Chapter 6
Keir
I survive the gauntlet, emerging into the afternoon sunlight with scraped knuckles and a few new bruises that will fade by evening.
The moment I’m clear, I send a gentle caress down the bond to Raven, letting her know I’m okay—a warm pulse of I’m alive, I’m safe, I’m thinking of you.
Her answer comes immediately, wrapping around my consciousness like a comforting embrace.
It feels like her way of saying I love you, stay safe without needing words.
I rejoin the others clustered around the tracking display, and even her father stands among the crowd—Thauglor’s massive form impossible to miss, his sapphire eyes fixed on the magical screen with laser focus that makes everyone give him space.
“What is she waiting for?” Thauglor asks, his voice carrying the edge of parental concern he usually hides so well. We all stare at Raven’s dot, just blinking steadily in place, unmoving for longer than seems normal.
“Not sure.” I tilt my head, studying the pulsing light that represents my mate somewhere in that death trap. “Nothing feels off through the bond.” The connection between us hums with her usual presence—alert, calculating, very much alive and in control.
“Thauglor, if you have a moment.” Finlay’s voice cuts through our observation, and I turn to see the royal protocol teacher walking onto the grounds between Shadowcarve and Ranthor Keep, where the gauntlet sits like a wooden monster.
His flame-colored hair catches the sunlight, creating an almost supernatural glow.
“Yeah, sure...” Thauglor’s eyes remain glued to his daughter’s dot on the tracker, just like the rest of us. His claws have extended slightly—a subtle tell that he’s more worried than he’s letting on.
“Your daughter is in my class this afternoon, and she hasn’t picked up the books yet from the commissary.
” Finlay sounds frustrated and distracted, which is unusual for someone usually so composed.
I look over at him more carefully and notice his honey-colored eyes are also glued to Raven’s dot, tracking its position with an intensity that seems oddly personal.
Within seconds, Raven’s dot simply vanishes—not moving off screen, not fading gradually, but gone like someone flipped a switch. The tracking display shows only empty space where she should be.
“Is that a malfunction?” I ask, already moving toward the gauntlet entrance. Ice forms in my stomach, sharp and cold as winter.
“Can you feel her?” Thauglor’s voice cracks slightly as he looks between Corvus and me, his usual composure fracturing.
“I can still feel her, but...” Corvus pauses, and his silver eyes lock with mine. His hand rests over his heart, touching the scale they exchanged. The look we share speaks volumes—something is very, very wrong. Icy dread flows down my spine like freezing water, making my skin prickle with alarm.
“I can’t feel her...” The words stick in my throat like broken glass. “She’s not dead, but I can’t feel her. The bond is there, but it’s like she’s been wrapped in something that blocks the connection.” We turn at the same time to face Thauglor, our synchronized movement speaking to shared panic.
“Investigate the gauntlet—make sure nothing was tampered with!” Thauglor practically roars, his voice carrying enough force to make the ground vibrate. His dragon is very close to the surface, barely contained by his human form.
Abraxis, Vaughn, and Leander charge into the gauntlet entrance without hesitation, disappearing into shadows like warriors heading into battle. We watch their three dots appear on the tracking display, hurrying through the pathways before stopping at the exact spot where Raven’s dot disappeared.
After almost thirty agonizing minutes—each second feeling like an hour—they emerge carrying four crystals that pulse with a sickly purple light. The stones seem to absorb light rather than reflect it, creating small pockets of darkness around them.
“This wasn’t put in there by any of us,” Leander says grimly, showing the crystals to Finlay and Thauglor. His scarred hands hold them carefully, as if they might explode. Balor leans in to examine them more closely and shakes his head with obvious concern.
“Definitely not something we would use in the gauntlet’s design,” Balor confirms, his voice carrying the weight of someone recognizing danger. “These are foreign objects, placed deliberately.”
Finlay looks white as a sheet, all color draining from his face until even his lips are pale.
“They are dimensional crystals. Elves and drow use them to open dimensional doors. They can transport someone leagues away from the point of origin—sometimes even to other planes of existence.” His honey eyes suddenly transform into burning orbs of fire, and I can see him physically fighting his shift as flames lick at the edges of his form.
Thauglor moves with desperate speed, grabbing Finlay by his shoulders and shaking him several times.
“If you can find her, if you can save her, I will grant you any boon you ask of me.” His voice cracks with emotion I’ve never heard from him—raw fear mixed with desperate hope.
In all the time I’ve known Thauglor, I have never heard him sound this way—vulnerable, afraid, willing to promise anything.
Finlay nods once, sharp and determined, and starts backing up. He strips off his jacket with quick movements, then his tie, his watch—each item falling to the ground without care. He looks at us one last time, his burning eyes meeting each of ours, and then he literally ignites.
His body bursts into flames so bright I have to shield my eyes.
The heat washes over us in waves, making the air shimmer and dance.
The most beautiful phoenix I’ve ever seen explodes into existence where Finlay stood moments before—a creature of living fire with wings that span twenty feet, feathers that shift between orange, red, and white-hot gold.
He takes to the sky with a cry that sounds like singing and screaming combined, heading north with single-minded purpose.
I stand in stunned silence, watching him become a burning star against the blue sky, heading toward something the rest of us can’t sense. The smell of smoke and cinnamon lingers in the air where he transformed.
“How is he going to find her?” Corvus asks, his voice rough with confusion and residual shock as he looks between me and Thauglor.
“I believe he’s her mate,” Thauglor says simply, stating it like an undeniable fact. The words hang in the air for a moment before he walks off, already pulling out his phone to make calls—mobilizing resources, calling in favors, preparing for war if necessary.
“Let’s go find Hemlocke,” I say to Corvus, my mind already racing ahead to what needs to happen next. Before he can respond, I grab his arm and blink us through space—that familiar sensation of reality folding and unfolding—transporting us back to Blackhaven to find our bond brother.
We materialize in Hemlocke’s workshop, where he’s helping coordinate the family relocations, and he takes one look at our faces before his expression hardens.
“What happened to Raven?” he demands, already moving toward the door.
“Kidnapped,” I say flatly. “Dimensional crystals in the gauntlet. She’s gone, and we need to move. Now.”
The four of us—Corvus, Hemlocke, Solaris in his egg, and me—we’re going to war to get our mate back. And gods help whoever took her, because they just signed their own death warrant.
It’s been over a week, and we haven’t been able to find a single clue as to where Raven is.
The lack of information gnaws at me like acid, eating away at my sanity one sleepless hour at a time.
Klauth has summoned the heads of all the dens to the Sovereign nest—a gathering that speaks of desperation and the magnitude of this crisis.
Finlay hasn’t returned, which may actually be a good thing. His absence might mean he’s found a trail, found something we couldn’t. But it might also mean something far worse, and that thought keeps me awake at night.
The biggest downside looms over us like a storm cloud: Raven’s yearly is approaching.
A black dragoness is extremely dangerous during her heat cycle when she’s denied what she desires most—her mates.
The thought of what she might do, what she might become if that instinct takes over while she’s imprisoned somewhere, makes my blood run cold.
“What are we going to do?” I look across the breakfast table at Hemlocke and Corvus, pushing my untouched eggs around my plate. The morning light streaming through the windows feels wrong somehow, too cheerful for the dread settling in my stomach.
“What do you mean?” Corvus asks as he takes a mechanical bite of bacon, barely tasting it judging by his expression.
“Raven’s yearly.” I mention the words like a curse before taking a sip of my coffee. The bitter liquid does nothing to wash away the taste of fear coating my tongue.
Hemlocke freezes mid-motion, his coffee cup suspended halfway to his lips. His magenta eyes went wide with sudden understanding. “Didn’t you say she would hunt down her mates and breed them to exhaustion?” His voice carries equal parts fascination and terror.
Hemlocke and I both turn to face Corvus, and his face drains of all color until he looks like he might pass out.
“Yes...” He fumbles his phone with shaking hands, nearly dropping it twice before pulling up his contacts.
I hear it ringing on speaker, each tone seeming to stretch longer than the last.
“Hello?” Mina’s voice comes through clear and bright, completely unaware of the crisis we’re about to drop on her.
“Are you anywhere near your mates, or specifically Thauglor? I have a question for you two,” Corvus’s voice wavers like thin ice cracking, and we hear Mina yelling for her mates in the background. Footsteps thunder, doors slam, and voices overlap in urgent conversation.
“Okay, everyone is here,” Mina says after what feels like an eternity. I can hear them breathing on the other end; multiple people crowding around the phone. My heart rate speeds up until I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples.
“I remember you telling me how dangerous a black dragoness gets during her yearly.” Corvus leaves the sentence hanging, heavy with implication.
There’s a moment of absolute silence on the other end, then—
“Shit...” Thauglor curses up a storm, his voice carrying the raw panic of a father who’s just realized his daughter is in mortal danger. The string of profanity is creative and multilingual, pulling from what sounds like three different ancient dragon dialects.
“She’ll be driven to find her mates and breed,” Klauth says with forced calm, though I can hear the strain beneath it. “The instinct will override everything else—survival, caution, even self-preservation.”
“So, we should watch for something out of a horror movie to happen as she burns the world to get back here.” I toss the observation out there before taking another sip of my coffee, which has gone cold and bitter in my cup.
“That would be the best-case scenario,” Thauglor says grimly, and the way he emphasizes ‘best case’ makes my stomach drop.
“Best case?” Hemlocke looks genuinely frightened now, his usual composed demeanor cracking as he glances between Corvus, the phone, and me. His hands have started shaking slightly, making his coffee cup rattle against the saucer.
“Depending on which species’ traits dominate, she may torch half the continent to get back here.
” Klauth’s voice carries the weight of someone who’s seen this happen before.
“Or she will stay and systematically destroy the area she was held in, then hunt whatever held her to complete extinction. Black dragons don’t forgive imprisonment, and red dragons never forget an insult. She’s both.”
The clinical way he describes potential mass destruction makes it somehow more terrifying.
“So we wait for the bond to flare back to life and get there as fast as possible?” I ask, trying to focus on actionable steps rather than apocalyptic possibilities. I look between my bond brothers, seeing my fear reflected in their faces.
“Yes. Get Corvus to lure her away from any populated area the moment you arrive.” Abraxis’s voice comes through sounding distant and distracted, like he’s already planning tactical approaches.
“The minute she shifts back to her human form, Keir, you blink her into one of the reinforced cells in the bowels of Blackhaven. They’re designed to hold rampaging dragons—stone walls three feet thick, warded against fire and acid. ”
“We’ll figure it out,” I say with more confidence than I feel, reaching out to disconnect the call. The silence that follows feels oppressive, heavy with unspoken fears. “How many more days do we have?” I look at Corvus, hoping against hope he’ll say we have time.
“Any day now.” He stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound, and moves to look out the window.
The morning sun illuminates his profile, highlighting the tension in his jaw and the dark circles under his eyes from too many sleepless nights.
“Could be today. Could be tomorrow. Could be in an hour.”
“Why hasn’t Solaris hatched?” My question comes out sharper than intended, but I need to understand. Cursed eggs are supposed to respond to their mate’s distress, especially in life-threatening situations.
Corvus turns to look at me, and the pain in his silver eyes is profound.
“She’s not in mortal danger yet. Or she hasn’t consciously pulled on the bond to summon him.
Or...” He pauses, and his voice drops to barely above a whisper.
“Or she’s unable to. Unconscious, drugged, or. ..” He can’t finish the sentence.
There’s a profound sadness in his voice that cuts deeper than any blade. A drake without his dragoness is lost—half a person, wandering through life without purpose or direction. I can see it eating away at him, the not knowing, the helplessness.
I stand and move to join him at the window, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong. Stronger than whoever took her realizes. When her yearly hits, they’re going to regret ever touching her.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Corvus says quietly. “Not that she won’t survive—I know she will. I’m afraid of what she’ll become in the process. What she’ll have to do. What it will cost her.”
Hemlocke joins us at the window, and we stand there in silence, three mates waiting for the woman they love to tear the world apart to come home.
And gods help anyone standing in her way when she does.