Chapter 34
Luke
I sprint through the compound, barely registering the startled faces of other dragons as I pass. Guards at the southern post exchange knowing glances. A group of younger shifters training in the courtyard pause their drills to watch me sprint by, whispering as I shoot by.
Every instinct I possess screams in a singular chorus:
Find her. Claim her. Make it right.
The bond I’ve been denying pulls taut like a physical tether, directing me toward the armory with unwavering certainty. Each step brings a clarity I’ve been fighting for too long.
I’m done running.
The armory door looms ahead, its heavy wood reinforced with dragon-forged steel. I don’t slow down, don’t pause to collect myself. I push through with enough force to make the hinges groan in protest, the sound echoing off the walls.
Two junior weapons masters look up from their inventory, eyes widening at my abrupt entrance. They take one look at my face and make hasty excuses to leave, the door closing behind them with a heavy thud.
Good.
The scent hits me first: gun oil, metal polish, dragon-forged steel with its distinctive metallic-ozone tang, and beneath it all, her. Smoke and determination, wild magic with undercurrents of vanilla and fire, a scent that makes my dragon rise closer to the surface.
Ember stands at the weapons bench, her back to me, methodically loading magazines. Her movements are deliberate but unpracticed, a warrior still learning her craft.
She doesn’t turn at my entrance, though I know she recognizes me instantly.
“Ember.”
“I’m busy.”
“We need to talk.”
“I said I’m busy, Luke.” Her voice carries an edge that cuts straight through me; hurt disguised as indifference. The bond between us pulses with her suppressed pain, discernible even in its incomplete state.
“I know,” I say, my voice harsh with emotion I no longer care to hide. “But I need you to hear this.”
Ember’s shoulders tense, the line of her spine going rigid, but she still doesn’t face me.
“There’s nothing left to say. You made your choice.”
“I made the wrong choice.” The words scrape my throat raw with honesty. “And I’m here to fix it.”
That makes her turn.
Her eyes meet mine, guarded and wary. The hurt is visible beneath the anger, a wounded vulnerability she’s trying to armor against. But she’s listening. My dragon recognizes that small victory, urging me forward.
“I’m sorry,” I say, moving closer by one step, then another. “For walking away. For letting your mother’s words matter more than yours.”
Her chin lifts. “She convinced you I was too young—”
“She didn’t have to convince me,” I interrupt, the truth pouring from me now that I’ve stopped fighting it. “I already believed I wasn’t good enough.”
Another step closer. The scent of her intensifies, making my head swim, my dragon purring at her proximity. “But Caleb and Dorian… they made me see something I’ve been denying.”
“Really? And what was that?” She’s keeping her distance, but I can hear the curiosity ramp up.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I prepare to say the words out loud for the first time.
“You’re my mate, Ember. My dragon recognized you in those mountains, and I’ve been fighting it because I was terrified.”
Her breath catches, eyes widening, pupils dilating. “Mate?”
I nod, inhaling slowly to steady the intensity of my emotion.
“The pull. The need. The fact that thinking of you in danger makes me physically ill. That’s not just attraction. It’s a bond forming.”
“I feel it too,” she whispers, and the admission sends a shock wave through me. “Thought I was going crazy.”
“You’re not crazy.” I’m close enough now to touch her, though I don’t. Not yet. I can never think straight when I touch her. “And I’m done pretending this isn’t real.”
She sets down the weapon she’s been loading, the metal clicking against the surface. Her hands are steady, her gaze direct. Outside, the distant sound of Aurora activity carries through the high windows, a reminder of the world continuing beyond this moment.
“The mission tomorrow,” she says. “I’m still going.”
“I know.” The words no longer feel like surrender.
Ember studies me, suspicious of my easy acceptance. “And you’re not going to try to stop me?”
“I’m going to trust you,” I say, the words both foreign and right. “Even though every instinct screams to lock you somewhere safe.”
“Luke—” she starts.
“I won’t do that,” I cut her off. “In fact, I won’t even go with you, if you’d prefer it.”
“What do you mean?” She frowns. “You don’t want to be involved?”
I take a breath, making an offer that costs me more than she knows.
“I can provide support from HQ. Command and control. Let the strike team handle field operations. You’d be independent.”
Her eyebrows rise fractionally.
“If you’d rather I wasn’t there, I’d stay back,” I say, the mere thought making my dragon writhe.
“Your head would probably explode watching from a monitor,” she says, the barest hint of a smile touching her lips.
I return it, relief coursing through me. “Probably. But I’m willing to try. If it means trusting you to handle yourself.”
She studies me, assessing. She knows exactly what this offer costs me… to stand back while she faces danger. Hell, to stand back, regardless. I’ve always been in the thick of things when needed.
“You’d really stay behind?” she asks.
“If that’s what you need to prove I’m not trying to control you, then yes.” The words are a promise that I mean completely, no matter how much my dragon rails against them.
Her expression softens. “I want you there. In the field. Fighting beside me, not hovering over me.”
The relief is so intense my knees nearly buckle.
“I can do that.” I pause, needing her to understand. “It’s just been hard to see you in danger.”
Something shifts in her expression, a decision made.
“Those mountains did something to us, Luke. Weakened us. Maybe it would help if I showed you something.” She holds out her hand, palm up, concentration settling over her features. For five seconds, nothing happens. I wonder if she’s changed her mind.
Then fire blooms.
Not a spark. Not a flicker. Full flame, gold and white, dancing above her palm, steady and controlled. My breath catches as the fire takes shape, becoming a miniature dragon that takes flight, circling above our heads before landing back in her palm and resting there.
The scent of magic fills the air; not the smoky residue of normal dragonfire, but something cleaner, more elemental. I stare in astonishment, looking from her palm, then up to her eyes, then back again. The dragon spreads its tiny wings.
“I thought your powers were still new to you,” I manage. “That you couldn’t control them.”
“Something changed.” Her expression is a mixture of wonder and uncertainty. “The mountain suppressed us, yes. But it also… fed me, somehow.”
The dragon becomes flame again, intensifying, splitting into multiple tendrils that dance between her fingers like living things. The control is absolute, mesmerizing.
“I can feel it now. The witch fire and dragonfire aren’t separate anymore. They’re woven together.”
She closes her fist; the flame vanishes, leaving only faint smoke curling between her fingers.
“I’m stronger than I was before we left,” she says simply. “Much stronger.”
The realization leaves me speechless. Whatever happened in those caves changed her fundamentally. The hybrid nature the Syndicate feared; she’s coming into its full potential.
“That’s—” I search for words adequate to describe what I’ve just witnessed. “That’s incredible. And terrifying.”
“Welcome to my world,” she says, wry humor ghosting across her features.
My mind races with implications. This power makes her more capable… but also more of a target. The Syndicate would kill to possess her, to study her. The Circle of Fire would fear her. Vanya might use this as another reason to separate us, to “protect” her daughter from herself.
“If the Syndicate learns what you can do now—” I begin.
“Then I need to be ready.” Her gaze is steady, resolved. “That’s why tomorrow’s mission matters, Luke. I need to face them as I am now, not as what everyone thinks I am.”
I nod slowly, understanding dawning. This isn’t just about revenge or closure. It’s about claiming her power, her identity… just as she’s claiming me.
“Then I’ll be there,” I promise. “However you need me.”
The air between us shifts, burning with something beyond mere attraction. My dragon rises closer to the surface, demanding what we’ve both been circling.
Ember steps closer, her heat radiating against my skin like standing near an open flame.
“So.” Her voice is husky. “Mates.”
“Apparently.” The word seems laughably inadequate.
“What does that mean?” Her eyes search mine. “For us?”
“It means I can’t walk away,” I admit, the most honest I’ve ever been. “Won’t. Even when I probably should.”
Her expression softens further. “Then don’t. Because you never should.” A pause. “Walk away, I mean.”
She comes up close, rising on her toes to press her lips to mine. This time, there’s no hesitation on my part, just surrender. My arms wrap around her, pulling her against me as the kiss deepens, becomes something deep and desperate and inevitable.
The armory—this place of weapons, tools of violence and protection—suddenly seems fitting. Claiming her here means accepting who and what she is: not just beloved, but warrior. The combination strikes me as perfect: tenderness in the middle of steel and danger.
I lift her onto the weapons bench, sweeping aside gear with one arm, the clatter of metal against cement floor echoing through the cavernous space.
I lay her back against the polished wood.
My hands strip away her vest, then her shirt, revealing skin I’ve memorized in dreams, golden in the late afternoon light streaming through high windows, soft beneath my fingers.