Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Page Eight. My wife is furious, and she won’t listen to reason. She fears losing me, but how can I tell her she lost me the day our daughter was born a slave?
I t takes me five days to be able to leave my room and to convince Calix, Luna and Hettie that I’m well enough to sit through a meeting. It’s been five long days where even getting out of bed is a struggle, but in my dreams, I’ve seen Ziven. He isn’t dead. I know it in my soul, even if I can’t sense where he is, but my dreams are the tokens of hope I let myself hold on to. I need them; otherwise, I’m alone in the darkness. I’m without Ziven…who made the darkness home.
Healers come twice a day, trying their best, but they’re nothing like Ruelle, and they don’t have the natural power to fully heal. We lost nearly all the healers in the fight, and the ones who remain were in training. They’re not skilled enough to fix my wounds, but they managed to save my life. Without the healing water from the mansion, these injuries take a lot longer to heal. I’d forgotten how vulnerable I was—almost took it for granted.
Calix and Avaluna are with me as I walk toward a hut where they tell me Daegan is staying. He’s called a meeting, a war plan—the first one—and I have to be there for the Moon Dynasty. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” Calix asks again, looking close to picking me up and carrying me back to the hut to rest more. I glare at him, wordlessly warning him not to try it.
“I’m fine,” I repeat. I want to be mad at him, but he is just trying to protect me. He keeps calling me his queen, and I know in his mind, it’s how he sees me. I’m not even mated to Ziven, and I’m not sworn into the Moon Dynasty yet. “I could literally run around the block and be completely fine.” Not a total lie. I’d be close to passing out and likely sweating a bunch if I tried to do that. Calix only shakes his head at my sort-of lie. We both know the stitches have just come out and running would pop my wound back open, I’d bet. “Anyway, my main issue is Maeve. I want to see her.”
Avaluna touches my arm, her eyes sympathetic. “Is she on her feet yet?”
“Yes and no. She isn’t flying, but another dragon is feeding her, apparently.” I sigh. “She keeps talking to me daily but avoiding most conversation on her wing.”
“I can hear you,” Maeve grumbles. “I could fly if I wanted to.”
“I’m just as bad a liar as you, it seems,” I mutter back to my dragon.
Calix rubs his chin. “Dragon healing can take weeks. She’s still got a massive tear down her wing. My own dragon told me, but he is being strange. In fact, all the dragons are strange with their riders at the moment.”
“Maybe they are tired of the deaths of their kind and their riders?” Avaluna ponders. “We mourn, and they must too.”
Etena opens the door to the Sun Dynasty hut, where Daegan and his closest people are living. It’s on the opposite side of the town from my hut and the Moon Dynasty people. She looks at Calix first, then Avaluna before her eyes settle on me. She nods her head toward me in greeting. “You didn’t die, then. I would even go so far as to say it is good to see you alive after my king nearly sacrificed himself to save you.” Her usual sharpness snaps through. She’s always so lovely to me.
“Where is he?” I ask, skipping the verbal sparring match she’s clearly looking for. Her overprotectiveness knows no bounds when it comes to Daegan. She steps aside and I head into the massive hut, which is ten times bigger than mine and much warmer too. It’s sparsely decorated, with tapestries falling off the walls and a fireplace made of greenstone, with a roaring fire within it that makes the room smell like smoke. The fabric hanging off the walls is ripped and faded, showing no discernible picture of what they might have once been. In the centre of the room is a cluster of tables shoved together, and they are smothered with maps, candles holding the edges down and little green stone figures of castles, dragons and people. Daegan is sitting in one of the chairs, wearing green clothes that match the locals, and he looks tired, staring at the map. I look down at my own dark green, long-sleeved tunic, tied with a rope around my waist, and under I have on thin, dark leggings.
“Story.” Daegan notices me, rising to his feet, and the chair scrapes across the stone floor. “How are you feeling?”
“Recovering.” I can’t keep the tense feeling from being around him from appearing. “Thanks to you.” It feels very strange to be thanking him. Calix seems to think the same, judging by the look he gives me.
“Very good. I was worried after you collapsed. Moving on… You”—Daegan points to Calix—“I understand being here at this first fae rider war meeting, considering you two are now representing the Moon Dynasty in this discussion. But you”—he turns to Luna—“I am less sure about being here. Can we trust you? You were a blood slave to the vampyre king.”
“I am part of the Moon Dynasty,” Luna says firmly, defending herself before any of us can. “And with that logic, Story can’t be trusted either. I would wager we hate that royal family more than you do, and we are useful because we know them. We can offer advice on their armies, on their numbers and castles.” She walks in, pointing at the map. “For starters, that castle is gone, and he had a new one built over here.” She moves a castle to the east in the Sun Dynasty lands. “And it is a pleasure home, unguarded mostly.”
Daegan assesses her for a second before nodding. He turns and heads back to his seat, and I finally look at the other man in the room. The man is older, maybe late sixties with grey short hair, wrinkled forehead and a slight hump on his back. A light green cloak covers him, clipped with a silver pendant. The pendant has a symbol I’ve never seen before. A sun and moon with their backs touching, held within a circle. An alliance. Daegan waves a hand, gesturing to him. “This is Leader Roan, the current ruler of this town we’ve found ourselves in. His family has protected this place for generations.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” he says with kind blue eyes, and I return the sentiment. “Lessborn or one of the slightly luckier powerborn?”
“Lessborn blood slave,” I answer. “But that title is in my past. These titles are something I hope we erase if we manage to get this world back from the vampyres. The titles just create a boundary between us all.”
“And they’ll be gone,” Daegan vows to me with utter distaste in his tone, like it can make up for all the history between us. It can’t. But I remember when I told him the first time about the titles and the look on his face. I assumed it was to flatter me, but I actually think he hated the titles as much as every fae outside the mansion. Daegan told me “No fae is less than incredible, including you.” Flattery or not, he was right. He goes and sits at the back of the table, and we all take random seats.
“I’ve mapped out everything I can,” Roan begins, “from my ancestors’ drawings.”
“Thank you,” Daegan offers him. “No map, no plan, nothing is going to help us, I’m afraid. I never want to be remembered as the king who said this…but we are extremely outnumbered and we have lost. There isn’t a future for us outside this town.” A silence echoes around the room. He is telling the truth, but it doesn’t mean anyone has to accept it. “We have little over one thousand riders left, and two hundred fae without dragons—maybe much less than that if the wounded don’t survive. Everyone else is women, children, men who can’t fight, and the elderly. We would need a miracle at this point to fight the vampyres and not be slaughtered. I feel like the world outside is going nowhere fast, and we can rebuild this place into something great. We spent five hundred years in the mansion protected, and we can spend another five hundred years here building an army. The dragons will breed, more riders will be found, and we can build up an army big enough to go out there and have a chance. This is not our time.” He looks at me. “I know you want to use the books to help us, but if I am not proof enough that the books are not good, they are evil, then what is? They are selfish and want what is best for them. We cannot use them. You cannot, Story.”
“So, you’re planning to spend another five hundred years locked up?” I ask, incredulous. “And what about the fae out there? What about our people?” I rise up and put my hands on the table. “As for the books, you don’t get to decide not to use them. They belong to the Twilight Dynasty.”
“And are you claiming the Twilight Dynasty? Even when you’re claiming the Moon, too?” He waves his hands out. “The books are evil! They should be dropped into the sea and forgotten about!!”
“They are gods! They are deities, trapped within pages because of our ancestors!” I shout back. “You know we can’t win this war, so give me the book and let me beg them to help us. We need a way to win and save the fae who are still suffering.”
“And how exactly do you plan on saving them, Story, when those deities turn on you like they did me?” Daegan points out, his tone sharp.
“Look, I don’t like risking our future on them, but—” The ground shakes violently, cutting me off. It’s as if the earth is trembling beneath our feet. The maps slide off the table, and the stone statues tumble to the floor with it. All of us glance around, wide-eyed, but I look down. I look at the dragon markings on my hands and arms, how they are dancing fast, and focus instead on a familiar feeling in my chest. A dark fire burning to life.
“What is that?” Avaluna shouts, her voice unsteady as I smile and turn to the door, and I walk out. I rush towards that feeling, knowing I’m right.
Daegan is at my side as I rush, running with all I have, all the pain disappearing from my mind. I look up—and my breath catches. “My king is back.” I can barely believe it as my bond with Ziven seems to erupt in my chest, pulsing with renewed life, and his shadows spread across the walls, making the place dark for the first time in centuries. I dig my feet into the ground to steady myself as a dragon soars above us—a massive, grey dragon, larger than Maeve. A little sadness touches my heart when I realise, if Ziven has a new dragon, his must be gone. I smile up at the sky, knowing Brythan will not be forgotten anytime soon.
“Who is that?” Daegan shouts over the loudest dragon roar I’ve ever heard.
“That is the Moon Dynasty king, and he is mine.” My eyes stay locked on the dragon and its rider. My heart races as I feel him looking at me, too. “And you said you needed a miracle to win this war, right? It seems your enemy has brought you one.”
The dragon lands near the cliff’s edge, and I sprint toward him as fast as my legs will carry me. By the time I reach the enormous creature, my stomach aches, and I’m clutching my side in pain, but it is worth it.
Ziven is still astride the dragon, and he looks more like a king than ever before. He leans down slightly to talk to the dragon, giving me a chance to take in this strange creature. The creature is a sight to behold—grey like storm clouds, with shadows swirling around its wings and body. It has tattered spikes that run from the crown of its head down its back, stretching along its wings. The dragon is muscular, colossal, with claws so massive they could rival my height. Its piercing silver eyes glint with sheer menace as it snarls my way, but I know better than to break its stare when it’s challenging me.
Ziven places a calming hand on the dragon’s snout, smoothing it down gently. The beast snorts, breaking eye contact first, but lifts into the air and flies off, leaving a storm of dust between the male I love and me.
That’s when I see Ziven clearly for the first time. He’s changed—so much that he seems like an entirely different man.
His body is covered in tattoos, black dragon designs curling around his skin like living flames. They climb into his arms, neck, and chest, disappearing beneath the rip in his shirt. Across his forehead is a crown of dragons, their forms interwoven in intricate detail, with peaks that rise like spires at the centre of his brow. His black hair falls around the crown, framing his face.
His eyes meet mine, and I forget how to breathe.
In an instant, he closes the distance between us. His lips capture mine, and his hands tangle in my hair as he kisses me with a fervour that steals every thought from my mind.
“Story,” he whispers against my lips, his voice rough and filled with longing.
Every part of me comes alive, like he’s somehow mending every crack in my soul.
“Where have you been?” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. “Where the hell have you been? I needed you.”
He presses a soft kiss on my forehead before pulling back slightly.
“How did you get a dragon like that? Where is it from?” I ask, trying to process everything at once.
“We’ll talk soon,” he says, his tone possessive. “But first, my mate and I need to be alone.”
The way he growls the word mate sends a shiver through me.
Calix steps forward, and his grin lights up the space, right before he bows his head low. He isn’t the only one bowing. Everyone behind Calix is on their knees, except for Daegan. The words “dragon king” are whispered like a prayer around the building crowd.
Daegan moves forward. “We need?—”
“No, I need my woman. You can wait.” Ziven doesn’t wait for further objections. He scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing, his grip firm but careful.
“You’re hurt.” His voice is low as he carries me. “And is Hettie here?”
“It’s not a story you want to hear,” I admit quietly, resting my head against his chest. “And yes. She is safe.”
“Where’s your house?” he asks.
I give him directions, and he strides toward it with purpose. When we reach the doorway, he seems massive, nearly filling the frame as he steps inside and shuts the door behind us.
The small room feels even tinier with him in it. There’s a modest bed, a simple chair, a woven rug, and a makeshift wardrobe. Ziven’s intense gaze sweeps over everything before landing back on me.
He sets me gently on the bed, lifting my shirt slightly to examine the stitches, and his jaw tightens. From his pocket, he pulls out a vial of clear water.
“Healing water from the mansion,” he explains. “I sensed you weren’t well. We made a stop, killed a few Silkvir on the way, and left. I wanted to test my new dragon.”
I drink the healing water, breathing in relief as I feel my body mending. I glance down, watching in amazement as the cut fades before my eyes, leaving behind nothing but scarred skin and my unhealable bite mark scars.
“What happened?” Ziven demands.
“I ran straight into Prince Emyr in the forest,” I say quietly. “He had Hettie. I made a deal with him—that I’d go with him if he let her go. He was desperate enough to agree, and he did.”
I pause, swallowing hard as I leave out the part where I held a dagger to myself. How could I possibly explain that to him? That I tried to leave this world—leave us?
“Anyway,” I continue, “I woke up in the castle. He was there. He did this”—I gesture to where the scar is fading—“in fury because I wouldn’t be the blood slave he remembered. I didn’t want to be anything to him. He wanted me to marry him. He even brought the king in; it was all but agreed.”
Ziven’s eyes narrow. “How did you get out?”
“Daegan.”
His eyebrow arches in surprise, and I nod.
“I know,” I admit. “He flew straight to me, hid out all day and night, and then at dawn, he crashed into the castle to save me. He used the bond to find me, to know exactly where I was, and he was the only one who could do that.” Ziven’s expression darkens. “Other than you,” I admit softly. “I tried to kill myself.”
His face freezes. Shadows gather in the corners of the room, twisting and dancing as his anger rises. “I didn’t want to,” I rush to explain. “Please don’t think I was trying to leave. I just didn’t want to be his again. For some reason, the vampyre blood didn’t work when I…died. I healed and came back. He said it was because I was born in the Twilight Dynasty, that the magic doesn’t work properly on me. I’m still fae, but nothing’s changed.”
Ziven’s fury burns in his eyes. His voice trembles with restrained anger as he growls, “You tried to leave.”
“So did you!” I shout back, cutting him off.
He flinches, his breath hitching. “Story, where have you been?”
“Fighting for us,” I say fiercely. “Never giving up. I felt you die too. Don’t you dare be angry at me! I did what I had to do in that situation. Don’t you dare.”
“I have every right to be mad!” he roars.
“And so do I!” I scream back, the heat between us flaring like a wildfire in the forest, the trees only fuelling the rushing anger. We’re both breathing heavily, right before his lips slam down on mine, and he pushes me straight back onto the bed with him. Yes . I’m still angry, still furious at him as we both start tearing each other’s clothes off, but none of it seems to matter as long as I have him here, with me, reminding both of us that we are still alive. His lips devour mine with a branding claim, a claim I feel in my blood, in my very soul. He kisses his way down my jaw, to my neck where he sucks and nips at my skin, softly marking me, before moving down my body. He groans when he gets to my breasts, lightly kissing my nipples one by one. The friction, the teasing, is too much as I moan under him.
“I fucking missed you, Storm.” He runs his hands down my hips, torturously slow. His eyes are still wicked, still full of the same thing that began this fight. Fear. I don’t—no, can’t —lose him. He starts yanking down my leggings. I can barely think of anything but him and how much I need him. He pushes my legs apart, running his fingertip down my slit before gliding two fingers easily inside me, already finding me soaked for him. His thumb runs around my clit as he pumps his fingers in and out of me, watching my body, watching my face every second. I clutch the bedsheet tight. “How fucking dare you try and take this— you —from me,” he growls, sending shivers up my body.
I snarl back at him, and his grin is feral. I push him back on the other side of the bed, climbing onto his lap and kissing with every bit of my anger. Oh, by the deities, he gives it back to me with every stroke of his lips. But he doesn’t take me, not yet. I feel his cock, hard and ready by my thigh, and he holds me up. He twists us around, pushing me against the wall, lifting us off the bed, and he grips the back of my neck. “Never again, Storm. Fucking promise me.”
“Promise me the same.” I give him the same question. “Then I promise.”
“Never again,” he vows, and I gasp as he drives his cock straight into me, and the fullness of him is home. He groans, digging his hands into the wall. “Fuck.” He pounds into me, pushing me into the wall, fury marking my body as his with his every thrust. I can’t stop the moans escaping my lips, the echo of them matching the sound of us. “This,” he groans, and I feel the sound right down my core. “Us.” He grips my ass tight in his hands. “This is permanent and forever. You don’t fucking leave me, do you understand? I want you alive at the end of all of this and hate me, but I am the only one who gets to die between us. Now promise me forever.”
I won’t ever let him die.
“Forever,” I answer with every bit of my soul that he owns completely. He carries me to the bed, pulling out of me to turn me over on the bed, and he drags my hips up into the air before slamming into me again. His grip is tight on my hips, but I can barely notice anything other than the pleasure of my building orgasm. I feel it turning down my spine, and he growls louder. Shadows dance in the room, blocking out every inch of light. I swear I see dragons within the shadows now. “Come for me, my queen. My mate.” He has never called me those titles like this before, like they are mine now and not something I can argue with, and I cry out as my orgasm explodes through every part of my body and the pleasure is blinding. I can feel nothing except for his cock, nothing other than him taking me over and over, right before he finishes with a roar that shakes the walls of the hut.
My knees are ready to collapse as he picks me up, lying us both down on the bed and covering us with a blanket. He keeps me close as I trace the new markings, the hundreds of dragons that dance around every inch of his skin above his waist and under his neck.
“They are beautiful,” I whisper, touching a particularly big dragon over his heart. “What do these markings mean?”
“I’m the King of the Dragons, and they listen to my every command now.” He strokes his hand down my cheek. “And now we have thousands of dragons fighting for us. Shadow dragons, they’re huge and I’m going to win this war for you. You are going to survive this war.” Ziven leans over me. “Be my mate, my queen, and join the Moon Dynasty. Marry me, Story Dehana.”
“Oh, Ziven.” I stroke his cheek. “Yes. Yes to all the titles that come with loving you. It’s been a yes for a long time.”
His smile is wide, different from anything I’ve seen from him. A radiant smile. I can almost imagine what Ziven would have been like without the war, without the vampyres. Maybe we can have this when the war is over, a life of happiness. “I planned to ask for your forgiveness and then ask you to marry me. I am sorry about Kyrell.”
“There will never be a moment I don’t mourn him, but I know he asked you. He gave you an impossible choice, and I can’t hate you for keeping your word, but…” I climb up onto him and lean down. “Keeping secrets will be the death of us. I’m yours.” I lean down and kiss him softly. “And you’re mine. Never again.”
Something unreadable shines in his eyes for a second, but it’s gone as quick as an ember in the wind. He winds his hand into my hair, a single word escaping his lips. “Mine.”