Chapter 29
Reverie
Iwoke to heat.
Not the comforting, post-ecstasy warmth with my men wrapped around me like a living blanket, but something deeper, sharper—like a strand of molten gold being pulled straight through my sternum. A hiss escaped from my lips before I could hold it back, my hand shooting to the spot between my breasts.
The mark.
It was burning under my skin.
No—it felt like it was awakening.
Jet jerked up beside me, hair a dark snarl, eyes already flaring with heat. “Reverie?” His voice was rough, deep, and so ready to wreck anything that would harm me. But the moment his gaze dropped to my chest, his breath stuttered.
The others begin to stir.
Zane growled in satisfaction, “I knew it!” even as he scrambled closer.
Zeke blinked sleep out of his eyes, freezing when he saw the light pulsing beneath my fingers.
Nathan was already kneeling behind me, palms warm on my shoulders.
Oren was the last to move but the first to understand—his whole body went still, shadows around him thinning as if they too were holding their breath.
The glow built.
White-hot.
Beautiful.
“Reverie,” Zane whispered reverently, his voice dropping into that deep rumble Drakk used when the Draxon was too close to the surface.
I pulled my hand away.
And the world shifted.
My mark—my triquetra with the tree of life spiraling through its heart—was no longer the soft shimmer it had always been.
It was alive.
The lines glowed like heated metal, curling and shifting under my skin as if drawing breath. Tiny roots stretched outward, reaching toward the individual symbols of my Faction as though eager to claim them anew.
Nathan’s dagger flashed first—emerald and sharp, the green so intense it looked carved from a star.
Zeke’s moon pulsed a bruised, royal violet, casting gentle arcs of icy light across my skin.
Zane’s sun flared next, burning gold so bright I swore I could feel Drakk’s heat radiating beneath it.
Oren’s bolt wasn’t just red—it was raw, pale-crimson lightning, writhing as if it wanted to leap into his hands.
Each symbol was pulled toward the center, toward me, toward the Nexus of the triquetra.
“Reverie…” Jet’s voice had dropped to a hush. “Something’s different.”
He wasn’t wrong. Because right there—above the interwoven knot, just touching the top of the tree of life—another shape began forming, as though carved by invisible hands.
A crown.
Simple lines at first.
Not regal, but raw.
Older than Aurathia’s history, older than the memories whispering in my bones.
But as it sharpened into clarity, the room fell silent.
A crack split the crown clean down the right side.
A mark of a broken sovereignty.
A mark of someone torn between two identities.
A mark of a king who’d splintered himself in two.
A mark that belonged to Torren, and whoever he really was beneath all the masks.
My breath caught.
Zeke was the first to speak, voice barely a whisper. “Reverie… what’s going on?”
Oren swore under his breath, shadows twitching like startled birds. “It’s a crown… and it’s fractured.”
Nathan leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “This is Torren, isn’t it?”
Jet’s jaw clenched. “He’s part of this Faction?”
My heart slammed against my ribs. Because even though I should have been terrified—furious—betrayed…
The crack in that crown pulsed in time with my heartbeat.
“Claim me,” it whispered. “Remember.”
My voice came out barely audible. “He didn’t want this. I didn’t want this. I don’t think he had any idea it would happen.”
Zane cursed softly. “We need to talk to the fucker.”
Zeke’s voice darkened, Frynn taking over, “Starting with what he’s hiding.”
Oren’s eyes locked onto mine. Steady. Unwavering. “I think you did want it, baby. Somewhere deep down. But there are questions that need answering. The first being why the crown on your chest looks like it’s begging you to fix the missing piece.”
The cracked crown was still throbbing against my skin when the memory of last night hit me like a blow to the ribs.
His mouth on mine. Hard. Desperate. That first brutal press of lips turning into teeth and tongue, the kind of kiss that rewired the bones in my spine.
Torren hadn’t kissed me like a man giving in to temptation. He’d kissed me like a man breaking.
And then—He’d torn himself away and stumbled back as if he’d scorched his hands on my body and whispered something jagged—something that sounded like “I shouldn’t”—and then bolted down the tunnels, as if the shadows of hell itself were dragging him.
That image hit the present with a clarity that took my breath away.
No.
Not an image.
A connection.
The cracked crown throbbed once more.
Jet’s head snapped up. “Reverie? What is it?”
I swallowed hard. “Last night… when he kissed me.” My voice shook. “He ran like he was terrified. And I—” I pressed a hand to the crown. “I think he’s doing it again.”
Zeke’s brow shot up. “Torren kissed you, then ran?”
Zane let out a sharp, low whistle. “Well, that explains why his mark decided to wake up pissed. It’s attached to the dumbass that ran from the best fucking thing that ever happened to him.”
Nathan leaned in, eyes darkening. “I know this is rich coming from me, but did he force you?”
“No,” I whispered. Heat crawled up my neck. “He more… ruined me for a second and then panicked.”
Jet’s jaw clenched like he wanted to break something on Torren’s face. “He ran. What a dumb fuck.”
“Yes.” I knew my worth. I considered his running more of a him problem than anything to do with me.
Oren exhaled once, slowly. “And the bond flared tonight to tell you why.”
I looked down at the fractured crown, faintly glowing. “Maybe, maybe not.” I shrugged. “There are a few things I need to talk to you about. Maybe together we can figure out what it all means.”
Oren nodded, then abruptly straightened, muscles tightening. “He’s leaving. Right now. I can feel it creeping through your connection.”
Nathan moved for the exit instantly, fire licking faintly along his fingers. “Then we’re not waiting.”
Jet grabbed one of his blades. “I’ll bring him back.”
Zeke’s eyes flickered frost-blue. “I can’t guarantee in what condition.”
“Before we go chasing after someone that doesn’t want to be caught—didn’t you say you had something for me?” I looked at Zeke.
I wanted to figure this out with Torren, but Zeke was right here.
Always the first to ensure everyone else was taken care of.
I wanted him to know that he was just as important to me as anything else happening right now.
Being away from these wonderful men for all those months made me appreciate them even more, and I wanted to put them first, just as they always did for me.
He blushed, and I felt my heart melt. “We have more important things to worry about right now. I can give them to you later.”
“Nope. Nothing is more important than you at this moment.” I walked over to him and leaned my head back for a kiss.
Zane slapped him on the back. “Don’t be modest, bro. Show her what you made.”
Zeke kissed me again before walking over to his bag and pulling out two of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.
“Holy shit!” I rushed up to him, barely able to contain myself. “Are those really for me?”
“Who else would they be for?” He grinned at my enthusiasm.
He handed them to me, and I laid them on a natural ledge that jutted out from the wall near me, so I could examine them closely.
They were both about twenty-two inches long, matching the exact length of the blades I’d used in the coliseum, but that was all they had in common. These two blades were far superior. Both were slightly curved, but each looked different from the other.
The first blade appeared to be composed of smoke-colored steel, absorbing the room's light. Pale crimson veins streaked across it, resembling trapped embers within the metal.
The second blade gleamed with a faint silvery shine, resembling a layer of frost. Sharp, irregular patterns similar to ice fractals were carved along its edge.
Zeke cleared his throat, “I call them Ashfang and Frostbane. But you can call them whatever you want.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off them. “That’s perfect.” I reached behind me and took his hand. “Thank you, I love them.”
Zane walked up beside me. “Turn around.”
I turned without hesitation, still overwhelmed by my stunning gift.
I felt the cool, supple leather brush against the back of my arm, as if frosted.
He raised the piece so I could see, and I gasped.
Two smooth sheaths formed a perfect V against the harness of pale, shimmering leather that gleamed softly in the light.
“Zane,” I breathed, reaching back to touch it. The material was smooth but firm, reinforced with subtle inlays that glowed faintly blue. “You made this?”
He snorted softly. “Of course I did. I couldn’t have you only wearing something my brother made.” He leaned in and bit my ear, whispering, “It also has my initials on it. Wait until Nathan finds out.”
I burst out laughing. “Thank you, it’s stunning.”
“I call it the Frostflare Harness,” his tone deliberately casual. “Flare for me. Frost for him.” A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “The harness is almost too fancy for these blades.”
“The hell you say!” Zeke growled out.
“Just fucking with you, bro.” Zane laughed, and the rest of us joined in.
Zeke slid the blades into the harness. They crossed upward behind me like wings of fire and frost—Zeke and Zane both wore an expression of pride and possession.
“I hate to break up this moment, but we need to get back to the topic at hand.” Oren paused at the tunnel opening, his shadow-threaded voice softer than the others. “Tell me exactly what happened before he ran.”
I sighed and met his gaze, and the truth burst out in a single breath. “He kissed me—and the bond surged. I felt something pull at me. Like a mark trying to form. Then he saw it—just a flash—and he freaked out.”