Chapter 24
Mara
The room smells like dust and old stone and someone’s ill-advised attempt at air freshener. Bra?ov’s answer to a safe house, apparently. Gray walls. Narrow windows. A radiator that clanks like it’s personally offended by my existence.
I should be grateful.
I’m alive. That’s… that’s more than I had any right to expect after the facility. After watching K turn a man to dust with a touch. After feeling whatever’s been keeping me upright flicker and nearly go out entirely.
But gratitude requires energy I don’t have. It’s been hours since the battle, and pain is sapping me.
I’m sitting on the edge of a narrow bed when the door opens without warning.
K fills the doorway.
Still looking like some kind of avenging angel who forgot to change out of his battle clothes. His eyes find mine immediately, and something in my chest does a painful, traitorous flip.
I knew he was close. Sensed it when the pain in my chest subsided.
“Mara.” My name in his mouth makes my stupid heart melt a little. “I need to speak with you.”
I open my mouth to respond.
“Kael.” Caleb’s voice cuts through from the hallway. Sharp. Commanding. “We need you in the briefing room. Now.”
K doesn’t move. Doesn’t even look away from me.
“In a moment.”
“This cannot wait.” Caleb steps into view behind him.
All business. All dragon CEO energy despite the blood streaked on his cheek.
“One of the prisoners is talking. We need your input on what he’s saying about the old strongholds.
And Viktor wants to discuss extraction protocols for the other facilities—”
“Caleb.” K’s voice drops. Goes flat. “I said in a moment.”
The air between them crackles.
I force myself to stand. My legs protest. Everything protests. But I manage to stay upright through sheer spite.
“It’s fine,” I say. The words come out gruffly. “Go do your king thing.”
K’s jaw tightens. “This is more important.”
“Debatable.” I try to look less like I’m one strong breeze away from collapse. “They need you. I’m not going anywhere.”
That last part tastes like dirt.
Not going anywhere. Because I can’t. Because his fire is the only thing keeping me tethered to the land of the living, and without him close, I’ll—
What? Weaken? Die? Turn into a cautionary tale about getting too attached to ancient dragon kings with memory problems?
All of the above, probably.
K takes a step into the room. Caleb makes a frustrated sound but doesn’t follow.
“My power,” K says quietly. Intense. Like he’s trying to pour the weight of the world into two words. “It has been keeping you alive. Anchoring you. Since the helicopter. Since I—” He stops. Swallows. “You need me close. Do you understand?”
The words make my throat constrict. Clinical. Practical. Like I’m a problem that needs managing instead of—
Instead of what? A person he cares about?
Get real, Mara.
“Yeah,” I manage. Force something like a smile. “I figured that out. So I’m basically a magical life-support case. Cool. Love that for me.”
Something flickers across his face. “Mara—”
“Kael.” Caleb is back again. More insistent. “The Syndicate knows we hit the facility. They’re going to retaliate. We need to move assets, coordinate with the other clans, and get our people to safety.”
K turns slightly. Not enough to lose sight of me, but enough to acknowledge Caleb.
“Then we move them.”
“Including Mara.” Caleb steps fully into the doorway. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of Dorian, arms crossed, looking grim. “Viktor’s arranging transport back to the Aurora outpost tonight. She’ll be safer there while we deal with Vex. Clean up this mess.”
My heart does something painful.
Away from here. Away from K.
Away from the only thing keeping me alive.
“No.” K’s voice is absolute. Final.
Caleb’s eyebrows rise. “It’s the most secure location we have. She’ll have medical care, protection—”
“No,” K cuts him off. “She stays.”
“Kael, be reasonable. We need you here to interrogate Vex. To coordinate with the clans. To—”
“Then she stays here.” K’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “With me. Where I can—” He stops. Something crosses his face. Frustration? Resignation? “Where I can maintain the bond.”
The words burn.
Where I can maintain the bond.
Not “where I want her.” Not “where she’ll be close.” Just “where I can maintain the bond.”
Like I’m equipment that needs monitoring. A responsibility he can’t delegate.
Caleb’s expression shifts. Understanding dawns, followed quickly by calculation.
“You have a… bond?” he asks.
Kael nods. “A healing bond. It’s how she survived the crash.”
“This complicates things,” Caleb says, a nerve twitching near his eye. “And the bond requires proximity,” he adds slowly. Not a question.
“Yes.”
“How much proximity?”
K’s jaw works. “I do not know the exact parameters. But distance—significant distance—would be… unwise.”
Unwise. Such a careful word. Such a “king” word.
“So if we send her back to the outpost,” Dorian speaks up from the hallway, “and you stay here…”
“She would ail.” K’s voice is flat. Matter-of-fact. “The injuries I have been suppressing would resurface. She could die.”
Could die.
The room suddenly feels very small.
Very cold.
Caleb exhales slowly. Runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
“Indeed.”
“So you’re saying she has to stay within—what? The same building? The same room?”
“I do not know.” K’s frustration bleeds through. “This is not… I did not plan this. I simply kept her alive. The bond formed as a consequence. I do not know its limitations.”
As a consequence.
Right.
I’m a consequence. An unintended side effect of his heroic life-saving skills.
How romantic.
“Fine.” Caleb’s voice shifts into CEO mode yet again. Pragmatic. Efficient. “She stays here. Under guard. You deal with Vex in the lower level. That should be close enough, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Viktor will want a full debrief. We need to understand—”
“Later.” K’s voice hardens. “First, I need to ensure she is stable. Fed. Rested.”
“Of course.” Caleb nods. “Dorian and I will start the interrogation. Join us as soon as you can.”
He leaves. Dorian follows, but not before throwing me a look that’s equal parts sympathy and concern.
The door clicks shut, leaving us alone in here.
K and me and the terrible weight of everything unsaid.
He moves closer. Stops just out of arm’s reach.
“I am sorry,” he says.
“Sorry?” The word comes out sharp. Bitter. “For what? Saving my life? Creating some kind of magical tether so I don’t die? Yeah, that’s really something to apologize for.”
“For binding you to me without your consent.” His voice is steady. Careful. Like he’s handling something fragile. “For making you dependent on something you did not choose. For—” He stops. Searches for words. “For complicating your life in ways I cannot undo.”
Complicating my life.
That’s one way to put it.
“As opposed to dying?” I force a laugh. It sounds hollow. “Yeah, you’re right, dying would’ve been way better for my autonomy.”
“Mara—”
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “Just… don’t. I get it. You feel guilty. You feel responsible. Poor little human nearly died and you had to save her and now you’re stuck babysitting me until… what? Until the bond fades? Until I’m healed enough to survive on my own?”
“I do not know.”
“It’s fine.” I’m talking too fast. Can feel the words spilling out, angry and ugly and true. “I’m used to being someone’s obligation. Absentee mother, remember? I’m very familiar with people keeping me around out of duty instead of—”
I stop.
Instead of what?
Instead of wanting me?
Oh God.
Something else twists in my chest. Something I need to say before I lose my nerve.
“You’ve figured it out by now, right?” The words come out quieter. “About Lyria.”
He goes very still.
“Yes.”
Just that. Yes. No elaboration. No softening.
“She was your mate,” I continue. Can’t seem to stop myself. “The woman you loved. The one who died saving the Heartstone.”
His jaw tightens. “Yes.”
The word is careful. Controlled. But I hear what’s beneath it.
Pain. Loss. Grief he’s only just remembered.
“Right.” I sink back onto the bed. Suddenly too tired to stand. “So that’s… that’s good. That you remember her. That’s important.”
He doesn’t respond. Just watches me with those ancient eyes.
I should stop. Should let this go.
But the words keep coming anyway.
“I know you still have feelings for her,” I say. Quieter now. “I mean, how could you not? She was… she mattered. She was important. And I’m just—”
I stop. Swallow hard.
“I don’t want to be a do-over. The girl you get to save this time because you couldn’t save her.”
Silence.
He doesn’t deny it.
Doesn’t tell me I’m wrong.
Just stands there with that terrible, careful expression.
And that… that tells me everything I need to know.
“You should go,” I say. Press my palms against my eyes. “Caleb needs you. Vex won’t interrogate himself.”
“Mara—”
“Please.” The word comes out broken. “Just… I need to rest. And I’m pretty sure I don’t need to breathe the same air as you just to stay alive. The bond can handle you being in another room.”
“I do not know that.”
“Then consider it an experiment.” I don’t look at him. Can’t. “Go be a king. Do your duty. I’ll be here when you get back. Because I literally can’t leave.”
I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.
He’s quiet for a long moment. I can feel him watching me. Deciding.
“Very well,” he finally says. “But I will return to check on you. Frequently.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
His footsteps cross to the door. Pause.
“For what it is worth,” he says quietly. “You are not a replacement.”
The door closes before I can respond.
I lie back. Close my eyes.
Try to believe him.
Fail.
The radiator clanks.
Voices murmur from somewhere deeper in the safe house.
And I’m alone with the echoes of what I let myself believe could be real.
His fingers in my hair. His mouth on mine. The way his hands felt on me for those few brief moments when I let myself think that I was important to him.
All of it colored by the knowledge that he was thinking of someone else.
Someone who mattered.
Someone who wasn’t me.
I pull the thin blanket over myself.
Try to sleep.
And try to ignore the way my chest aches with a pain that has nothing to do with injuries or magical bonds.
Try to ignore the truth I can’t escape.
I’m just plain Mara Jones.
And the ghost he’s in love with will always matter more.