Chapter 19 Selene #2
I’m already moving. Already crossing the training yard with fire licking at my fingertips and fury burning in my chest. Drayke turns as I approach, expression shifting from neutral to wary.
“I’m not ready?” The words come out sharper than I intend. “I’ve been training for two weeks. I’ve destroyed a Relic. I’ve survived rogue attacks and kidnapping and having my blood drained into a magic altar. But I’m not ready?”
“Your control is still inconsistent.” Drayke doesn’t back down. Doesn’t flinch. Just stands there with that immovable calm that makes me want to set him on fire. “In a controlled environment, you’re improving. In chaos, with real enemies—”
“In chaos, I burned a Relic into dormancy.”
“You almost died doing it.”
“I almost died because I was captured and tortured, not because my control slipped!” I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin, close enough to see the tension in his jaw.
“I won’t be just a mate on a leash, Drayke.
Stuck in the fortress while you go off to fight, waiting to find out if you’re coming back alive. ”
“I never suggested—”
“Then let me fight beside you!” My voice echoes off the stone walls. Flame crackles around my clenched fists—controlled, focused, burning with everything I’m feeling. “Instead of protecting me from everything, let me protect myself. Let me protect you.”
His nostrils flare. The dragon prowling beneath his skin stirs—I can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way his eyes brighten with inner fire.
“You’re not ready.”
“Then make me ready!” I shove at his chest—pointless, given his size, but satisfying. “Push harder. Train longer. Do whatever you have to do. But don’t you dare leave me behind while you go after the bastard who tortured me.”
Silence stretches between us. The flames around my hands flicker and dance, responding to my racing heart. Behind us, I’m aware of Zyphon watching with shadowed eyes, Auren studying us with clinical interest. The entire Brotherhood, bearing witness to this standoff.
“She has a point.” Zyphon’s voice cuts through the tension. “The Fire-Bringer who killed three rogues and burned a Relic isn’t the same woman who arrived at that cabin. She’s earned the right to fight.”
“Agreed,” Auren says, surprising no one more than me. “Her strategic contributions have been valuable. Her combat abilities are improving rapidly. Excluding her from field operations wastes a significant tactical asset.”
Drayke’s jaw tightens. His hands flex at his sides—claws threatening to emerge. The dragon and the man warring behind those amber eyes.
“If something happens to you—”
“Then it happens fighting beside you, not hiding in a stone tower.” I reach up, cup his jaw, force him to look at me. “I didn’t survive everything we’ve been through just to become a damsel in distress. That’s not who I am. It’s not who you claimed.”
He exhales slowly. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease, but it shifts—from resistance to reluctant acceptance.
“Double training sessions,” he says finally. “Every day until we move on Veylor. You master your fire, or you stay behind. Non-negotiable.”
“Deal.” I let my hand fall, but I don’t step back. “Anything else?”
“Yes.” He grabs my waist, hauls me against him, and kisses me hard enough to make my knees buckle. When he pulls back, his eyes are pure dragon—glowing, possessive, fierce. “If you get yourself killed, I’ll find a way to bring you back just so I can yell at you.”
“Romantic.”
“I try.”
He doesn’t let go. Instead, he tucks me against his side, arm wrapped possessively around my waist as he turns back to his brothers. Zyphon’s shadows ripple with what might be amusement. Rurik grins and mimes gagging. Auren just sighs.
“If you’re quite finished with the display,” Auren says dryly, “we have training protocols to revise.”
“Jealous?” I ask sweetly.
“Nauseated.”
“Same thing.”
The strategy session happens two days later.
I’m not invited. I invite myself anyway.
The war room is full when I walk in—Drayke at the head of the table, Auren to his right studying his maps, Zyphon lurking in his dark corner, Rurik sharpening the same knife that’s still sharp enough to split atoms. They all look up when I enter.
“I wasn’t aware this was an open meeting,” Auren says.
“It is now.” I take the empty chair beside Drayke. His hand immediately finds my thigh under the table—warm, grounding, possessive. I cover it with my own, lacing our fingers together as I study the maps. “Veylor’s position. What do we know?”
Silence. Then Zyphon’s voice, carrying dark amusement: “Southeastern caves. Underground network. I can feel him—faint, but consistent. He hasn’t moved in days.”
“Healing,” I say. “Or recruiting. Probably both.” I lean forward, tracing the cave system on the map. “What’s the terrain around the entrances?”
“Dense forest. Multiple exit points. Difficult to approach without detection.” Auren’s tone has shifted from dismissive to interested. “We’ve been discussing aerial assault versus ground infiltration.”
“Both are wrong.”
Four pairs of dragon eyes fix on me.
“Veylor knows you’re coming,” I continue, ignoring the weight of their stares.
“He’s been planning for it since the fortress collapsed.
Aerial assault gives him time to see you coming.
Ground infiltration plays to his strengths—he’s been fighting in caves and forests for centuries. You need an approach he won’t expect.”
“And what would that be?” Drayke’s voice is neutral, but his eyes are sharp. Assessing.
“Me.” I tap the map where the cave network begins. “I’m the one he wants. My blood for his artifacts. If I approach openly—visibly—his attention will be on me. On the prize he’s been hunting since the beginning.”
“Absolutely not.” Drayke’s response is immediate. Predictable.
“Hear me out.” I hold up a hand before he can continue.
“I’m not suggesting I walk in alone. But a visible approach draws his forces to the surface.
Makes them think I’m the attack, when really I’m the distraction.
While he’s focused on capturing me—” I trace a line around the cave system to a secondary entrance.
“—you hit him from behind. Underground. Where he’s not expecting an attack because all his eyes are on the Fire-Bringer at his front door. ”
Rurik whistles low. “That’s devious. I like it.”
“It’s risky,” Auren counters. “If they capture her before we’re in position—”
“They won’t.” Zyphon’s shadows ripple with approval. “I can mask our approach through the secondary entrance. By the time Veylor realizes the trap, we’ll be inside his defenses.”
“And if something goes wrong?” Drayke hasn’t moved, hasn’t relaxed the tension in his shoulders. But he’s not shutting the idea down. He’s listening.
“Then I burn my way out.” I meet his gaze, hold it. “I’ve done it before. I can do it again. And this time, I’ll have backup.”
The silence stretches. I watch the brothers exchange glances—Rurik’s grin, Zyphon’s shadowed nod, Auren’s calculating assessment. And finally, Drayke.
Auren gives an approving nod.
“Good instincts.” Zyphon’s approval carries weight. “Better than good.”
Drayke exhales slowly. “We refine the plan. Test it. But...” He glances at me, and there’s something new in his eyes. Not just protectiveness. Not just desire. Respect. “It has merit.”
“High praise from the Guardian King.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
His hand squeezes my thigh, and when I glance at him, there’s heat in his gaze that has nothing to do with strategy. Later, that look promises. I squeeze back. Looking forward to it.
Rurik catches the exchange and groans. “Get a room. Preferably one with thick walls. Some of us have sensitive hearing.”
“You could always sleep in the stables,” Drayke suggests.
“You could always learn restraint.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I lean into Drayke’s side, and his arm comes around me automatically—comfortable, natural, like we’ve been doing this for years instead of weeks.
The Brotherhood might pretend to be annoyed, but I’ve caught Zyphon’s shadows settling softer when he watches us.
Caught Auren’s rigid posture relaxing by fractions.
Even Rurik’s complaints carry warmth underneath the mockery.
They’re not just tolerating our relationship. They’re glad for it. Glad that their brother—their leader—has finally found something beyond duty and battle.
The Brotherhood becomes my family.
It happens gradually, without any of us acknowledging it out loud. Rurik starts teaching me dragon history during our target practice sessions—stories of ancient wars, legendary Fire-Bringers, the founding of the Brotherhood itself.
“Your bloodline goes back centuries,” he tells me one afternoon, adjusting my stance before I throw another flame bolt.
Drayke watches from the shadows of the courtyard, arms crossed, a possessive gleam in his eye that makes me want to miss my target just to see him come correct my form himself.
“The Wards were one of the great Fire-Bringer families. Your grandmother was the last known practitioner before you.”
“She never told me. Never showed any sign of power.”
“The ability can skip generations. Lay dormant for decades. But it never disappears completely.” He grins. “Lucky for us, yours woke up when it mattered.”
“Lucky for you, I’m the one who had to figure out why my hands were suddenly on fire.”
“Consider it character building.”
“Consider shutting up and letting me practice.”
He laughs—a wild, reckless sound that echoes off the stone walls. “I like you, Fire-Bringer. You’ve got teeth.”
“She’s got more than teeth.” Drayke’s voice comes from behind me, and then his arms wrap around my waist, pulling my back against his chest. He nods at Rurik. “Don’t you have patrols?”
“Don’t you have boundaries?”