Chapter 8 Drayke #2
Now it might be the only thing that saves her life.
The cabin appears through the trees. I shoulder through the door, lay her on the couch as gently as I can manage. Her skin is ashen. The dark veins have spread to her neck, creeping toward her jaw.
She’s breathing. Barely. Each inhale shallow and rattling.
I tear through my pack. Find the vial Rurik made—thick glass, dark liquid, sealed with wax and a prayer. The antidote. The only thing standing between her and a slow, agonizing death.
I force it between her lips. Hold her jaw closed until she swallows reflexively. Once. Twice. The whole vial.
Then I wait.
Minutes pass. Each one an eternity. I count her heartbeats. Count her breaths. Watch the dark veins crawling toward her face and will them to stop.
Please. The word is foreign to me. I don’t pray. Don’t beg. Haven’t in centuries. Please.
The dark veins stop spreading. Start to recede. Color returns to her cheeks—slowly, painfully slowly, but returning.
I sink to my knees beside the couch. Press my forehead to the cushion near her hip. Try to remember how to breathe.
She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s—
“Drayke?”
Her voice is weak. Thready. But it’s her voice, and my chest cracks open at the sound.
I lift my head. Find her watching me with those gray eyes—still glassy, still unfocused, but open. Alive.
“You stayed.” She sounds surprised.
“Where else would I go?”
“Don’t know.” Her hand moves. Finds mine. Holds on with strength that shouldn’t be possible given what she’s just survived. “You usually run.”
The accusation lands. It’s deserved.
“Not this time.” I turn my hand over, lace my fingers through hers. Her skin is still too cold, but her grip is firm. “Not anymore.”
She sleeps for hours.
I don’t leave her side. Don’t let go of her hand. The dragon paces inside me, restless and guilty, replaying the attack over and over. Every moment I was too slow. Every second I failed to protect her.
She killed a rogue with her bare hands. Incinerated him with fire that rivaled my own.
And it nearly cost her everything.
When she wakes again, the sun has set. The cabin is dark except for the fire I’ve built in the hearth—real fire, not dragon flame, though I had to remind myself of the difference.
I’ve cleaned her wounds while she slept. Applied salves that will speed the healing. Changed her into a clean shirt from the dresser—an act that required every ounce of control I possessed, keeping my eyes averted, my touch clinical despite the dragon’s howling protests.
She’s my mate. Injured. Vulnerable. And I had to undress her to tend her wounds.
The dragon wanted to wrap her in my arms and never let go. I settled for clean bandages and a blanket.
“Water?” Her voice is stronger now. Rough with sleep, but stronger.
I have a glass ready. Help her sit up, hold it to her lips while she drinks. The wounds on her shoulder have closed—the antidote working faster than I’d dared hope—but dark scars remain. Marks that may never fully fade.
She’ll carry those scars for the rest of her life. Because of me. Because I wasn’t fast enough.
“Stop.” Her hand covers mine on the glass. “I can hear you blaming yourself from here.”
“I should have—”
“You should have what? Been in two places at once?” She takes the glass from my hand, sets it aside. “There were two of them, Drayke. You were fighting one while the other came after me. That’s not failure. That’s math.”
“You could have died.”
“But I didn’t.” She holds up her hand, and a small flame dances to life on her fingertip. “I burned him to ash. With my bare hands. That’s... that’s insane, right? That actually happened?”
“It happened.”
“Magnificent, you said.” The flame flickers, dims. “Is that what I am? What Fire-Bringers are?”
“Yes.” The word comes out rougher than I intend. “Your bloodline carries fire that can rival dragon flame. When threatened, when desperate—” I break off. Try again. “What you did today took most Fire-Bringers years to master. You did it on instinct.”
“It didn’t feel like instinct.” She stares at her hands. At the fingers that channeled enough fire to reduce a dragon to ash. “It felt like drowning. Like being swept away by a flood and just... hoping I’d wash up somewhere safe.”
“That’s how it starts. Raw and uncontrolled.” I take her hands in mine before I can think better of it. Her fingers are cold. Trembling slightly. “But you survived. You controlled it enough to direct it at the enemy instead of everything around you. That’s more than most manage their first time.”
She’s quiet for a moment. The flame on her finger dies.
“They were after me specifically. Weren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“The poison. It was designed for Fire-Bringers.”
“Yes.”
“So this isn’t random. It’s not rogues stumbling across me by accident.” She meets my gaze. No fear in her eyes—just grim understanding. “They’re hunting me.”
“Yes.”
“And this won’t stop, will it?” Her voice is steady. Accepting. “No matter where I go. No matter what I do. They’ll keep coming until they get what they want.”
“Yes.” The admission tastes like failure. “It won’t stop.”
She nods. Slow. Thoughtful. Processing the reality of her new existence with the same stubborn practicality that’s defined her since the moment she arrived on this mountain.
“Then I need to get stronger.” She sits up straighter, wincing at the pull of her healing wounds. “I need to learn to control this fire instead of just reacting with it. I need—”
“You need to rest.”
“I need to be ready.” She catches my arm when I try to ease her back down.
Her grip is weak, but her gaze is steel.
“They’re not going to stop, Drayke. You said so yourself.
So I can lie here feeling sorry for myself, or I can prepare for the next attack.
” Her jaw sets in that stubborn line I’ve come to know so well. “I choose to prepare.”
The dragon stirs. Not with frustration or fear, but with pride. Admiration.
Strong. Our mate is strong.
“In a few days.” I ease her back against the pillows despite her protests. “Tonight, you rest. Soon, we’ll train. Both fire and blade.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment. Searching for something. I don’t know if she finds it, but eventually she nods. Settles back. Lets her eyes drift closed.
“You’re not running this time.” Her voice is already fading into sleep. “Noticed that.”
“No.” I brush a strand of hair from her face. Let my fingers linger against her temple. “I’m not.”
Her breathing evens out. Deepens. She sleeps, and I stay beside her, watching the firelight dance across her face.
She didn’t run. She fought. She burned a rogue to ash and took poisoned claws across her shoulder and still—still—she’s planning for the next battle instead of fleeing for safety.
Any other human would have broken by now. Would have begged me to take them away from this madness, to protect them from the monsters hunting them.
Not Selene.
She’s adapting. Becoming. Rising to meet a destiny she never asked for with the same stubborn determination she brings to everything else.
And I’m falling.
Faster than I can stop. Deeper than I can control. Every moment with her peels back another layer of the walls I’ve built, exposes another piece of the heart I’ve kept guarded for four centuries.
I wanted to protect her from a distance. Wanted to keep her safe without letting her get close enough to destroy me.
Too late for that now.
The dragon doesn’t howl anymore. Doesn’t demand.
It simply waits. Patient. Certain.
Because we both know the truth.
Running was never really an option.