Playing with Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #6)

Chapter 1

Luke

I stand at the edge of the Aurora airfield, watching the sun climb higher over the mountains. Jet fuel and pine resin burn in my nostrils. My dragon stirs beneath my skin, restless.

The hangar doors groan open behind me, spilling light across the tarmac.

I pull up the manifest on my tablet one more time.

Supplies, weapons, medical kit, communication array.

Everything’s accounted for. I cross-reference the weather patterns anyway, then check the encrypted frequencies again.

The Carpathians are a long way from the Pacific Northwest, and a lot can go wrong over the Atlantic.

“You know the plane won’t take off faster just because you glare at it, right?”

I don’t turn around. “Mara.”

“That’s Agent Jones to you.” She appears at my elbow with coffee and a duffel bag, grinning like she knows exactly how much I don’t want company right now. “But since we’re basically besties after these last few weeks, I’ll allow the informality.”

“Since when did you get ‘agent’ status?” I grunt.

“Since I promoted myself.” She’s unrepentant. “I figured the Cravens could handle it.”

She offers the coffee. Steam curls between us.

“Already had some.”

“Of course you did.” She takes a long sip, bright green eyes scanning the airfield. “Romania. Cleanup mission. Potentially hostile territory. You planning to smile at any point during this trip, or should I pack extra sunshine for both of us?”

“Pack ammunition.”

“Already done. Unlike some people, I don’t need to check my gear—” She pauses, tilting her head. “Wait. Is this your fifth check or sixth?”

“Can’t be too careful,” I mutter.

“Actually, yes. Yes, you can,” she responds, taking another sip, then patting the small satchel slung over her shoulder. “Besides, I have everything I have right here. Screen. Phone. All my tech.”

“Right. Because an iPhone will save you if we go up against Syndicate dragons.’

“Hey! This iPhone has already saved you a dozen times whenever I’ve posted another story hiding the existence of dragons,” she shoots back. “You could’ve been strapped down in a lab having experiments done on your sorry hide if it weren’t for this little baby.” She pats the bag again.

“Nobody’s going to do experiments on me.” I fight not to roll my eyes.

“Seriously? You really believe that?” Mara shakes her head. “The government would be all over you lot if they ever found out you were real. Blood tests. Invasive procedures. Probes…”

“There will be no probes.” This time, I actually do roll my eyes. The woman is impossible.

“Oh, there’ll be probes, alright.” She waves a hand. “Have you never heard of Area 52?”

God help me.

Movement near the hangar catches my eye before I can answer. Someone in tactical gear moves across the tarmac with careful, deliberate steps. Platinum blonde braid swinging. Even from here, I catch the nervous energy radiating off her.

My jaw tightens.

Ember Arrowvane.

I’d argued against bringing her. Twenty-one years old, no field experience. But she’d been the one having visions of residual magical energy at the ritual site—echoes that might indicate something worse was building. Viktor had agreed she might be able to sense what our technology couldn’t detect.

Vanya had been furious.

I don’t blame her.

“Oh, good,” Mara says, fading blue streaks in her dark hair catching the light. “The kid’s here. This should be fun.”

Ember spots us and waves, her whole face lighting up. She hurries over, pack bouncing against her shoulders, and something in my chest does an irritating twist.

I shove it down and focus on assessment. New boots—leather still stiff, not broken in. Jacket zipped too high. Pack bulging in all the wrong places.

She stops in front of us, slightly breathless.

“Hi, there! Sorry! I’m not late, am I? Mom took forever saying goodbye, and then I couldn’t find my—”

“You’re fine,” Mara says. “Luke’s just been standing here radiating disapproval at the entire world. Don’t take it personally.”

Those wide, deep brown eyes flick to me. Uncertain. “I’m ready to go. I think?”

The scent hits me then. Something I didn’t notice from a distance—lavender and wood smoke, underlaid with the electric-sharp tang of magic. My dragon lifts its head, interested.

I shut that down fast.

“Open your pack,” I say.

Her smile falters. “What?”

“Your pack. Open it.”

Pink floods her cheeks, but she unslings the bag and unzips it. I lean in—too close, I register the warmth coming off her skin—and look inside.

Books. Three thick paperbacks with cracked spines. A sketchpad. Pens. Trail mix.

No extra ammunition. No backup comm. No flares.

Heat crawls up the back of my neck. “Where’s your gear?”

“I—” She glances at Mara, then back. “I have my gear. In the side pockets. The summoning components, the magical detection equipment—”

“Ammunition.”

“Oh.” Her voice drops to almost nothing. “I thought… since I’m mostly support, I wouldn’t need as much, and I wanted something to read on the plane—”

“This isn’t a vacation.” The words come out harder than I mean them to. She flinches, and I catch the flash of hurt in her eyes before she looks away.

My dragon snarls at me.

Idiot.

“To be fair,” Mara says carefully, “we’ve got plenty of ammo. And the flight’s thirteen hours. Books aren’t a war crime, Luke.”

She’s right. Technically. Ember’s role is magical sensitivity—detecting the residual energy signatures from her visions, checking if the Syndicate’s ritual damaged the containment.

But that’s not the point. The point is, she doesn’t think like someone whose survival might depend on what’s in that pack.

She thinks like a kid.

Goddammit. I didn’t sign up for fucking babysitting.

“Fine.” I force the edge out of my voice. “Keep the books. But you carry an extra comm and medical kit. I’ll have them ready before we board.”

Ember nods quickly, still not meeting my eyes.

“Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry, I should have—”

“Save it.” I turn away before I can see what my words do to her face. There’s a twisting sensation behind my ribs that I don’t have time for.

“Don’t mind him,” Mara says behind me. “He’s like this with everyone. Last week, he yelled at me for packing snacks.”

“They were potato crisps,” I call back. “In a fallout bag. You were making a noise.”

“And yet we all survived. Funny how that can happen when you’re not actually working in a war zone.”

“Everything is a war zone,” I mutter. She hasn’t lived in my world long enough to know this is a fact.

The sound of heels on concrete cuts through our conversation. Sharp. Deliberate. Moving fast.

I know that stride.

Vanya Arrowvane rounds the hangar like winter personified. Platinum blonde hair pulled back severe, long coat sweeping behind her, ice-blue eyes locked on me with dangerous focus.

Shit.

Mara mumbles something that definitely isn’t polite, echoing my thoughts.

Vanya stops three feet away. The temperature drops.

“Kenan.”

“Elder Arrowvane.” I keep my tone low. Deferential. The woman may no longer hold the position of the Ivory League’s most feared enforcer, but there’s more than a hint of the Shadowhand in her bearing. She’d cut me a new smile below my chin if I looked at her wrong.

Her gaze slides past me to where Ember stands, then snaps back. When she speaks, her voice is soft. Controlled. That’s worse than shouting.

“My daughter is twenty-one years old. She has been training since childhood, but she’s never left North America, never seen real combat, never watched someone die.

” One step closer. I force myself not to move.

“If anything happens to her—if she comes home with so much as a scratch that could have been prevented—you and I will have a conversation you won’t enjoy. ”

“Mom!” Ember objects. Neither of us acknowledges her.

I hold Vanya’s stare. “Understood.”

“I don’t think you do.” Her smile is all teeth. “I have buried friends. I have burned enemies. But nothing I’ve done in my entire life would compare to what I’d do to protect my child. Are we clear?”

My dragon wants to bristle at the threat. I keep it leashed. The woman deserves my respect. “Crystal.”

Something passes behind her eyes—assessment, maybe approval—then she nods once and walks past me.

I’ve fought warlords and rogue dragons. I’ve bled in a dozen countries and killed things that live between nightmares.

But mothers are a different kind of terrifying.

“Well,” Mara says quietly. “That was fun. Feel adequately threatened?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She drains her coffee. “Keeps you sharp.”

“Seriously, Mom,” Ember huffs. “I’m not a child.”

“I know, darling. But you will always be my little girl,” her mother responds.

I watch Vanya pull Ember into a fierce embrace, catching fragments of low words—warnings mixed with endearments. Ember’s arms wrap tight around her mother, face buried against her shoulder. Something about the picture makes my chest ache.

I look away.

My own family is long gone. Clan wars took a high toll over the years. Something I’ve come to terms with. Still, watching displays like this leaves a pang.

When Vanya finally releases Ember, she says something that makes her laugh—watery but genuine. Then she turns and strides off without looking back.

Ember wipes her eyes and rejoins us, cheeks still flushed. “Sorry about that. She’s… protective.”

“No kidding,” Mara says. “I’m pretty sure she just threatened to turn Luke into a decorative ice sculpture.”

“She threatened worse when I started learning to control my dragon.” Ember’s smile is shaky. “You should’ve heard what she said she’d do to my instructors if they went easy on me.”

“Your mother terrifies me,” Mara says cheerfully.

“She terrifies everyone.” Ember looks at me, worried. “But she knows you’ll keep us safe. She just—”

“Wheels up in five,” I say, not in the mood for emotional reminiscences. “Get your gear loaded.”

I grab my bag and head for the jet before anyone can say anything else. The Gulfstream waits on the tarmac, sleek and dark against the mountain backdrop. I load my gear, then slip the extra comm unit and medical kit into Ember’s pack when she’s not looking.

Mara catches me. Raises an eyebrow.

I ignore her.

Five minutes later, we’re airborne.

The cabin hums with engine noise. Mara’s already asleep in the back, head tilted against the window, arms crossed. I claim a seat near the front and pull up the mission files on my tablet.

Supply routes. Extraction protocols. Backup plans for the backup plans.

Ember sits across the aisle by the window. She’s pulled out one of her books but hasn’t opened it. Instead, she stares at the clouds, profile soft in the low light.

I force my attention back to the logistics report.

It doesn’t work.

My gaze keeps drifting. The line of her jaw. The way sunlight catches her platinum hair, making it gleam like spun silver.

She shifts, pulling a blanket over her lap. Her eyes drift closed, head tilting against the window.

I’ve been fighting wars since before she was born. I have scars older than her memories.

She’s so goddamned young. And I could be flying her into danger.

The thought sits heavy in my chest.

My dragon stirs again, attention fixed across the aisle. I shove it down hard. She’s twenty-one. She packed books instead of ammunition. She’s Vanya’s daughter, for God’s sake.

This is just responsibility. The weight of keeping her safe. Nothing else.

Ember’s breathing evens out into sleep. The cabin light catches in her hair, turning the strands luminous.

Heat crawls through my veins—unwelcome, unwanted. My dragon rumbles with something that feels dangerously close to satisfaction.

No.

I close the tablet. Close my eyes. Focus on my breathing, my heartbeat, anything except the scent of lavender and smoke that seems to have embedded itself in my sinuses.

It’s going to be a long mission.