Chapter 1
Heston
Ihave a rule about fire. Respect it. It’s that simple.
Fire doesn’t care if you’re strong. It doesn’t care if you’re smart. And it doesn’t care if you’ve spent years training to fight it.
Fire is patient. It waits. It lies. And fire wins if you forget what it is.
That’s what most people don’t understand. They see flames and think about warmth—candles, campfires, holidays.
They see something beautiful where I see something that needs to be controlled, tamed, defeated.
Which is probably why standing outside a dragon’s mansion on Halloween night feels like a cosmic joke and I’m the punchline.
“You’re staring at the house like it personally offended you,” Tristan says, nudging my shoulder with his.
I don’t need to look at him to see the excitement dancing in his turquoise eyes. That makes one of us. “I’m deciding if the department insurance covers being eaten by a billionaire lizard,” I scoff.
“They’re not lizards,” Lachlan snickers.
“That’s exactly what a lizard would want us to say,” I counter facetiously.
Tristan sighs, ever the open-minded optimist. “You do know they’re people, right?”
I finally glance over at him. “I know that. Because you’ve spent the last twenty minutes comparing them to reptiles. I’m just saying, if a species is famous for hoarding treasure, living for over a century, and breathing fire, I’m allowed to have questions.”
Lachlan shakes his head. “You fight fires for a living.”
“Exactly,” I agree.
“So you should appreciate dragons.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Why?”
I look up at the enormous gothic mansion towering over us, taking in the black stone stronghold standing at the end of a long, winding driveway behind looming, ornate iron gates.
Windows glow from within, like watchful eyes standing guard.
“Because when I see fire, I don’t think it’s magical,” I snap, adjusting my jacket and pasting on a disarming smile, preparing myself to just get through tonight. “I just think something went wrong.”
Neither of them jokes about that. They know me too well, and that’s one of the reasons they’re still my friends. They know when to shut the hell up.
The mansion belongs to one of the oldest dragon families in existence, and it’s impressive, like their dynasty. Towers disappear into the darkness. Stone dragons curl around the entrance—impossibly large stones carved into life-size dragons, because regular statues wouldn’t be dramatic enough.
“Subtle,” I mutter, stepping up to the two-story double front doors, Tristan and Lachlan flanking me.
“What?” Lachlan whispers while we wait for the door to open.
“The architecture,” I say. “You’d never guess who lives here.”
“You gotta admit that it’s perfect for a masquerade ball, though,” Tristan says, bouncing on the balls of his feet, unable to contain his excitement.
I scoff. “Seems like overcompensating, if you ask me.”
“You know dragons are responsible for a lot of charities,” Lachlan chuckles. “They’ve funded hospitals, research, and education. I bet they’ve even supported your department.”
The strange thing about dragons is that everyone has an opinion about them. Humans have known they exist for two hundred years, long enough that they aren’t mythology anymore.
They’re neighbors and coworkers. Even friends. Some people worship them; some distrust them. Most just accept them.
Me? I respect what they’ve done and the lives they’ve saved. I respect the fact that many of them spent generations rebuilding trust after the war.
The war where humans tried to control them and use them. I know the history and I know dragons weren’t the villains. I know plenty of humans stood beside them. I know all of that, but knowing something and feeling it is different.
The door opens, and we hand over our invitations and step into a different world.
There are hundreds of strangers here, both human and dragon. The black mask covering the top half of my face does nothing to disguise my humanity, but it’s the scowl that sets me apart here. Even Lachlan, while not thrilled to be here, wears a polite smile beneath his mask.
I’m used to high-stakes situations, life and death hanging in the balance of a split-second decision. Social situations are much worse.
At least fires are honest. A fire tells you exactly what it wants. People are harder. People smile while judging you. They ask questions they already know the answers to and pretend not to notice when you’re uncomfortable.
I would rather crawl through smoke than attend a networking event. At least smoke doesn’t ask what I do for fun.
A uniformed server passes by offering drinks. I take a whiskey, giving my hands something to do.
We mingle because we’re supposed to. That’s the deal. We smile, make polite conversation, and pretend we aren’t counting the seconds until we can leave.
A woman asks about my job, and I give the standard answer. Firefighter.
She tells me it’s brave.
I smile and thank her.
She asks if I’ve ever rescued someone from a dragon fire, her voice barely more than a whisper as her eyes glance nervously around us, afraid of being overheard.
My smile freezes for half a second before I recover, shaking my head. Lying.
A small one. The kind people tell when they don’t want to explain something.
Lachlan interrupts then, excusing us as he pulls me toward the expansive buffet. He hands me a plate, and I follow him, my eyes roaming the appetizers that probably cost more than my first car.
There are desserts I’ve never seen before and dishes from countries I’ve never visited.
Everything is beautiful. And excessive, screaming generational wealth.
Tristan grabs something from my plate, and I slap his hand away. “You have your own,” I grumble, taking another from the table before we walk away.
“Yours looked better.”
“That’s not how food works,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.
“You two know there are hundreds of years of dragon history happening around you, right?”
Tristan nods.
“And you’re arguing about appetizers.”
“Priorities, my guy,” he says, rubbing his belly with his free hand with a wistful look at the buffet over his shoulder.
I shake my head. These two idiots are the only reason I’m still here.
Hours later, the music changes and the room shifts. The air feels heavier, like a storm is gathering, but the sky is clear, the moon shining through the windows several stories above us.
A metallic glint catches my attention against the dark cliffs at the back of the manor. It grows larger as it closes in, and I brace for an attack, only relaxing when I see a shimmer and a woman standing in place of the silvery-purple dragon.
I can’t see much from this distance, but my chest tightens slightly, my usually reliable instincts alert.
“Heston?”
I look back, finding Lachlan watching me. “What?”
“You disappeared.”
“I’m standing right here.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Ah,” Tristan whistles under his breath as he follows my gaze.
I immediately know what he’s thinking. “No.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he pouts.
“You were about to,” I accuse, turning to look anywhere but at the confusing stranger.
A few minutes later, I look back and she’s gone.
It’s probably for the best. I don’t need distractions. I have a job. A life. Tristan and Lachlan. And that’s enough for me. Tonight is just a party.
But as I stand there beneath the chandeliers, surrounded by dragons and their endless history, I can’t shake the feeling that something has changed.
That something noticed me. And worse…that some part of me noticed it back.