Chapter 15 Drayke #2
I’m ten feet from Selene when it happens—a pulse of ancient magic that slams into my mind with the force of a physical blow. Commands flood through my skull. Kneel. Submit. Serve.
My dragon screams. I stagger, one knee hitting stone hard enough to crack the ancient floor. The compulsion is overwhelming, pressing against my will with the weight of centuries.
“Feel it?” Veylor’s voice comes from somewhere above me, floating on waves of dark satisfaction.
“The Dominion Relic. Beautiful, isn’t it?
It was created to control dragons—all dragons.
Your Brotherhood sealed it away because they feared its power.
Weak. Pathetic. But your mate’s blood has weakened those seals.
Soon, every dragon in this territory will kneel to me. ”
No. My dragon rages against the chains wrapping around my mind. Will not kneel. Will not serve. MATE NEEDS US.
I force myself back to my feet. Muscles trembling. Bones aching. Every cell in my body fighting the compulsion to submit. One step toward Selene. Another. Each movement costs me—the Relic’s power pressing harder with every inch I gain.
“Impressive.” Veylor sounds almost admiring. “Most dragons collapse within seconds. Your control is remarkable.” A pause, heavy with malice. “It won’t save you.”
Another pulse of power. My vision whites out. Commands hammer against my skull—kneel, submit, obey, surrender—and for one terrible moment, my body tries to comply. My knees buckle. My head bows. My dragon howls in fury and despair.
Then the claiming mark flares.
Warmth floods through me—Selene’s fire, joining mine, fighting alongside my dragon against the Relic’s compulsion. She’s barely conscious, bleeding out against cold stone, but she’s still fighting. Still burning. Still mine.
My fire rises to meet hers. Gold against red. Heat against cold. Our combined flames pushing back against the artifact’s ancient power.
The Relic’s commands shatter against our combined heat. I surge forward, claws extended, and Veylor’s face shifts from satisfaction to shock as I close the distance.
“Impossible,” he snarls. “The claiming mark can’t—”
“Clearly it can.” I reach Selene. My claws tear through her chains, and she collapses into my arms.
She’s cold. Too cold. Her heartbeat flutters against my chest—weak, uneven, fading. The blood loss has taken too much. The Relic’s drain has stolen what remained.
“Drayke.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “Knew you’d come.”
“Don’t ever doubt it.” I press my palm against her claiming mark, feeding my fire into her. The flames respond eagerly, pouring through my hand and into her chest, fighting the cold that’s stealing her away. But it’s not enough. The Relic’s drain is too strong.
The altar pulses again, and this time, the compulsion targets both of us.
Selene cries out. I feel her fire flicker, feel the Relic trying to rip her power away, drain the last of her life to complete its awakening. The altar’s red glow intensifies, channels filling with her blood, her magic, her everything.
“Can’t...” She grips my shirt with trembling hands, knuckles white. “Can’t hold it...”
Veylor laughs—a harsh, grating sound that echoes through the cavern. “The claiming mark delays the inevitable. But you can’t stop the Relic’s awakening. Her blood has already begun the process. She’ll die feeding its power, and you’ll watch—then serve.”
Rogues circle closer. A dozen of them, maybe more. Too many to fight while holding Selene. Too many to defeat before the Relic finishes draining her.
Except.
The claiming mark pulses against my palm. Our fires, still intertwined from the ritual hours ago. Still merged. Still one. The claiming didn’t just bind our souls—it fused our flames.
Together. The realization crashes through me with the force of revelation. Our fire is one. Use it. Channel it. BURN THE RELIC DOWN.
“Selene.” I grip her tighter, press our foreheads together. “The claiming fire. It’s still in both of us. We can use it—channel it through the mark. Our combined power against the Relic’s.”
Her eyes flutter open. Gray and beautiful and full of pain, but also full of trust. Full of fire. “I don’t... have much left...”
“You have me.” I pour more of my fire into her, letting it merge with what remains of hers. “Take what you need. Everything I have is yours. It’s always been yours.”
“Romantic,” Veylor snarls. “Pathetic. Kill them both.”
Rogues lunge forward.
And Selene’s hand covers mine on her claiming mark.
The explosion of fire isn’t mine.
It isn’t hers.
It’s ours.
Golden flames erupt from the claiming mark in a wave that fills the cavern. The rogues closest to us don’t even have time to scream—they dissolve into ash, consumed by fire that burns hotter than dragonflame, purer than anything I’ve ever created alone.
The Relic shrieks.
Not a sound—a sensation. Ancient power recoiling from our combined heat, the altar’s glow flickering as our fire crashes against it. The carved channels darken. The blood within them evaporates.
“No!” Veylor’s roar echoes through the chamber. “The Relic—you can’t—”
More fire. I pour everything I have into Selene, and she channels it through the mark, amplified and transformed. Fire-Bringer fire merged with dragon flame. Centuries of sealed power meeting raw, claiming heat.
The Relic’s compulsion shatters completely. Its presence in my mind recoils, retreating, fading.
“Again,” Selene whispers. Her grip on my hand tightens. Her fire blazes brighter—not fading anymore, but growing. Drawing strength from mine. From us. “More.”
We give the Relic everything we have.
The altar cracks. Black stone splits down the center, red glow dying as our golden fire consumes it. The channels carved into the floor collapse inward. The pillars tremble.
And then, with a final pulse of combined power, the Dominion Relic goes silent.
Not destroyed. I can still feel it beneath the stone, ancient and patient. But dormant. Sealed again by fire that burned hotter than whatever blood magic first created it.
Veylor snarls something—a curse, a promise of revenge—as the fortress shakes. The remaining rogues scatter, those who can still move dragging themselves toward exits. I don’t chase them. Can’t. Selene is limp in my arms, our shared fire fading to embers as exhaustion takes us both.
“Selene.” I touch her face, her neck, searching for a pulse. “Stay with me.”
Her heartbeat flutters against my fingertips. Weak, but steadier than before. The claiming mark glows softly on her chest—not fighting anymore. Healing.
“Did we win?” Her voice is barely a breath.
I pull her closer, press my lips to her hair. “We won.”
“Good.” A pause. “Tell Veylor he’s an asshole.”
I look up. The space where Veylor stood is empty—he fled with his rogues, the coward. But it doesn’t matter. Not right now. What matters is the woman in my arms, alive and breathing and still cracking jokes with blood drying on her skin.
“I’ll tell him myself,” I promise. “When I find him.”
“Good.” Her eyes drift closed. “I want to watch.”
I carry her out of the fortress as it crumbles around us.
The Relic’s dormancy destabilized the ancient structure—stones falling, walls collapsing, centuries of dark magic unraveling.
Zyphon runs beside me, covering our retreat as pillars crash behind us.
I shift to dragon form the moment we clear the entrance, Selene cradled against my chest, wings catching the night air as the stronghold caves in behind us.
A final rumble, a cloud of dust, and it’s gone. Buried.
Like a wound finally closed.
She sleeps against my scales, her breathing even, her heartbeat growing stronger with each passing moment. The claiming mark pulses in time with my own—two flames, permanently intertwined. Two souls that survived the Relic’s hunger because they refused to burn alone.
Auren and Rurik join us in the sky, rising from the fortress ruins. Rurik’s head wound has been hastily bandaged, but his grin is as sharp as ever.
Upper levels are clear. Rurik’s mental voice carries smug satisfaction. No survivors. Well, none that’ll walk again.
She lives? Auren’s voice in my mind, sharp with concern.
She lives. I tighten my hold on her. We both do.
Zyphon pulls alongside, violet-shadowed gaze taking in the collapsed fortress, the ash drifting on the wind, the woman sleeping against my chest.
The Relic?
Dormant. For now. I bank toward the cabin—or what’s left of it. We need to rebuild. Prepare. This isn’t over.
Veylor escaped. Zyphon’s voice carries dark promise. But he won’t get far. I marked him.
Good. I file that away for later. But tonight, we rest. Regroup. Tomorrow, we hunt.
It never ends. Auren falls into position on my flank. But tonight, brother, you’ve won. Enjoy it.
I don’t respond. Can’t. The words stick in my throat, tangled with emotions I haven’t felt in four hundred years.
Selene stirs against me as we fly through mountain peaks. Her hand finds my scales, fingers tracing patterns she can’t possibly see in the darkness.
“Still here?” she murmurs.
I rumble—the dragon equivalent of laughter, low and warm in my chest.
Always. I push the thought toward her through the mark, letting her feel everything—relief, love, fierce protective fury. Rest. I have you.
She does.
And I carry my mate home, my brothers flanking us through the night sky.