dracara’s most guarded records, and while he officially served the Council, his true allegiance was far more fluid. Over the centuries, he'd proven himself a master of discretion.
I bypassed the main entrance, heading instead for the hidden side door. My hand pressed against the cool stone, and the ivy shifted, revealing a narrow passage that wasn’t visible to the untrained eye. The door opened soundlessly at my touch, the wards hesitating just long enough to acknowledge me.
The house was quiet, its polished wooden floors gleaming faintly in the dim light of a single enchanted lantern. I made my way to the guest suite Alarion always kept prepared for me. As he should, seeing as he was well compensated for being my main contact in Dracara. The bed was massive, draped in silken sheets that shimmered like moonlight, framed by intricately carved wood adorned with faintly glowing runes.
I dropped onto the bed without bothering to remove my boots, the soft mattress cradling me like a cloud. The tension in my muscles ebbed, and the shadows around me retreated, sinking back into the corners of the room as I fell asleep.
The smell of breakfast woke me—tea, fresh bread, and spiced meats. My stomach growled in response, a sharp reminder that I hadn’t eaten since crossing the portal. I pushed myself out of bed, cleaned up in the adjoined bathroom, and made my way to the dining room.
Alarion was already there, seated at an elegant table adorned with softly glowing runes. His opalescent eyes shifted to a pale lavender as I entered—a color I’d come to associate with mild amusement. “Ciaran,” he said, his voice polished and measured. “You look... rugged.”
I snorted, dropping into the chair across from him. “You mean disheveled.”
“Rugged sounds more flattering,” he replied with a smirk, lifting a teapot and pouring me a cup. “Careful. It’s enchanted. It might actually improve your mood.”
I took the cup without comment, letting the warmth seep into my hands. The tea had a faint, citrusy aroma, and I could feel the gentle hum of magic woven into it—a subtle spell designed to sharpen focus. I sipped cautiously, the bright flavors clearing the fog from my mind.
“Any updates?” I asked, cutting straight to the point.
Alarion leaned back in his chair, his silver hair catching the morning light. “Plenty. All of Dracara has been in a frenzy ever since the human bonded with a dragon. Tempest, isn’t it? Quite the name on everyone’s lips these days.”
The edge of his smirk made my jaw tighten.
Tess.
Her name coiled through me like a spell, potent and unavoidable.
“What’s the general sentiment?” I asked, keeping my voice even.
“Divided,” he said, slicing into a piece of spiced meat with casual precision. “Some see her as a sign of change, perhaps even progress. Others see her as an abomination. You can imagine which side is louder.”
I clenched my fist under the table, resisting the urge to snarl.
They will not touch her.
The growl rumbled in my chest, low and warning. My dragon side prowled at the edges of my control, restless and possessive.
“And the Elder Council?” I pressed.
“Those old dragons are playing their cards close to the chest,” Alarion replied with a dry chuckle, his tone laced with amusement. “As always. But it’s clear the leadership is rattled. A human bonded to a dragon? It’s unprecedented. They’re not sure whether to celebrate her as a miracle or lock her away as a threat.”
A low, protective rumble vibrated in my chest. Over our dead body.
I clenched my fists under the table, forcing myself to stay focused. Tess wasn’t just a pawn in this game—she was a spark that could ignite something far bigger than herself.
“And the Harbingers?” I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the tension coiling in my gut.
Alarion’s opalescent eyes darkened to a faint, stormy gray—a subtle sign of unease. “No word among my contacts,” he admitted. “Too quiet. Which is never a good thing. I’ve heard whispers of activity, but nothing concrete. If they’re planning something, they’re keeping it well-hidden.”
The Harbingers hadn’t been active for a long time—at least, that’s what most believed. I never trusted that. For centuries, I’d kept ears to the ground, waiting for the moment they resurfaced. Their silence wasn’t a reprieve. It was a warning.
And I couldn’t stand not knowing. Not when Tess was involved. Anything that posed a threat to her—I needed to dismantle it before it could ever reach her. Every whisper, every shadow, every fleeting rumor about the Harbingers had to be uncovered, dissected, and destroyed if necessary. She was mine—my mate, my reason—and I wouldn’t allow anything to touch her. Nothing except me.
I nodded, my fingers drumming lightly against the polished wood of the table.
“And you?” Alarion’s voice softened, his gaze sharpening as he leaned forward. “What are you planning, Ciaran? You didn’t risk sneaking into Dracara just to share breakfast with me.”
I smirked, though the expression didn’t quite reach my eyes. “You always see through me, don’t you?”
“It’s a gift,” he said, his smile faint but genuine. “So? Out with it.”
“I need access to the Elder Council’s secret library,” I said, keeping my voice low. “There’s something I need to confirm.”
Alarion’s eyebrows lifted, his eyes flashing with surprise—and something else. Worry, perhaps. “The secret library? Are you serious?”
“I don’t have a choice. I have questions, and the answers might be there.”
His expression turned grim. “And if you’re caught?”
I met his gaze, unflinching. “Then they’ll learn exactly how far I’m willing to go for her.”
Alarion sighed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
For a moment, silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken tension. Then Alarion leaned back in his chair, his expression softening just enough to reveal the edges of his exasperation. “You’re lucky I like you, Reaper.”
“Lucky,” I echoed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “That’s one word for it.”
???
The streets of Dracara bustled with life as I made my way toward the Elder Council building.
The towering stone structure loomed ahead, its architecture unmistakably designed with dragons in mind. Massive arched entrances allowed for easy access, while intricate carvings of ancient wyrms coiled around the pillars, their eyes inset with glowing gemstones. Wide terraces and reinforced ledges jutted out at various heights, providing ample space for dragons to perch.
Dragons lounged in the courtyards or soared above, their immense wings casting shifting shadows over the cobblestones. Supes moved purposefully through the city, some engaged in quiet conversations, others carrying enchanted artifacts or consulting tomes that shimmered with arcane script. The air thrummed with energy, a constant reminder of the realm’s ancient power.
As I passed a communal well, a group of young Supes stood nearby, their voices rising and falling in hushed excitement. Snippets of conversation drifted toward me—mentions of the "human Dragon Rider." Tempest. Even here, her name rippled through the currents of power.
They whisper of her as if she belongs to them. Fools. We will tear them apart, strip flesh from bone, and reduce all who challenge our claim.
I breathed with resolve before refocusing on my path.
Ahead, stationed before the grand entrance of the Elder Council building, loomed a pair of ancient dragons. Their scaled forms, massive and unyielding, radiated power and vigilance. Guardians of the Council, they were more than mere sentinels—they were a living testament to the authority within these walls. Their eyes flared amber, heads tilting ever so slightly. The air hissed through their nostrils as they shifted, muscles coiling beneath their armored hides.
A pause. A flicker of awareness.
Had they sensed something?