Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Finn’s heart clenched painfully in his chest as he stared across the sand at Cedric.
The dragon’s muscles rippled like a living tapestry beneath shimmering scales, straining against the enchanted chains that held him back. Cedric.
His Cedric.
The sight of him, so majestic and yet so cruelly bound, was a dagger in Finn’s heart, twisting with each heated breath the dragon took.
Finn’s grip tightened on his sword, a jolt of pain lancing through his fingers.
Even healed, the bones were stiff, the ache a dull throb beneath Sunwrath’s weight.
His palms were slick inside his gauntlets, sweat mingling with the ghost of old wounds.
How could he do this? How could he raise his weapon against Cedric, even if the prince was currently more beast than man?
But the dragon’s golden eyes showed no signs of humanity.
Instead, they fixed on him with predatory intensity, pupils narrowing to slits that seemed to pierce straight through him.
A low growl thundered from Cedric’s chest, building to a deafening roar that shook the very foundations of the arena, a primal challenge that echoed off the stone walls and reverberated in Finn’s bones.
His chest constricted. His mind rebelled against it, clawing for some explanation, some reason, but there was none. Why was he like this?
The ache in his chest deepened, not from his healing injuries, but from the hollow, sickening certainty settling in his bones.
It didn’t matter.
The dragon in front of him was going to kill him.
From the royal box, Darius’s voice rang out, “Begin.”
The crowd erupted. Cheers. Jeers. Roaring voices that crashed like waves against Finn’s skull. The sheer hunger in the air made his stomach lurch. This was a game to them. A spectacle. They wanted blood, and they didn’t care whose.
Darius. This was his doing. All of it.
I wish you stood before me right now, Darius. I’d drive my sword right through that black heart of yours. Even if it killed me.
But there was no time for that. No time for hate…because with a series of metallic clanks, the chains fell away. The heavy links crashed to the sand as the handlers bolted for the dragon’s antechamber.
For a heartbeat, Cedric did not move.
He crouched, muscles coiled, golden scales gleaming like a shattered sun.
Then he launched forward, a detonation of power. A shockwave of dust burst outward, blinding, the force of it nearly knocking Finn off his feet.
Move.
Finn sprinted. His heart thundered, boots carving deep furrows into the sand. No time to think. Only to act.
A blur of gold and fury filled his vision. Cedric lunged. Finn threw up his shield. Talons slammed into steel. A thunderous clang rang out, echoing across the arena.
Pain. A shockwave tore up Finn’s arm, rattling his bones, nearly dislocating his shoulder. He staggered, the world seeming to roll beneath him. Sweat ran into one eye and Finn didn’t even have time to wipe it away.
The dragon was already closing in.
Again.
Another strike. Another unrelenting, bone-shaking blow. Finn’s boots skidded across the sand, shield trembling beneath the assault. Runes along its rim flickered to life, absorbing some of the impact, but even reinforced magic had limits.
Too strong. Too fast. His arm screamed in protest, muscles threatening to give out.
Claws scraped against metal, shrieking like the wailing of the damned. The shield held—but Finn could feel the enchantments buckling, the magic struggling to disperse the sheer force behind Cedric’s strikes.
The dragon’s breath was hot against his skin. Finn had never felt more like prey. There was no kindness in those golden eyes. No trace of the man who had once looked at him like he was something worth holding on to.
Just hunger. Just instinct. The realization solidified like iron in Finn’s heart. This was not Cedric. Not anymore.
The attacks slowed. Not by much. Not by enough. Finn barely had time to register it—just a shift in weight, a fraction of hesitation before another brutal strike.
But hesitation meant nothing. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t him.
Finn’s breath came fast and ragged, lungs burning with effort, the reek of scorched sand and his own blood thick in his throat. He had let himself believe. Like an idiot.
“Cedric,” he rasped, but it wasn’t a plea. It was a farewell.
The dragon’s head tilted, just slightly. For the barest instant, something almost human flickered in those eyes. Finn’s heart lurched—stupid—and he crushed the thought before it could root. A trick of the light. A lie. The moment vanished as quickly as it had come, if it had ever been there at all.
Cedric struck. His tail scythed through the air.
Finn jumped. Too slow. A spike scraped his leg, sending him sprawling. Sand blinded him. The world tilted.
Jaws snapped.
A second slower, and his leg would have been gone. Finn dropped his shield and rolled, Sunwrath still in hand. I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t.
But he couldn’t keep running forever.
The dragon followed his tumble. Too large, too powerful, too fast. Finn dove beneath Cedric’s belly, surging up on the other side.
The dragon’s head whipped around. Seconds. That’s all he had.
Finn’s sword lifted, his grip tight. Cedric snarled. Finn swung. Not to kill. Not even to wound. Just enough to survive.
The flat of his blade slammed into Cedric’s shoulder, inches below the wing joint. Enough to buy him time.
The scent of blood. The delicious stench of fear. The sharp tang of sweat.
It filled his nostrils, curling through his sinuses like smoke. He could taste it—metallic, hot, the promise of a fresh kill—coating his tongue, pooling in the back of his throat.
Hunger sharpened his mind to a singular edge.
He moved, sleek and sure, muscles rippling beneath gilded armor. Sand shifted under his talons, grains crunching between his claws as he stalked forward, silent as death. The two-legged creature before him was nothing. Fragile. Slow. Weak. A thing to be torn apart.
The beast circled, eyes slitted, nostrils flaring. Heat radiated from his prey’s body in fevered waves, the frantic drumbeat of its heart nearly deafening in the dragon’s ears. Its chest heaved, breath coming too fast, too shallow.
The acrid scent of terror. Prey. Prey could not run forever.
It had tried. Brandishing pointless metal, cowering behind a flimsy barrier. But the dragon was faster. Stronger. He had already proven this.
A slow, rolling growl gathered in his chest. His prey shifted, weight adjusting, feet bracing in the sand.
Useless. It would fall. They always fell.
He lunged.
Metal shrieked. The shield locked in place, but the force of the impact sent a jolt through the beast, a visceral pleasure. Grit churned beneath his claws, a cloud of dust rising. The vibrations of the blow rolled through his spine, rattled the very air.
Good.
The fight, the chase, the slow, delicious destruction of hope.
The shield lifted once more. The dragon struck. Again. Again.
A sharp cry broke from the prey’s lips. The sound of an animal pushed past its limits. The scent of blood bloomed like crushed fruit in the air, rich and tantalizing.
A snarl of triumph ripped from the dragon’s throat. His pupils flared wide, drinking in the sight of his prey sagging, barely able to hold itself upright. The human’s arm trembled, body teetering.
Almost.
The beast coiled to strike, muscles flexing, preparing for another strike.
Then…hesitation. Not his own. What?
The dragon growled, a deep, rumbling note that vibrated in his chest.
The prey faltered. It made a strange sound, hoarse and shaking, a wounded animal’s cry. His head cocked. He had seen this moment before.
Submission. But prey must never submit too soon. The fight had not been won. Had not been fully enjoyed.
The dragon’s lips peeled back, fangs gleaming like ivory scythes. He reared up on his hind legs, scales rasping against each other as he loosed a bone-shaking roar that rattled the walls.
Let the prey scramble. Let it try.
It was only prolonging the inevitable.
It was reckless. It was stupid. But for a moment, Finn swore he saw it. A flicker in Cedric’s golden eyes, the tiniest hesitation.
Finn latched onto it with both hands. “Remember the night atop the tower?” His breath burned in his throat as he dodged, narrowly escaping Cedric’s claws. The strike whistled past his head, so close he felt the wind of it.
“You showed me the telescope—you and Gwenna worked on it for months.” His breath came in ragged gasps, legs burning as he twisted away from a tail strike. Sand exploded beneath him. “I never got the chance to tell you, but it was one of the most remarkable things I’ve ever seen.”
Cedric didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.
Finn’s boots skidded in the dirt as he somehow avoided another swipe. Cedric loomed above him, all furious muscle and lethal instinct. Finn swallowed hard and lifted his chin. “Outside of you, that is.”
Because if he was going to die here, he was damn well going to make it memorable.
A heartbeat of stillness.
Cedric’s head twitched. A shift in weight, nostrils flaring as if he’d caught some unfamiliar scent. Finn’s breath hitched. Was that real? Or just the calculation of a predator?
The dragon didn’t move.
Finn’s pulse hammered, his lungs ached, but he didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare break whatever this was.
“I saw a shooting star that night,” Finn rasped, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat. “And I made a wish.” He held Sunwrath like a lifeline. Not to strike. Never to strike. Only to hold on.
Cedric snorted, a hot gust of air hitting Finn square in the face.
Finn coughed, half-laughing despite himself. “Yeah, yeah. Seems unlikely to come true at this point. But I wanted to tell you what it was.”
The pupils in Cedric’s eyes contracted—inhuman, predatory.
“I wished for more nights like that,” Finn whispered. “More time with you.”