Chapter 26 Chad
CHAD
My stomach's been a damn black hole since I left Brynn at the library. Every step toward the lake makes it worse. I've always had my doubts about the clearbloods—their methods, their “righteousness”—but what Darkbirch is planning with those Ides? That's next-level insanity.
We're kids playing with nuclear launch codes.
I cut through the southern woods, boots crunching over dead leaves. The common road appears ahead: my exit route. Two werewolves track me from the thornbushes. They recognize my scent but have no clue I'm about to commit high treason. One final glance at the forest before I cross.
The moment I pass beyond Darkbirch's wards, my shoulders drop an inch. First real breath I've taken in days without magic pressing down on my lungs like a vise.
He's waiting at the end of the jetty—lone figure in a brown trench coat, reflection rippling across the water. Storm clouds gathering overhead match my mood. Gray and pissed off.
“The wind rises,” he says, turning to face me.
“Chancellor Rothmere.” I keep my hands in my jacket pockets, sizing up the head of Heathborne’s military academy. Even in that civilian getup, that smug face is unmistakable. “Didn't expect the big boss for a simple debrief.”
His smile doesn't reach his eyes. “I prefer the personal touch in critical times. You're one of my premium assets, after all.”
“How's Heathborne holding up?”
Rothmere's face tightens. “Dayn fried our power grid and shredded our wards. We're limping along, patching holes while hunting that overgrown lizard. Your report?”
“No sign of the dragon,” I say, watching a hawk circle overhead. “But Darkbirch is just as crippled. You could hit them now.”
The Chancellor's lips curl into something that's not quite a smile. “Dayn left with Esme Salem. We're... proceeding with caution.”
I can't help the smirk. “So Darkbirch called it. You're scared shitless that Salem might convince her pet dragon to torch your academy.”
“You find that amusing?”
“Little bit, yeah.”
He's in my face before I can blink. “Listen, you half-breed mongrel.
I didn't plant you in that coven for your stand-up routine.” His finger jabs toward my chest, stopping just short.
“I need intel to crush those freaks once and for all. One dragon stands between me and victory, which means one dragon stands between you and a one-way ticket back to whatever hellpit spawned your father!”
Something hot and ancient surges behind my eyes.
I feel them change, burning red, the Chancellor's startled face reflected in them.
Fury builds within me, begging for release, but the loyalty seals carved into my back when I was fourteen pulse with warning pain.
Fifteen different ways to tear out his throat flash through my mind, but my body won't obey.
“Easy, Chad.” His tone shifts, suddenly careful. “Let's not do anything... regrettable.”
“Course not, sir.” I force the words through clenched teeth. It’s like swallowing fire.
We both know I'm lying through my fangs.
“I’m headed to Bonneville with Brynn Salem,” I say. “She’s got a solid lead on her sister. Still, I recommend you hold your forces until we can verify it. There are three potential dragon sites, and this one seems the strongest.”
The Chancellor folds his arms. “Where did she get that lead?”
“From old diaries. Apparently dragons and darkbloods share a long history—especially the Salem line.”
Rothmere’s face drains of color as he stares across the lake. A sudden wind whips around us, forecast of a brewing storm. A single leaf skims past my cheek. “That makes sense. It’s why Esme Salem was the one who freed him,” he mutters. “What do you know of Dayn’s ties to the Salems?”
“Very little. Dayn approached them hoping to broker peace between humans and dragons. Esme’s sister might know more. She’s the one who studied those journals. I was busy keeping up appearances.”
“That tracks,” Rothmere says. “And they still don’t suspect you’re playing both sides?”
“They have no clue, sir. My darkblood lineage is strong. I keep my demonic nature under tight control. I even layered extra blood-bindings on top of yours, just in case.”
“Good. And Darkbirch—what’s their next move?”
I hesitate. In the past, I divulged intel freely, convinced I was serving the clearbloods and keeping the darkbloods off balance. But after what happened to Jax, I realized the clearbloods were pulling too far ahead.
I can’t, in good conscience, let one faction crush the other. As concerned as I am about the darkbloods’ Ides trial, I struggle to tell Rothmere everything. He hasn’t bound me with compulsion spells, because he trusts me. I’ve earned that trust more times than I care to count.
“They’re hunting the dragon, too,” I say. “And Esme above all. They’ve launched a parallel operation. I don’t know their full plan yet. But if Brynn and I pull this off, I’ll gain access to the upper echelon’s secrets.”
Rothmere’s brow furrows. “You really think so?”
He sounds skeptical, but I can see a spark of hope behind his doubt.
I meet his eyes. “I'm sure of it.”
My heartbeat doesn't quicken. My pupils don't dilate.
Nothing in my face betrays the lie, because half-demon blood means my body doesn't react to falsehoods like others do.
Rothmere's clearblood truth-detection spells slide off me like rain on glass.
If he knew this particular quirk, he'd have carved different bindings into my flesh years ago.
“If we locate Dayn, what then?” I ask.
Rothmere's lips thin. “You alert us immediately. I've developed specialized containment measures.”
The word 'Draethys' sits heavy on my tongue. I swallow it back. After years playing both sides, I've learned too well that neither faction deserves my complete loyalty. We're all just desperate creatures clawing for survival.
“And if I judge the extraction too risky?” I press.
What I mean is: What if there's an entire hidden dragon civilization that would incinerate your clearblood squad on sight? My binding scars burn beneath my shirt—a permanent reminder that I cannot directly endanger him or his people.
“There's no scenario we can't handle,” he says with that insufferable clearblood superiority. “Focus on your assignment.”
“For how much longer?” The question escapes before I can stop it.
His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. Wind whips his coat around him, the fabric struggling like it wants to flee this man as much as I do.
“Do you recall our first meeting?” he asks quietly.
“Hard to forget,” I growl. “You ripped me away from the only home I—”
“I rescued you,” he cuts in sharply. “Found you sobbing over your darkblood mother's corpse in that filthy trailer. You told me yourself—one of her own kind murdered her.”
“It's what I saw.”
And the image still haunts me to this day, fifteen years later. Blood pooling beneath her body, her eyes still open.
“I took you in,” Rothmere says, his voice softening to that practiced paternal tone. “Protected you when no one else would. Gave you a place among decent people.”
“You dressed me up as a clearblood puppet for your agenda.”
He laughs, turning away. “Ancient history. Remember what I promised that night?”
I nod once, jaw tight.
“To help you avenge her,” he says. “Complete this mission, and I'll deliver on that promise.”
Something stirs beneath my skin—that other part of me, the part that remembers her fingers brushing hair from my forehead, the only gentleness I've ever known. My demon blood heats.
I step closer. “You know who killed her? After fifteen years?”
“I have his name.”
“Tell me.” My voice betrays me, trembling.
Rothmere shakes his head. “After you find the dragon. That's our arrangement.”
“You said that when I infiltrated Darkbirch!” Heat flares behind my eyes. “Six years of your missions and promises. When does it end?”
He raises his hand, displaying the silver ring on his little finger. Tiny rubies form a rune that glints in the light—his insurance policy. One whispered word and I become ash.
“Remember your place,” Rothmere says, voice like steel. “Complete your task, and I'll complete mine. Have I ever failed you?”
I swallow hard. “No.”
“It took years, but I found out the real identity of your mother’s killer. I need your help, and then I will release you from your debt. You have my word.”
Something fragile unfurls inside me: a feeling I barely recognize as hope.
The binding scars across my back seem to pulse in response.
I've played Rothmere's game since that night they pulled me, blood-soaked and screaming, from my mother's trailer.
I've seen the darkness in both factions, watched atrocities committed under different banners but with the same cold calculation.
And somewhere among them walks her killer.
“So I find your dragon, and then I'm free?” The words burn on my tongue.
Rothmere nods once, decisively. “Precisely. After I provide the name you've sought for over a decade.” His voice softens to that practiced paternal tone. “I've always had your interests at heart, Chad. I simply ensured your talents didn't go to waste. You're my most valuable asset.”
I didn’t tell him about Esme Salem's infiltration of Heathborne, though. And he doesn’t know that I knew. The binding spells may control my actions, but they can't force me to volunteer information. Some secrets remain mine alone.
“I'll track down your dragon,” I say finally.
And I'll have safeguards in place when Rothmere inevitably tries to extend my leash. Years of broken promises have taught me to create my own insurance policies.
“Good man,” the Chancellor says, patting my shoulder.
I feel no satisfaction in deceiving Brynn about any of this.
Perhaps that's one small reason why I've grown increasingly conflicted about this war.
She's complicated everything with her fierce loyalty, her sharp tongue, her…
addicting scent. Beneath her defensive posturing lies untapped power that makes my demon blood sing.
She insists she's the lesser Salem sister, and I've encouraged that belief to maintain my cover.
If she only knew what sleeps within her. Part of me longs to set off that bomb and watch what happens next.