Chapter 19
Ember
The forest closes around us as we move. Luke stays ahead, sure-footed despite the pack on his shoulders, despite the blood still seeping through his uniform. I stumble over exposed roots, catch myself on low branches, force my exhausted body to keep pace.
Two miles. He said two miles.
Every step takes us farther from the transport. From the bodies Luke left behind. From whatever teams are mobilizing right now to hunt us down.
I’m fighting exhaustion that feels bone deep after days on the run. But Luke’s alive, and that fact alone keeps me moving.
The lodge appears through the pines like something from a forgotten era. Weathered wood structure, small and isolated, chimney cold against the early morning sky. No smoke. No lights. No sign anyone’s been here in months.
Luke stops at the treeline. Holds up one hand; silent command to wait.
He circles the perimeter while I lean against a pine trunk and try to catch my breath. My body wants to collapse. To curl up right here on the forest floor and sleep for a week.
But I watch Luke instead. The methodical way he checks windows, tests the door, scans for threats I wouldn’t know to look for.
He returns. “Clear. No recent occupation.”
Then he kicks in the door.
The old lock gives easily, wood splintering, metal tearing free. He gestures me inside without ceremony.
The interior is exactly what I expected. Single room dominated by a stone fireplace. Rough-hewn furniture that’s seen better decades. Hunting trophies mounted on walls—deer, elk, something with too many antlers.
Dusty but dry. Better than sleeping in the forest.
Luke drops his pack, immediately moving to bar the door behind us. He checks windows, testing locks, assessing sight lines.
I stand in the middle of the room and try not to shake.
He’s alive.
The thought keeps circling back, refusing to settle into something I can accept. He’s alive and he came for me and we’re here together instead of both dead.
“Small supply cache.” Luke’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. He’s crouched by a cabinet, pulling out canned goods, bottled water, emergency blankets. “Enough for a day, at least.”
“There’s a washroom.” I spot the narrow door in the corner. Move toward it on autopilot.
It’s a tiny space. Just a sink, toilet, and what looks like a shower rigged to a cistern on the roof. But it’s clean. Functional.
I stare at the shower like it’s salvation.
When I emerge, Luke’s building a fire in the hearth, small flames catching on kindling, smoke curling up the chimney.
He glances at me. “Go ahead. I’ll keep watch.”
I don’t argue. Can’t form the words to refuse even if I wanted to.
The water runs cold at first. Then lukewarm; barely warm enough to matter, but enough.
I strip off my torn, filthy clothes. The jacket Luke gave me in the cave. The pants shredded at the knees. Everything crusted with dirt and dried blood and three days of fear.
I step under the weak stream.
Watch it all swirl down the drain. Brown water turning clear. Blood and grime washing away.
My body aches in places I didn’t know could ache. Bruises blossoming dark across my ribs where guards grabbed me. Wrists raw and bleeding where the cuffs bit deep. Muscles screaming from days of running and climbing and surviving.
But alive.
I’m alive!
The tears come without warning. Mix with water streaming down my face. I let myself cry for the first time since Mara fell. For the first time since I thought Luke was dead. For everything that’s happened and everything I’ve lost.
The water runs cold before I’m ready to stop.
I wrap myself in a threadbare towel hanging on a hook, then step back into the main room where warmth from the fire hits my skin.
Luke has laid out clothes on the chair. An oversized flannel shirt. Thermal pants that will be too long. He’s standing by the window, back to me.
“Found these back at the facility.” His voice is careful. Neutral. “Sorry. They were all I could grab.”
“Better than what I was wearing.” I try for light. For normal.
He doesn’t turn around. “Your turn to keep watch. I need a few minutes.”
Then he’s gone. Disappears into the washroom before I can respond.
I pull on the borrowed clothes. The flannel swallows me, soft and warm and smelling like storage and dust. The pants I have to roll three times at the ankles.
I settle by the fire and let heat soak into bones that haven’t stopped shaking since the transport.
Luke returns maybe ten minutes later. Hair damp. Wearing clean clothes from the pack. Cargo pants, a gray shirt that’s seen better days but isn’t covered in blood.
He’s still bleeding from his shoulder, a dark stain spreading through fabric.
“Sit.” I point at the chair.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding. Sit.”
He looks at me for a second. Then complies.
The surprise of it stuns us both into silence. Up until now, he’s been the one giving the instructions.
I kneel beside him with the first-aid kit he pulled from the supply cache. My hands are steadier now that I have a purpose. Something to do besides think about everything that’s happened.
“Take off your shirt.”
He pulls it over his head without argument. The firelight catches every line of him: broad shoulders, defined chest, a dragon tattoo that winds across his back. And beneath it all, layers of scars. Old injuries that healed wrong or healed too many times.
The fresh wound cuts deep across his collarbone. Still seeping blood despite his attempts to stanch it.
I clean it carefully. He winces when antiseptic hits raw flesh but doesn’t pull away.
My fingers trace the edges. Scarred flesh is evidence of a life I can’t imagine, centuries of fighting and surviving and enduring.
The silence stretches. Comfortable rather than tense.
“How did you get out?” My voice comes out soft as I focus on what I’m doing.
“I had help.” He’s quiet for a moment. “From something I don’t fully understand.”
I pause, hands stilling on the bandage. “The pulse.”
“You felt it too.”
“In the cell. When they took me.” I resume wrapping gauze around his shoulder. “Like the mountain was… listening.”
“It broke my restraints.” Luke’s voice carries something I’ve never heard from him before. Wonder, maybe. Or fear. “Slowed the bleeding from this wound. Opened my cell door like it wanted me free.”
My hands go still completely. “The same power that’s been draining us.”
“Except this time, it gave instead of taking.” He turns slightly, meeting my eyes. “The ancient dragon presence we’ve been tracking. The Sleeping King. Whatever it is, it’s aware. And it chose to help.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because of what you are.
Hybrid magic might have triggered something.
” He pauses. “The Syndicate’s been trying to access the tomb.
To tap into the Sleeping King’s power. Iris and Riven stopped whatever they were planning in his chamber, but clearly, they’ve been working on this for a while. ”
I process this. “They’re still trying to control it.”
He gives a nod. “I don’t think they have any idea of what they’re dealing with.” His lips purse. “Neither do we.”
“Well, for now, it seems to be on our side. That’s good enough for me.” I tie off the bandage. My hands linger on his shoulder longer than necessary. I can’t help myself. Physical contact with him settles me in a way I can’t understand.
“We need to contact Aurora.” He reaches for the pack, pulls out a compact device I don’t recognize. “They’ll be mobilizing search teams by now.”
“My mother’s probably losing her mind.” The thought makes my chest hurt. “What is that?” I nod at the device.
“Comms unit I took from the Syndicate vehicle,” he tells me. “I reset the frequencies for Craven encryption.”
“Is it safe?” I ask.
He nods. “We’ll be able to use it without them tracking it. Craven channels are secure.” Luke’s fingers move over the screen. Typing. Sending. “Brief message,” he explains, glancing up. “Kenan and Arrowvane alive. Extracted from Syndicate facility. Require pickup coordinates.”
“How long before they respond?”
“Hours. If they respond at all.” He sets the device aside.
“Depends on whether the signal gets through. Whether they can triangulate our position. Whether pursuit teams jam the frequency first.” He huffs out a breath.
“No telling what sort of tech the Syndicate has up its sleeve, but I’m guessing it’s high-level. ”
The variables stack up. All the ways this could still go wrong.
I sit back on my heels. My hands rest on his knees; not intentional, just where they landed. I realize that we’ve been touching this entire time. And it’s felt like the most natural thing in the world.
But now, Luke’s eyes drop to where my fingers press against his leg.
The air between us changes. Thickens with something I felt in the transport. Something that’s been building since the cave.
“I thought you were dead.” My voice is soft.
His throat works. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“But you came back. You risked everything to—”
His hand catches mine. Stops the words. “There was no risk. There was only you.”
My breath snags. The honesty in his voice cracks something open in my chest.
Impulsively, I lean forward. He doesn’t pull away.
This kiss is different from the frantic one from before. Slower. Deliberate. Like we have time now to mean it.
His hand slides into my still-damp hair. Mine flatten against his chest, feeling his heartbeat pounding beneath my palms. Fast. Unsteady. He’s not as controlled as he pretends to be.
The kiss deepens. His tongue touches mine; tentative at first, then bolder. Heat builds fast, spreading from my mouth down my throat into my stomach.
I’ve been kissed before. Fumbling boys who didn’t know what they were doing. Who took without asking. Who left me feeling hollow instead of wanting more.
This isn’t that.