Chapter twenty
Backcheck – Rushing back to defend after losing possession.
Dante
I woke up with my head pounding and my mouth tasting like I’d licked the inside of a gym bag. For a few disoriented seconds, I couldn’t remember where I was or how I’d gotten there. Then it all came rushing back—the truck, the driver, the sharp prick in my neck.
Fuck.
I tried to move and immediately regretted it.
My wrists were tied to the arms of a chair, the rope tight enough that my fingers were starting to tingle.
My ankles were similarly bound. The room around me was dim—some kind of warehouse or industrial space, with high ceilings and the particular echo that came from mostly empty buildings.
“Ah, you’re awake. Excellent.”
I turned my head way too fast, which made the world spin, and saw Odin stepping out of the shadows. He looked different than he had at dinner. The friendly warmth was completely gone, replaced by something cold and calculating that made my skin crawl.
“What the hell is this?” My voice came out rough, my throat dry.
“This is leverage.” He pulled up a chair and sat down in front of me, close enough that I could see satisfaction in his expression. “You see, Dante, I need something from your coach. And the fastest way to get his cooperation is through you.”
My stomach dropped. “Theron doesn’t—we’re not—”
“Please.” Odin’s smile was patronizing. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he watches you on the ice, the way he positioned himself between us, the protective fury in his eyes when I had my hands on you. He cares about you deeply. Which makes you very valuable to me.”
I knew I had to downplay it if I could. “You’re wrong. He’s my coach. That’s all.”
Odin leaned forward slightly. “Did he tell you what he is?”
The question hit me like a physical blow. “What?”
“I’ll take that as a no.” Something flickered across Odin’s face—satisfaction mixed with something that looked almost like resentment.
“Your coach is keeping secrets from you, Dante. Big ones. The kind that explain why he threw me across your apartment like I weighed nothing. Why his eyes glow copper when he’s angry.
Why someone like me would go to all this trouble to get leverage over a hockey coach. ”
My heart was hammering against my ribs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” He stood up, pacing in front of me. “You’ve noticed things. I can see it in your face. You’ve felt it, haven’t you?”
I had. Of course I had. But I’d promised to wait, to trust him until he was ready to explain.
“Theron Kincaid is a dragon,” Odin said, and the words hung in the air between us like a bomb waiting to detonate. “Specifically, a forge-born dragon. One of the rarest types, with abilities that are extraordinarily valuable to certain people.”
I stared at him, trying to decide if he was insane or if I was still unconscious and this was all some kind of drug-induced hallucination. “That’s not— I… You’re insane. Dragons aren’t real.”
“Aren’t they?” He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then turned it to face me. “Watch.”
The video showed a creature that couldn’t possibly exist—massive, covered in silver-blue scales, wings that seemed too large for physics to allow. It was breathing fire, actual fire, in what looked like a remote mountain location.
“That’s Ignatius Steel,” Odin said. “One of the most powerful dragons in North America. And Theron’s friend. This is what your coach really is. What he’s been hiding from you.”
My mouth was dry. I wanted to call him a liar, wanted to dismiss this as elaborate CGI or some kind of trick.
But something in my gut was screaming that it was true.
That this explained everything, the copper eyes, the inhuman strength, the danger Theron had warned me about without explaining what that danger was.
“You’re lying,” I said, but my voice lacked conviction.
“I’m not. And you know I’m not.” Odin put his phone away.
“I’m a dragon too, though not as powerful as Theron.
My father was fire-born, my grandfather forge-born, but the abilities didn’t pass to me.
I got the long life, the enhanced strength, but none of the useful talents.
The dragon community considers me lesser. Defective.”
There was real bitterness in his voice now, and I saw something raw in his expression before he controlled it.
“They turned their backs on me,” he continued. “Refused to teach me, to include me, to acknowledge me as one of them. So I made my own way. Built my own empire. And now I’m using dragon technology—the things they refuse to share with humanity—ultimately for the good of mankind.”
“By kidnapping people?” I asked, my voice sharp despite the fear. And I didn’t believe the good of mankind BS for a minute.
“By doing what needs to be done.” He moved closer again, and I instinctively tried to pull back even though I was tied to the chair.
I felt the familiar sharp prick in my neck before I could react. My vision immediately started to blur around the edges, that same sluggish sensation creeping through my skull.
“No—” I tried to say, but my tongue was already going numb.
“We’re moving locations,” Odin said, his voice seeming to come from very far away. “Can’t stay in Denver. Too many of Theron’s friends looking for you. Too many dragons who think they can interfere.”
I tried to fight the drug pulling me under, tried to stay conscious, but it was like swimming against a riptide. My head lolled forward, and I felt hands releasing the ropes binding me to the chair.
“You know what’s funny?” Odin’s voice was right next to my ear now. “I’m taking you home. Back to Chicago, where this all started. Fitting, don’t you think? The city that broke you will be the place where you serve your real purpose.”
I tried to speak, to ask what he meant, but my mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Strong arms lifted me—too strong, unnaturally strong in the way Theron had been when he’d thrown Odin across my apartment—and I felt myself being carried.
The last thing I registered before the darkness took me completely was the sound of a vehicle door opening and Odin’s voice saying something about flight plans and secure facilities.
Then nothing.
When I woke up again, everything was different. The hum of the warehouse was gone, replaced by a deeper, steadier vibration that I recognized with sick certainty.
We were on a plane.
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the harsh overhead lights. I was lying on what felt like a leather seat, my hands zip-tied in front of me now instead of rope. My head was pounding worse than before, and my mouth tasted like chemicals.
“Welcome back.”
I turned my head, carefully this time, and saw Odin sitting across from me in what was clearly a private jet. Expensive leather, polished wood accents, the particular luxury that came with serious money.
“Where am I?” My voice was barely a croak.
“About an hour outside Chicago.” He checked his watch. “We’ll be landing soon. Then we’ll get you settled into your new accommodations.”
Panic spiked through me, cutting through the drug haze. Chicago. He’d actually taken me to Chicago. How long had I been unconscious? How far behind was Theron?
“He’ll find me,” I said, trying to inject confidence I didn’t feel into my voice. “Theron will find me, and when he does—"
“When he does, he’ll do exactly what I tell him to.” Odin’s smile was cold. “Because the alternative is watching you die. And dragons are remarkably protective of their mates.”
The word hit me like a physical blow. Mate. That was what Theron had been trying to tell me. Was that what I was to him?
“I can see you’re processing,” Odin said, standing up. “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time to think about it where we’re going.”
The plane began its descent, and I felt my stomach drop with it. I tried to think, tried to plan, but my head was still fuzzy from whatever they’d drugged me with. All I could focus on was the fact that I was zip-tied on a plane about to land in Chicago, and Theron had no idea where I was.
We landed smoothly. Through the small window, I could see we were at a private airfield—no commercial terminals, just a handful of hangars.
Two men boarded the plane as soon as we stopped. Both were large, professional-looking, and carrying themselves in a way that suggested either military or security backgrounds. They didn’t look at me like I was a person. They looked at me like I was cargo.
“Get him ready,” Odin said, and one of the men pulled out a black hood.
“No—” I tried to pull away, but with my hands zip-tied and my body still weak from the drugs, I didn’t stand a chance. The hood went over my head, plunging me into darkness, and I felt hands gripping my arms as they hauled me to my feet.
We got off the plane and into what I assumed was a vehicle based on the sound of a door sliding open. I was pushed into a seat, heard the door close, and then we were moving.
I tried to track the turns, tried to count the minutes, tried to do anything that would help me figure out where they were taking me.
But between the hood and the lingering effects of the drugs, I kept losing track.
Time became meaningless—could have been twenty minutes or two hours before the vehicle finally stopped.
Hands grabbed me again, pulling me out and marching me forward. I heard a heavy door open, then close behind us with a finality that made my chest tight. The air changed—cooler, with the echo of a large, enclosed space.
They removed the hood, and I blinked against sudden bright lights.
We were in some kind of warehouse. High ceilings with exposed ductwork, concrete floors, the smell of metal and chemicals.
But unlike the place in Denver, this place was clearly operational.
I could hear machinery humming somewhere in the distance, could see computer monitors and equipment I didn’t recognize lining the walls.
“Welcome home,” Odin said, and the bitterness in his voice made it clear he meant more than just the city.
They led me through a corridor and into a smaller room.
Concrete walls, a single chair bolted to the floor in the center, cameras mounted in each corner.
The two men pushed me down into the chair and secured my hands and feet.
I didn’t fight them. What was the point?
They secured my wrists to the chair arms with more zip ties, then my ankles to the legs.
One of the men pulled out a phone and set it up on a small tripod, angling it toward me. Odin stepped into view, his expression businesslike.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “You’re going to tell Theron exactly what I tell you to say. You’re going to give him the address we want him to go to. You’re going to be calm and cooperative. And if you do that, this will be much easier for everyone involved.”
My jaw tightened. “And if I don’t?”
He didn’t answer with words. Just nodded to one of the men, who stepped forward and backhanded me across the face hard enough that my head snapped to the side. Pain exploded across my jaw, and I tasted blood.
“That’s if you don’t,” Odin said calmly. “Now. Are we going to have a problem?”
I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. Wanted to refuse, to make this as difficult as possible for him. But the rational part of my brain—the part that had survived Chicago by learning when to fight and when to preserve myself—knew that getting beaten unconscious wouldn’t help Theron find me.
“No,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Good.” He pulled out a piece of paper with an address written on it. “You’re going to tell Theron to come alone. No backup, no police, no other dragons. Make it convincing.”
I read the address, committing it to memory even as my mind was racing. This was the leverage Odin had been building toward. And I was supposed to be the bait that lured him in.
The man with the phone pressed record, and Odin nodded at me.
“Theron.” I kept my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me.
“They want me to give you instructions. You’re supposed to come alone to—” I rattled off the address, watching Odin’s satisfied expression.
“No backup, no police, no other dragons. Then they will take you to where I am, but it won’t be at the first place.
You’ll be escorted after that. Just you. If you don’t show up alone, they’ll—”
I stopped. Looked directly at the camera. Made a decision.
“It’s a trap.”
The first punch caught me across the jaw, snapping my head to the side. Stars exploded across my vision, and I tasted copper. Before I could recover, another hit landed on my ribs, driving the air from my lungs.
Between hits, I heard the click of a camera. Odin was documenting this. Photographing my injuries like they were products he was cataloging.
“That’s enough,” he said finally, and the beating stopped. I knew it had been punishment, but it was also now leverage.
I sat there gasping, my entire body screaming. My left eye was already swelling shut, and blood dripped from my split lip onto my shirt.
“Excellent,” Odin said, reviewing the photos on his phone. “These should do nicely. Your coach is going to lose his mind when he sees them.”
I wanted to tell him to go to hell. Wanted to spit blood at his expensive shoes, but I couldn’t find the breath for it.
They left me there, tied to that chair, while Odin presumably sent the photos to Theron. I lost track of time, it could have been hours or minutes.
I thought about Theron. About the way he’d looked at me in his kitchen that morning, like I was something precious. About the careful way he’d held me, like he was afraid I’d break. About the copper glow in his eyes that I now understood meant his dragon was close to the surface.
He was going to come for me. I knew that with absolute certainty. And Odin was counting on it.
The door opened, and I forced my good eye to focus. Two more security guys entered, both armed. They took up positions on either side of the door, their weapons held with the casual competence of people who knew how to use them.
Then Theron walked in.
And my heart stopped beating.