Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
ZYPHON
The days since Nasyra’s memories returned have been the closest thing to peace I’ve known.
She sleeps in my bed. Not every night—she still needs space sometimes, still has moments when the memories press too close and she needs to process alone.
But more often than not, I fall asleep with her fire warming my shadows and wake to find her curled against my side, her dark hair spread across my pillow.
The nightmares have stopped. For both of us.
This morning, I woke to find her watching me with those mismatched eyes, a small smile playing at her lips. “You snore,” she informed me. “Did you know that? Three centuries of pining, and nobody thought to mention you snore.”
“I don’t snore.”
“You absolutely do. It’s like sleeping next to a very large, very cursed bear.” She kissed me before I could argue further, and I forgot what we were discussing entirely.
That was this morning. That was peace.
By midday, everything has changed.
I feel it before I hear it—a ripple through the fortress, a disturbance in the ambient magic that makes my shadows stir with unease.
Nasyra looks up from the book she’s been reading, her fire flickering in response to my tension. We’re in the library, her legs draped across my lap while she studies one of Auren’s texts on Shadow Clan history. A domestic scene. Normal. The kind of moment I’d convinced myself I’d never have.
“What is it?”
“Something’s wrong.” I’m already moving, lifting her legs gently and setting them aside. “Stay here.”
“Like hell.” She’s on her feet before I can argue, shadow-flame already gathering at her fingertips. “Where you go, I go. Remember?”
I want to argue. Want to keep her safe, hidden, protected from whatever is coming. But she’s right—and more than that, I’ve learned my lesson. Keeping her away from danger didn’t save her the first time. It just meant she faced it alone.
“Stay close.”
We move through the corridors together, and I reach for her hand without thinking. Her fingers thread through mine, her fire warming my palm. Even now, even with danger prickling at the edges of my awareness, the contact steadies me.
The screaming starts before we reach the main hall.
Not screaming. Roaring.
Drayke stands in the center of the great hall, and the stone beneath his feet is cracking.
Fire pours from his skin in uncontrolled waves, scorching the walls, melting the iron fixtures, filling the air with heat so intense, it’s hard to breathe.
His eyes blaze with something beyond fury—something primal and desperate and barely sane.
Rurik has his arms wrapped around Drayke from behind, trying to restrain him. Auren stands in front, hands raised, speaking in low, urgent tones. Neither of them is making progress. The Guardian King is beyond reason.
“Selene.” Nasyra’s grip tightens on my hand. “Where’s Selene?”
The answer comes from Aisling, who appears at our side with her face pale and her jaw set. “Taken. They were on patrol—routine sweep of the eastern perimeter. Shadow dragons ambushed them, came from every direction at once. Drayke fought through, but by the time he reached her—“
“She was gone.” The words taste like ash.
“They left a message.” Aisling’s voice is steady, but I can see the fear beneath it. “Burned into the ground where she’d been standing. ‘The weapon in exchange for the queen. Sunset tomorrow.’”
Lakhu. Of course, it’s Lakhu. He’s been waiting for exactly this moment—waiting for us to let our guard down, to focus on Nasyra’s recovery instead of his movements. And now he has leverage.
“Drayke.” I release Nasyra’s hand and step toward my brother, letting my shadows rise to meet his flames. “Drayke, look at me.”
He doesn’t seem to hear. His fire surges higher, cracking more stones, and Rurik grunts with the effort of holding him.
The claiming bond must be screaming through Drayke’s head—wrongness where Selene should be, absence where he’s used to feeling her presence.
I’ve seen mated dragons lose their partners before. The grief can drive them mad.
“She’s alive.” I pitch my voice to cut through his rage. “If Lakhu wanted her dead, he wouldn’t have left a message. He needs her as leverage. That means we have time.”
Something flickers in Drayke’s eyes. Recognition, maybe. Or the first crack in the fury consuming him.
“He has her.” The words come out guttural, barely human. “He has my mate.”
“And we’re going to get her back.” I hold his gaze, letting him see the certainty I’m forcing myself to feel. “But not like this. Not with you burning down our own fortress. Selene needs you focused. She needs you strategic. Can you do that?”
The fire dims. Not completely—there’s still rage burning in every line of Drayke’s body—but enough that Rurik can release him without getting scorched. The Guardian King stands in the center of his destruction, breathing hard, looking more lost than I’ve ever seen him.
“War council,” he says finally. “Now.”
We gather in the war room within the hour.
All four brothers. Two Fire-Bringers—Nasyra sits beside me, her thigh pressed against mine under the table, a point of contact that keeps me grounded.
Aisling stands near the door, her medical bag within reach, her expression clinical in the way it gets when she’s processing trauma by focusing on what she can control.
And at the head of the table, Drayke looms over the map of Lakhu’s territory like he’s planning to tear it apart with his bare hands.
The room feels smaller than usual. Charged with tension so thick, I can taste it—fury and fear and the desperate need to act.
“The message is clear.” Auren’s voice is cool, analytical. “Lakhu wants Nasyra in exchange for Selene. Sunset tomorrow gives us approximately thirty hours to comply.”
“We’re not trading her.” Drayke’s voice is a growl.
“Obviously not.” I keep my tone level, though my hand has found Nasyra’s under the table, our fingers interlacing. “But we need to understand what he actually wants before we can counter it.”
“I can tell you what he wants.” Nasyra’s voice cuts through the tension. “His mother.”
Every eye in the room turns to her.
She doesn’t flinch from the attention. Sits straighter, if anything, that fierce spine I fell in love with centuries ago holding her steady.
“Queen Brinja died during Zyphon’s rampage after my death.
Collateral damage.” She squeezes my hand, acknowledging the guilt that still lives in my chest. “Lakhu adored her. He’s been planning her resurrection ever since—and my specific combination of Fire-Bringer blood and innate magic is the only thing that can power a ritual of that magnitude. ”
“So Selene is just leverage,” Rurik says, his usual humor stripped away. “Pressure to make us hand you over.”
“Yes and no.” Nasyra’s jaw tightens. “He’ll threaten to use her blood for a lesser ritual if we don’t comply. He can’t resurrect his mother with ordinary Fire-Bringer blood, but he can cause plenty of damage. Fuel dark magic. Make us suffer. And if we still refuse...” She trails off.
“He captures you anyway and gets what he really wanted,” Aisling finishes, her voice flat. “While we’re still mourning Selene.”
Silence falls over the table. Heavy. Suffocating.
“The trap is obvious,” Auren observes. “He knows we can’t comply. Knows we won’t sacrifice Nasyra. Which means this is designed to force our hand—to make us attack his stronghold on his terms, in his territory, at a time of his choosing.”
“Then we don’t play his game.” Drayke’s fist slams into the table, making the map tokens jump. “We attack before sunset. Hit him while he’s still expecting us to negotiate.”
“That’s still his territory,” Rurik points out. “His defenses. His forces. We’d be walking into a kill box.”
“Then we bring enough firepower to burn through it.” Drayke’s eyes blaze. “Full mobilization. Every dragon. Every weapon we have.”
“And leave the fortress undefended?” Auren shakes his head. “We have vulnerable people here. Staff. Support personnel. If Lakhu has forces waiting to flank us—“
“Then we split our forces and accept the risk.” The words come out harder than I intend. “Selene doesn’t have the luxury of us debating tactics indefinitely. And Lakhu knows I’ll come for her—he’s counting on it. On me being desperate enough to make mistakes.”
“Not just you.” Nasyra’s voice is steel. “I’m coming.”