Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
VAELA
I t’s been nearly a week since I healed Nyxara, and I’m still here, which, frankly, is impressive.
I expected her to slit my throat in my sleep by now—or at the very least, toss me back into my cell and pretend I don’t exist. But instead, she’s done something far more frustrating.
She’s ignored me.
For days, I’ve wandered these endless stone halls, making myself at home in my gilded prison. I’ve studied the way the enchanted staff moves around me, noting how they hesitate slightly before entering a room I occupy, how their eyes dart toward me, calculating, wary but never outright afraid.
Smart.
Even with my powers bound, I’m still a threat, and they know it.
I run my fingers absently over the pearls sewn into my bodice, the smooth surfaces warm under my touch. I haven’t created a new one in quite some time, but perhaps that will change soon.
My lips curl.
Nyxara has been avoiding me, but I know she’s watching. She’s keeping her distance, but I feel her presence like a storm on the horizon, waiting to strike.
Good.
I like it when my prey gets close enough to sink my teeth into.
The heavy doors creak open, and I don’t bother turning. I already know who it is.
"Good morning, Dragon Queen," I purr, stretching luxuriously on the chaise, the dark silk of my gown sliding higher up my thigh as I shift. "I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me."
She doesn’t respond right away, and that alone intrigues me. When I finally glance over, my smirk deepens.
She’s watching me, eyes dark with something I can’t quite name. Her usual armor of black lace and shadows is different today—more fitted, the bodice laced with emerald stones that glow faintly in the dim candlelight. The neckline plunges scandalously low for someone who claims to be all sharp edges and steel.
She’s gorgeous. A predator wrapped in silk and wickedness.
"You seem comfortable," she says, her voice a measured calm, but there’s a note of irritation beneath it.
I smirk, shifting slightly. "Should I not be? You’ve given me a castle to roam, servants who don’t tremble in my presence, and a rather breathtaking view of your moody little kingdom. If this is imprisonment, I must say, I’m quite fond of it."
"You remain a prisoner," she says, voice flat.
I hum thoughtfully, tilting my head. "And yet, I don’t feel like one."
"Perhaps I should remind you."
A delicious little threat. I rise from the chaise slowly, deliberately, letting the firelight catch the shimmer of my pearls.
"Tell me something, Nyxara," I muse, stepping closer. "Is it easier to pretend you despise me than to admit you might actually enjoy having me here?"
Her emerald eyes darken, the air between us charged with something heavy, something dangerous.
"You assume too much," she murmurs.
I smile, slow and knowing. "Do I?"
Her claws flex at her sides, a tell, but she doesn’t strike. Not yet. "You should tread carefully, little siren," she says, voice lower now, like a warning wrapped in velvet. "I am not a patient woman."
"Then tell me why I’m still here," I press, stepping close enough that our breath mingles, close enough that I can see the flicker of something she tries to hide.
"You are bound to me. That is enough."
"Is it?" I whisper.
For a moment, just a moment, something in her wavers.
Then—
The doors slam open. Morrin.
The bat swoops inside, his wings cutting through the air before landing on a high-backed chair. His black eyes flick between us, unimpressed.
"Am I interrupting something?"
Nyxara is the first to move, stepping back sharply. The distance returns.
Damn.
"No," she says, her voice clipped, but I don’t miss the way her jaw tightens.
Morrin clicks his tongue. "Good, because we have a problem. Movement in the eastern wood. Scouts. They’re testing the borders."
The shift in her is immediate. Gone is the cold amusement, the restrained composure. Nyxara turns toward the door.
I push off the chaise. "I’m coming with you."
She stops, looking over her shoulder.
"No."
I blink. "No?"
"You will stay here."
I scoff. "I will not."
Nyxara’s glare sharpens. "I will not waste time keeping you alive while I fight."
I lift my chin, voice a quiet challenge. "Then don’t waste time at all."
Her claws twitch. "This is not a game, Vaela."
"Oh, but it is," I counter, stepping forward. "And we are playing it together, remember?"
Her eyes flash with something close to rage. "I will not be responsible for your death."
"You won’t have to be. I can take care of myself."
She lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You think I’ll risk you using this as another attempt to escape?"
"You truly don’t listen, do you?" I take another step, my voice dropping lower, softer but no less dangerous. "I can’t leave. I won’t break our bargain. I gave you my word. Do you doubt me already, Dragon Queen?"
Her jaw clenches.
I press the advantage. "How am I supposed to help you win this war if you refuse to let me leave the castle?"
Silence stretches between us.
"Fine," she bites out.
Satisfaction curls through me. I follow her out of the chamber, down the winding halls, through the open doors to the courtyard. She exhales slowly, bracing herself. Then, her form shifts.
The sound of cracking bone, the rush of heat, the surge of magic.
Black scales ripple over her skin, spreading like liquid obsidian. Her body stretches, twisting, growing. Wings unfurl, vast and powerful. Emerald eyes blaze with fire and hunger. Talons scrape against stone, and her tail flicks, powerful and deadly.
She is magnificent.
Nyxara lowers herself.
"Get on." Nyxara’s voice commands in my mind.
I don’t hesitate. The moment I climb onto her back, her wings beat hard, lifting us into the sky. The castle vanishes beneath us, the trees a blur of green and shadow. The wind whips against my skin, the scent of rain thick in the air. I grip the ridges of her scales, exhilaration thrumming in my veins. Below, the forest stretches vast and endless.
I lean forward, pressing against the warmth of Nyxara’s body.
"Let’s hunt."
She tucks her wings and dives.
The air howls around us, whipping through my hair as we plummet toward the earth. I press myself tighter against the scaled ridge of her back, my arms locked around her as the speed steals the breath from my lungs. Below, the vast sprawl of Nyxara’s realm stretches endlessly in every direction, an untamed, hauntingly beautiful expanse of deep, mist-draped forests and rolling black hills. The rivers carve silver veins through the landscape, glinting beneath the pale light of the moon feeds into vast lakes that shimmer like obsidian glass.
It’s breathtaking—wild and vast, untouched by human greed. A realm ruled by magic. By creatures of legend. By her. And yet, humans have dared to trespass.
Nyxara’s muscles coil beneath me, her power thrumming like a living pulse as she spreads her wings wide, catching the wind just before we reach the treetops. The force of it pulls at me, my grip tightening instinctively as we glide low over the forest canopy. Shadows stretch long beneath us, shifting with the movement of the trees.
I spot movement ahead—a cluster of figures near the base of a crumbling ruin, their torches flickering against the encroaching dark. My eyes narrow. Human scouts.
Morrin had been right.
Nyxara tilts her wings, angling toward them, her body coiling with the promise of destruction. The heat of her magic thrums through me, sharp and electric. She’s ready to burn them from existence. But something makes me hesitate.
I tap my fingers against the ridges of her scales. “Take us lower. I want to see them.”
She doesn’t respond right away. I feel her annoyance ripple through her like a second heartbeat.
“There’s no need for a closer look,” she growls. “They’re vermin.”
“Perhaps.” I lean forward, pressing my lips close to her ear. “But vermin often scurry from something larger. We should make sure this is only a scouting party and not the tail end of something bigger.”
She exhales sharply, a hot rush of irritation, but she obeys.
We descend, silent as shadows.
I scan the camp as we circle. There are six of them, all armored in the king’s insignia—red and gold emblazoned across tarnished steel. They’re speaking in hushed tones, voices barely audible over the rustling trees. I can’t make out the words, but their body language tells me enough. They’re nervous.
One of them, a younger man, keeps shifting on his feet, his hand hovering near the hilt of his blade. The leader—a broad-shouldered brute with a thick scar bisecting his cheek—paces near the fire, his fingers twitching like he’s waiting for something.
Or someone.
I frown.
They’re expecting reinforcements.
“We need to—”
The snap of a branch.
My breath catches.
The younger soldier turns suddenly, eyes lifting—Shit. The alarm barely has time to spread across his face before Nyxara moves. She tucks her wings and dives. The world tilts, gravity pulling hard as we drop into the clearing like a vengeful storm. The men barely have time to react before her fire erupts around them.
Viridian Wrath.
The flames are alive, a searing green inferno that ignites the trees in a wave of unnatural heat. The scouts scramble, shouting orders, unsheathing weapons, but it’s already too late. Nyxara’s talons rake through one of them mid-scream, his body crumpling before he can land a single blow.
I leap from her back as she tears into another, rolling into a crouch as I hit the earth. The ground is dry, brittle from the fire’s heat, but there’s still water beneath the soil—I can feel it. It calls to me, desperate and eager.
I reach for it, pulling.
Droplets coil around my fingers like sharpened daggers as I rise. A sword whistles toward me.
I twist, barely avoiding the strike, my tentacles unfurling in response. They lash out, wrapping around the nearest soldier’s wrist before he can bring the blade down again. He grunts, fighting against the unnatural hold, but I only smile.
"That’s not very nice," I murmur, voice dripping with venomous amusement.
He thrashes, trying to break free, but my grip tightens, twisting his arm at an unnatural angle. He screams as the bone snaps. Two more soldiers charge me. I move fast, letting the water guide my motions. A flick of my wrist sends a sharp arc of liquid slicing through the air. One man stumbles, clutching his face as the water sears his skin like acid. The other swings at me. I duck, my tentacles snapping forward. One coils around his ankle, yanking him off his feet. He crashes to the ground with a curse, but before he can rise, Nyxara is there.
She doesn’t give him the chance to beg.
Her talons rip through his chest in one fluid motion, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake. The remaining soldiers falter, exchanging panicked glances. They know they’ve already lost.
"Run," I offer, voice lilting. "Or don’t. It makes no difference to me." One of them takes off, stumbling into the trees. The last one—the leader—doesn’t. Instead, he lunges for me, his blade catching the moonlight.
For a split second, I don’t react fast enough.
I see the glint of steel, the sharp downward arc of the strike—
A roar sounds, followed by a blur of black scales.
Nyxara moves faster than thought, intercepting the blow before it can land. Her tail sweeps through the clearing, striking the man mid-swing. He barely has time to scream before he’s flung through the air like a broken doll, crashing into the jagged remains of a ruined pillar.
I exhale sharply, my heart hammering. That… was too close.
Nyxara lands hard beside me, shifting mid-step, her dragon form dissolving into flesh and shadow.
She’s breathing heavily, her eyes blazing as they scan me, sharp and assessing. She steps closer, her talons brushing my arm, tracing the space where the blade almost struck.
“You’re reckless,” she snaps.
I smirk, shaking off the lingering rush of adrenaline. “And yet, here I stand.”
Her talons linger. I should pull away. She should. Neither of us do. Her touch is warm, her gaze smoldering with something unspoken. For a moment—just a moment—I think she was scared. For me.
Interesting.
The thought sparks something deep, something curious. Something dangerous.
I glance up at her, letting my lips curve into a slow smirk. “Careful, Dragon Queen,” I murmur, voice silk and smoke. “You might make me think you care.”
Her jaw tightens. I expect her to snap back, to deny it, to pull away—she doesn’t. She only holds my gaze, something unreadable flickering in the depths of her emerald eyes. The silence between us stretches, thick and charged, until a groan is heard.
I whip around, scanning the ruined camp. One of the men is still alive, coughing up blood as he tries to crawl away. He’s the last one. Nyxara moves before I do, closing the distance in a few short strides.
The man gasps, blood bubbling at his lips as he claws weakly at the blade buried in his stomach. His eyes are wide, frantic, pleading—not for mercy, but for the chance to keep breathing, to keep fighting.
Nyxara offers him neither.
She grips the hilt and twists.
A wet, sickening gurgle rips from his throat as steel grinds against bone, his body jerking violently. His hands scrabble against her wrist, weak and useless, his mouth shaping a wordless plea.
She leans in, her voice a whisper of fire and death. "You will never see your homeland again. You die here, nameless. Forgotten. Like the rest of them. For that is the cost of crossing into my realm."
Then, with a brutal yank, she rips the sword free.
His body convulses, blood spilling in a dark torrent, soaking the earth beneath him. His last breath escapes in a shuddering exhale, his eyes already glassing over before his corpse crumples at her feet.
Nyxara steps over him without a glance, her blade still dripping, her rage still burning.
Let the rest of them come.
Let them choke on the ashes of their own arrogance.
She releases him, shoving him back onto the dirt. The man scrambles to his feet, stumbling into the night. I exhale, watching as Nyxara straightens, shoulders rigid with lingering fury. That was mercy. And I’m not sure if I should be surprised. I step closer, my power still humming beneath my skin. Nyxara turns to me, watching. Her expression unreadable and for a moment, it feels like she’s about to say something.
Instead, she exhales sharply, shaking her head. "We’re leaving."
She shifts back before I can push her further, her form stretching, growing, becoming something monstrous and magnificent all over again. I smirk, running a hand through my hair before climbing onto her back.
She takes off, and I don’t look back.