Chapter 8
8
Amir
T he moment her breathing evens out and her heartbeat slows, I step out of the shadows and into the faint glow of her tiny apartment. She’s finally fallen into a deep slumber again. It’s taken months of watching her sleep for me to piece this together—those dreams she’s been having aren’t just dreams.
She’s time traveling.
I run a hand over my chest, forcing myself to stay calm. Tonight, she went back to the clearing during the Great War—the moment the dragon shifters unleashed hell. I heard her screams, watched her toss and turn, and I felt every ounce of her pain. It clawed at me, every tortured moment of it.
A low growl rumbles in my chest, my frustration barely contained. Why is Fate doing this? Why is she forcing Anora to see these things firsthand? What’s the purpose? What’s so damn important that Fate keeps dragging her to the past, making her relive horrors no person should ever witness ?
I glance around this cramped, damp apartment with a sneer. I hate this place. I’ve tried twice now to get her out of here—Kade and I both—but she refuses to leave. She always finds excuses. It’s the elderly woman downstairs, Mrs. Sarah. That bond they have is too strong for her to walk away from, and for some reason, I can’t bring myself to interfere. Anora is better than me—more selfless.
Sighing, I let my gaze fall back to her. Her slender body is curled on her sagging mattress, and for the first time tonight, she looks at peace. I wish I could lie beside her and hold her while she dreams, shield her somehow from whatever Fate is putting her through.
My ears twitch when I hear a faint hum escape her lips. Then a smile flickers across her face.
“What’s she dreaming about now?” I whisper softly to myself.
And then I hear it. My pulse stops dead in my chest.
“Amir,” she breathes.
The sound of her saying my name leaves me rooted in place. She does this every night, and every time, the way she says it wrecks me. Soft and full of longing, like a prayer.
I move closer to her, standing over the bed. She’s angled herself across the mattress, wrapped up in the warmth I left earlier. She’s lying right where I like to sit when I watch over her. I won’t disturb her, but it’s getting harder and harder not to.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep standing in the shadows, watching her sleep night after night, my chest aching to tell her everything. The self-control I’ve clung to all these years, all these centuries , is hanging by a thread. The pull to take her and claim her as mine is relentless now, and I’m not sure how much longer I can resist it.
But this isn’t how it should happen. I need to court her, get to know her properly. Give her the chance to know me for who I am. I want her to meet the man, not just the presence lurking around her. She deserves that.
Still, there’s this quiet, awful fear that tugs at me. Deep inside, I worry she’ll reject me. After all these years of waiting, yearning for her, I can’t bear to think what would happen if she didn’t want me.
But I’ll never know if I keep standing here, silent and unseen, wishing for something instead of acting. Yet tonight, as she whispers my name again in her sleep, it’s enough to keep me rooted here a moment longer, watching her. Watching the woman I’ve waited lifetimes for.
She shifts, her body reacting as if she can sense me. A contented sigh escapes her lips, and then she smiles softly. My muscles tense when she suddenly sits up a little, eyes still closed. She clutches the pillow to her chest, then readjusts herself, turning onto her side. Her back is to me now, her full, soft curves laid out in plain view.
My gaze drops, and for a brief moment, I lose myself. At the sight of her—a body so perfect to me, so tempting, built to drive me insane—my blood heats, and the man in me, primal and hungry, roars to life. My hand inches out before I can stop it, instinct driving the motion. I want to touch her. Claim her. Take what’s mine.
The beasts inside me are louder now. My lion and my dragon both growl, pressing against my control like they’ve lost patience. “Take her,” they whisper, their voices clawing at my mind, insistent and unrelenting. Over and over. Take her.
I grit my teeth and clench my hand into a tight fist, stopping myself just short of giving in. I bite down hard on my bottom lip, the pain grounding me. I have self-control. I have to. But for how much longer ?
I take a shaky step back, trying to calm the fire raging in my chest, but it’s pointless. My scent fills the air around her, proof of what I want but can’t have. My eyes flick over the small, cramped space of her apartment, a wave of anger washing through me again. I hate it here. Hate that she is here. This place is so far beneath her, it’s a wonder it hasn’t crumbled around her.
Then I catch it—another scent lingering faintly nearby. I freeze, and an involuntary snarl escapes me, low and guttural.
She stirs slightly at the sound, but I don’t care. All I can smell is him. Mike.
My fists curl so tight my knuckles ache. Mike. Out of all the women in the world, he’s decided he wants my mate . The thought alone floods me with fury, and my beasts start pacing inside me, demanding blood.
She’s mine. Only MINE.
The word thunders through me, consuming every rational thought I have, leaving a hot, savage need to act. To kill him. If she finds out what I’ve done, will she forgive me? Would she even try to understand? It doesn’t matter. His death is inevitable. It’s out of my hands now. My beasts have already locked onto his scent, imprinting it as a target. The second I find him, Mike is done. Finished.
And if that’s not enough to drown me, the list of males I’ve imprinted for Hazel is still at the forefront of my mind. Ten men. Ten lives I’ll take for what they did to her. My kill list keeps growing. One by one, they’ll all pay for what they’ve done.
Still, I force myself to focus on what’s most important: her. Anora. I can’t keep waiting in the shadows, watching her from afar, paralyzed by fear of rejection. I’ve waited too long, too many lifetimes for her .
I’ve made my decision. After I avenge Hazel, I’ll reveal myself to Anora. No more hiding. No more watching her from the shadows as she sleeps. It’s time she knows I exist, time for her to know who I really am. I’ll court her like she deserves, give her the chance to understand why she’s mine.
A part of me wants to stay with her now. To bury my face against her neck, inhale her intoxicating scent, let my tongue drag along her soft skin until she stirs awake and whispers my name again. But there’s something more pressing that needs my attention.
Someone I need to deal with. With a grunt, I force my desire aside and teleport out of her room. I reappear outside the apartment building, staring up at her window. The pull to go back to her hits me hard, but I don’t let it win.
Not tonight.
I close my eyes, focusing my energy. There’s only one person who can help me find the monsters who hurt Hazel—the ones who ruined her life. My sister, Aya. She knows where they are. I’m sure of it. Why she hasn’t avenged Hazel herself only proves how twisted and far gone she is. Whatever’s left of her humanity? It’s buried deep beneath the darkness that’s consumed her.
Still, I’m not giving up on her. I don’t know if I can save Aya, but I’ll try. That knowledge won’t stop me from using her in the process, though.
I stretch my hand out in front of me and channel a locator spell. Gold and gray threads of magic spark to life from my fingertips, weaving together in the air. A faint line forms, stretching out before me, pulling me toward her. Her presence is nearby. I can feel it like a faint pulse in my chest.
I teleport immediately, the air shifting around me until I reappear near a tall building under construction. I glance around, taking in the mess of broken concrete and debris that could only be the work of a dragon shifter. Sam.
A low chuckle escapes me as I sniff the air. He’s been here, alright. Judging by the scent, he’s recently found his mate. I tilt my head up, looking at the flickering sign on the partially lit building: Brookstone and Blackburn Enterprises.
Aya just can’t leave this bloodline alone, can she? These humans have been in her grasp for centuries, like loyal puppets clinging to her fractured promises. She’s never delivered, yet they keep falling for her lies. When will they wake up?
Humans intrigue me most of the time. Their arrogance—their willingness to toy with powers they don’t understand—is laughable. They don’t realize there are rules that stand above even their gods. Laws that can’t be broken without severe consequences.
You can’t take a mate from their rightful mate. It’s the law. One even Fate doesn’t bend. And when someone does? The aftermath is catastrophic.
My grin widens at the thought as I push my hands behind my back, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the building’s entrance. Easily, I could teleport inside, but I’m in no rush tonight. There’s a certain satisfaction in watching people crumble in my presence.
Sure enough, the security guards in front of the door stiffen when I approach. They sense the force of my power and don’t even bother meeting my eyes. Their instincts overpower their logic. They know better than to challenge me.
I don’t acknowledge them. I step through the doors and into the lobby, moving at my own pace as I survey the destruction. Sam’s temper is impressive for one of the Ash Clan. They’re usually calm, docile even, unless provoked. Apparently, someone here pushed him too far .
Aya, of course. She never could stay out of trouble.
I cross the rubble-strewn lobby and approach the elevators, but I don’t bother with them. I don’t need to. Aya already knows I’m here. She probably knew the second I activated the locator spell. I teleport directly to the twelfth floor, landing in front of her door.
Before I can even consider knocking, the double doors swing open. She’s been expecting me.
I smirk, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to shake off the irritation swelling in my chest. Stepping inside, I brace myself to face the woman who is now the twisted, dark shadow of the sister I once knew.
The office is pristine, immaculate even. It’s not surprising—Aya always liked the appearance of order, even when there’s chaos lurking underneath. Large floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the far wall, giving a view of downtown Detroit. From up here, the busy city streets look like a river of lights snaking between the tall buildings. The night sky is overrun by the glow of the city—artificial light dimming the stars.
Still, I can see them, the stars and the quiet beauty of the night. My shifter vision makes the polluted sky clear, but the sight does little to curb my frustrations.
The room itself is clinical but expensive. A long, polished desk dominates the space, with a sleek desktop computer sitting at the center. A lounge chair rests just off to the side, perfectly arranged, and the walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with books. From the smell of them, some are far older than this building.
Everything about the space screams control—from the perfectly aligned papers on her desk to the methodically organized books, each spine exactly aligned with the next. The air itself feels curated, sterile almost, but beneath it lurks something else. My enhanced senses pick up the acrid tang of dark magic, writhing just below the surface like oil on water, tainting everything it touches. Even the expensive furniture and modern decor can’t mask the wrongness of it.
It’s all a facade, just like everything else about her now. My sister always did prefer the appearance of order, even when causing chaos. But this? This obsessive perfection only highlights how far she’s fallen. The real Aya would have found this corporate pretense laughable.
“What do you want?”
Her voice pulls my attention back like a hook. I turn to see her lounging on the sofa, looking entirely unbothered by my presence.
Her clothing catches me off guard. This isn’t her usual dark elegance. Tonight, she’s in a fitted black dress that hugs every curve of her figure, subtle but modern—something designed to blend in with this era. Her wild hair is pulled back in a bun, neat and precise. She’s masking as a human. Why?
I tilt my head, giving her a once-over. “Got yourself in some trouble with Ash Clan?” I taunt.
Her eyes snap to mine, venom leaking from her sharp glare. She sits up on the sofa and responds with a harsh snarl. “I didn’t know that little bitch of a mate was in the building. If I had, I’d have gotten rid of her.” She stands, adjusting the hem of her dress, her wicked grin returning as she takes a slow step toward me. “Now, what the fuck do you want? I know you’re not here to gloat. That’s not your style.”
A low chuckle escapes her lips as her heels click softly on the floor. She circles me, her eyes tracing down my body before locking onto the key wrapped securely around my wrist. She pauses for the briefest second. “That’s my style,” she says, flashing another grin before leaning slightly closer .
“You should be busy with your precious Anora. Or, let me guess—still watching her?” Her words drip with mockery. “I know you haven’t claimed her yet. It’s odd, really. You’ve been waiting for this woman since the dawn of time, and all you do is watch her.”
I smirk at her and flick my gaze sideways. “Watching me , sister?” I ask, teasing.
She huffs in response, irritated. “I could care less about you and your pathetic human mate. I want my key .”
Her words spark something inside me, and my smirk drops. The sound of her belittling Anora—calling her pathetic —lights a fuse. Before I can think twice, my hand wraps around her throat, pinning her against the wall with a speed that leaves the air vibrating.
Aya doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t scream or struggle. Instead, she lets out a breathless laugh, her eyes sparkling with that twisted amusement she always wears. “Touchy about Anora, are we?” she taunts, voice raspy from the pressure of my grip.
I lean in close, my grin sharp and dangerous now. My other hand lifts the key in front of her face. “You want your key, Aya?” I growl. “Go ahead. Take it.”
She glares at me, her voice low but full of frustration. “You know I can’t do that. It’s in your possession now. You have to give it to me willingly. I can’t just take it.”
I release her and step back, calming the roaring in my chest. My hands fold behind my back as I square myself up, unwilling to feed into her games. “Who are the men who raped Hazel? I want their names.”
She rolls her eyes like I’ve just asked her some mundane question about the weather. Her tone is dismissive, bored almost. “Oh, you mean my little brat of a daughter? Those men taught her a valuable lesson about the human male. What’s the point in punishing them? They were simply doing their jobs.”
My teeth clench, and my fists at my back tighten as I glare at her. “Are you truly that far gone, Aya? That you’d punish your own daughter for what men did to her?”
She shrugs, totally unfazed. “I warned Hazel about men. I warned her, but like every stupid teenager governed by hormones, she didn’t listen. And now she’s learned. Men only care about one thing: themselves. They’ll use you, suck what they can out of you, then toss you aside without a second thought. They’re worse now than ever before. I didn’t want this to happen to her, but some lessons can only be learned the hard way.”
Her words fall out like poison, and as she speaks, a clearer picture of her so-called “mission” begins forming in my mind.
Looking at her now, it’s hard to believe this is the same sister who once cradled her newborn daughter with such tenderness. I remember that day clearly—Aya’s face soft with wonder as she held Hazel for the first time, whispering promises of protection and love. Now she stands here, justifying her child’s assault as a ‘lesson,’ and something in my chest breaks all over again.
Dark magic hasn’t just corrupted her power—it’s eaten away at her very soul, leaving this hollow shell wearing my sister’s face. The woman before me is a stranger, twisted and wrong, her mind warped by centuries of darkness until even maternal love couldn’t survive its poison.
My voice comes out harder than intended, sharp with grief and anger. “You’re not aiding the patriarchy at all,” I say, watching her face for any glimpse of the sister I once knew. “You’re imploding it.”
She laughs, full and loud. “Exactly. Women don’t want babies anymore. Why? Because men are trash. They don’t believe in marriage. Why? Because men are trash. Women are tired of being used, abused, discarded. Why? Because. Men. Are. Trash.”
She steps closer again, circling me like a predator. “So tell me, brother. What happens when women have had enough? When they’ve been pushed too far? Human men still believe they haven’t pissed them off bad enough, but they have. And soon, they’ll see what happens.”
“And your solution?” I ask, turning to keep her in my sights. “Wipe men off the planet entirely?”
“Why not?” she says with a shrug, that wicked grin never leaving her face.
I shake my head. “Save the lecture, Aya. I don’t have the patience for your games tonight. Tell me their names, or are you enjoying this suffering you’ve caused for your daughter?”
Aya freezes, her venomous expression flickering for a second, but she quickly masks it again. Moving toward her desk, she perches on the edge and folds her arms.
“It happened during a frat party at the Middleton Estate in Salem, Massachusetts,” she says flatly, her tone dismissive once again.
The Middleton Estate. The name burns into my mind like a brand, and something dark and savage stirs in my chest. My claws emerge without conscious thought, and I have to force them back before they tear into my palms. The beasts inside me roar with renewed purpose—we have a location now, a starting point for the carnage to come.
I can already taste their fear, smell their blood. Ten men who thought they could hurt what’s mine and walk away unscathed. The Middleton Estate will become their tomb, and I’ll make sure their deaths serve as a warning to anyone who would dare harm those under my protection.
My jaw clenches as I give a small nod, already planning their executions in my mind. Each one will be different, each one worse than the last. By the time I’m done, that estate will be soaked in their blood.
I give a small nod, satisfied, and turn to leave.
“I was going to handle it myself,” she yells after me.
I pause without looking back. “When, Aya? It’s been almost twelve years.”
“Give me back my key!” she demands, her voice louder now.
I keep walking, glancing at the key wrapped around my wrist. “I’ll give it back eventually,” I say, smirking, “after I destroy dark magic.”
The sharp sound of her gasp echoes, but I don’t give her a chance to respond. I teleport away before she can get another word in.