Chapter 2 Rurik #3
“My shadows react to Valdris’s power.” His voice is ice and darkness. “Have for centuries. I felt it when they used Aisling—felt the Relic energy singing through me like a beacon.”
Silence falls. Even Auren stops calculating.
“You felt it?” Drayke’s tone sharpens. “Why didn’t you report this?”
“I’m reporting it now.” Zyphon’s mouth curves—not a smile, exactly. Something darker. “If Valdris’s magic calls to my shadows, perhaps my shadows can answer. Disrupt her ability to track the Fire-Bringer. Turn the thread between them into static instead of a signal.”
“That’s theoretical.” Auren’s skepticism carries a hint of interest now. “Untested.”
“So we test it.” Zyphon’s gaze finds mine. Holds it. “The calculus is simple. We can use the Fire-Bringer’s presence here as a weapon against Valdris—a thread that works both ways, a tracker that can be reversed. Or we can let our enemies use it against us.”
“She’s not a weapon.” The protest rises automatically.
“Everything is a weapon.” Zyphon’s voice holds no judgment. Just cold, terrible truth. “The question is who wields it.”
More silence. Torchlight flickers across faces I’ve known for centuries, and I realize we’re at a crossroads. A decision that will shape everything that follows.
“Assign me.” The words come out strong. Certain. “As her guardian. Personal protection. Let me stay close, learn what the Relic energy has done to her, figure out how to use it against Valdris instead of the other way around.”
Drayke studies me. His attention is palpable—centuries of command have taught him to wait, to assess, to see past the surface to the truth beneath. I can’t read his expression. Never could, not entirely.
“You’ve barely slept in days.” His voice is quiet but carries the kind of authority that doesn’t need volume. “Your dragon is riding you so hard, you can barely function. And you want me to assign you as her guardian?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Because I can’t leave her. My dragon will tear me apart if I try. Because when she smiled at me this morning—that small, reluctant curve of her lips—I felt something I don’t have words for.
“Because I’m the only one who can’t walk away.” The admission costs me. Pride, maybe. Or the illusion that I have any control over this. “Whatever she is to me—whatever this thing between us turns out to be—I can channel it into protecting her. And when Valdris comes—“
“You’ll be the first line of defense.” Drayke nods slowly. “Or the first casualty.”
“I’m not dying before I figure out what this is.”
Selene snorts. “That’s adorable. In a ‘disaster waiting to happen’ kind of way.
Very Romeo and Juliet, except with more scales and less poetry.
” She turns to Drayke. “For the record, I support this terrible idea. Mostly because watching Rurik try to be patient will be the most entertainment I’ve had in weeks. Maybe months. Possibly ever.”
“Your faith in me is overwhelming.”
“My faith in you is based on extensive observation of your impulse control.” Her grin sharpens.
“Which is approximately zero. But desperate times, desperate measures, desperate dragons—the trifecta of bad decisions.” Her eyes are warm despite the words.
“She needs someone in her corner. Someone who won’t treat her like a problem to be managed.
Against all logic, that might actually be you. ”
Drayke exchanges a glance with his mate. Something passes between them—communication without words, the kind of understanding that comes from claiming, from bonding, from sharing pieces of yourself with another person until you can’t tell where you end and they begin.
Will I have that someday? With Aisling?
The thought is terrifying. And thrilling. And completely inappropriate for a war council.
“Fine.” Drayke’s voice pulls me back, cutting through the room with quiet command.
“You’re assigned as her guardian. Personal protection.
You report directly to me.” His gaze hardens, gold flecked with fire.
“But, Rurik—if your judgment is compromised, if your dragon takes over, if you put her in more danger instead of less—“
“You’ll pull me.” I nod. “Understood.”
“I’ll do worse than pull you.” He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t need to. The Guardian King’s promises carry weight—always have, always will.
The meeting continues. Patrol assignments. Intelligence reports. Strategic assessments that blur together until I can barely track them. My mind keeps drifting to the infirmary. To wild red hair and sharp green depths and a stubborn chin lifted in defiance.
Earn a better comparison.
I intend to.
When the meeting finally breaks, I’m the first one through the door. Behind me, I hear Selene call my name. Hear footsteps quicken to catch up.
“Rurik.” Her hand catches my arm. Pulls me to a stop. “Hold on.”
“I need to get back—“
“I know.” Her grip doesn’t loosen. “But you need to hear this first.”
I turn. Face her fully.
“She’s not ready for whatever you’re feeling.” Selene’s voice is low. Urgent. “The things she endured, the trauma she’s carrying—she needs time to process. To heal. To figure out who she is now that everything she knew has been stripped away.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her head tilts. “Because I’ve seen how you look at her. Like she’s the only person in the room. Like she’s the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.” She sighs. “That kind of focus can be overwhelming. Even for someone who isn’t already drowning.”
“So what do I do?”
“Be patient.” She squeezes my arm. “Be present. Be whatever she needs, even when it’s not what you want. And when she pushes you away—because she will—don’t take it personally. It’s not about you. It’s about her learning to trust again.”
“I don’t do patient.”
“Learn.” Her voice is that of someone who’s lived through her own version of this and come out the other side. “She’s worth it, Rurik. Whatever she becomes to you—she’s worth learning patience for.”
Her hand drops. She disappears around a corner before I can form a response.
I stand in the passage. Walls pressing close. Torches flickering in their sconces. It settles onto my shoulders like armor I didn’t ask to wear.
Three hundred fifty years. That’s how long I’ve been alive, how long I’ve been fighting, burning, taking what I wanted without waiting for permission.
And now I’m standing in an empty hallway, trying to convince myself that patience is possible.
For her.
Mate. Protect. OURS.
“Not yet,” I mutter. “Not until she’s ready.”
I head back toward the infirmary. Back to the woman who looked at me like I was both nightmare and salvation.
Back to the beginning of something I don’t understand but can’t walk away from.
The passage stretches before me. Ancient walls. Dancing torchlight. The scent of herbs and hope drifting from behind the door I’m about to open.
For the first time in three hundred years, I slow down.
And start learning to wait.