Chapter 38
CHAD
Islam my fist against the Ide-powered shield for the twentieth time, and for the twentieth time, it ripples but holds firm.
My claws spark against the barrier like steel on flint, but I might as well be punching a mountain for all the good it does.
Brynn lies unconscious on the other side, surrounded by those Ide-possessed darkblood puppets, and I can’t fucking reach her.
“Save your strength,” my father rumbles beside me. “The shield is drawing power from many Ides. Even we cannot break through. Not yet.”
A roar builds in my chest, but I swallow it back, my muscles trembling with the effort of restraint.
The demon part of me—the part that felt seconds away from claiming Brynn in the forest—wants to tear apart everything in sight.
It doesn’t care about strategy or patience or the fact that we’re outnumbered. It only knows that she’s been taken.
“They drugged her,” I snarl, watching the tall, cloaked figure standing over her.
Even through the shimmering barrier, I can sense power radiating from him… it feels ancient and vast, like the pressure before a storm.
He kneels beside Brynn, and something visceral twists in my gut as he brushes her hair from her face. My claws dig into my palms, drawing blood that hisses against the shield.
“Don’t touch her,” I growl, though he doesn’t react. Either he can’t hear me through the barrier or he chooses to ignore me.
The figure scoops Brynn into his arms. Her head lolls against his shoulder, face pale in the moonlight. The sight of her limp body in a stranger’s arms sends another surge of primal rage through me.
“Dominic,” one of the juniors addresses the cloaked figure. “We should take her to the crypts. The procedure—”
“No.” The voice that comes from beneath the hood is deep, low, and commanding, carrying an authority that seems to charge the air itself. “She will go to the infirmary.”
I freeze, the name striking me. Dominic. As in Dominic Merlin. It has to be. One of the first darkbloods to exist post the mage schism. A founder of Darkbirch itself. The being Esme brought back.
The junior darkblood steps forward, hands twisting nervously. “But the integration protocol we’ve developed—”
“I said no.” Dominic’s voice hardens, and even through the barrier, I can feel the weight of power behind his words. “She needs rest. She will adapt to her Ide naturally, not through your forced concoctions.”
The group falls silent, no one daring to argue further. Even from here, I can sense the shift in the atmosphere, the way the junior darkbloods seem to shrink back, their will bending to his.
He turns and begins walking toward the infirmary building, Brynn cradled against his chest. Every step he takes away from me feels like a knife twisting deeper into my own chest. The demon in me growls, demanding I follow, demanding I tear through the barrier and snatch her back.
“I need to get to her,” I grit out.
My father places a massive hand on my shoulder. “I see that. We will consider our options.”
“Chad?” a female voice calls from behind us.
I turn to see the dragoness with silver hair approaching. Nyssa’s her name, if I recall. She was there when I first went full hulk-demon, the night I killed Rothmere.
Behind her are the two male dragons.
“Your demon friend is... impressive,” Nyssa murmurs, her amethyst eyes cautious, never leaving my father.
“He’s my father,” I mutter, not bothering with pleasantries. “And we don’t have time for introductions. They’ve taken Brynn.”
“We saw,” the taller male dragon growls, his expression grim. And I realize that I recognize him too. Byzu. That jackass dragon. Dayn’s brother.
The third dragon—a beast even in human form—I don’t recognize immediately. But he looks like a soldier for sure. “What are they doing to people here?” he says, shifting on his feet.
“The Ides are taking control,” I mutter. “At least of some darkbloods. Everyone’s likely still trying to stabilize the situation here.”
Dominic is no longer within sight, and the junior darkbloods have followed him too, retreating toward the buildings.
“Looks like that shield’s loosening,” Nyssa says.
I follow her gaze and notice the flicker in the energy field that the darkbloods threw up.
My father steps forward, placing one massive hand against it. “Indeed,” he says. “It was a temporary measure. The collective power sustaining it is being pulled elsewhere.”
I slam my fist against it again, and this time the shield ripples more violently, cracks of light splintering across its surface. A few moments later, it’s all but dissolved.
“We need a plan,” I say, forcing myself to focus.
I stare at the dragons, and they stare back at me and my father. I sense suspicion tinging the air between us.
“What are you here for?” the weathered dragon whose name I don’t know asks.
“Darkbirch was my home for years,” I say. Still technically is, I guess. “I care about what happens here. And I care about Brynn. I want to figure out what’s going on.”
“And I’m here because he is,” my father adds simply, crossing his massive arms.
Byzu exhales. “Well, we need shelter, and this place seems...”—he glances around the forest, then at the coven’s protective barrier in the distance, enclosing us all in—“…relatively safer than anywhere else at the moment.”
“Relatively being the operative word,” the older dragon mutters. “These possessed darkbloods aren’t exactly welcoming.”
A beat of silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant sounds of activity from the academy grounds. We’re sizing each other up—probably ancient enemies by bloodline, momentary allies by circumstance.
I don’t know much about the history between dragons and demons, only that they’re not exactly cuddly with each other.
“What do you suggest?” Nyssa finally asks, addressing me directly. “You know the place better than we do. I was expecting those darkbloods to escort us somewhere, but it seems they got distracted.”
I clench my jaw, forcing myself to think beyond the primal urge to storm the place. “We need to know what’s happening inside. The layout, the security.” And I need to know where they’re keeping her.
“The demons want information. We need shelter.” The old dragon’s weathered face hardens. “Temporary alliance?”
Nyssa looks at me tentatively.
Before I can respond, movement catches my eye. Two figures emerge cautiously from the shadows… the incubi twins. Sun and Kun.
“We thought we sensed a demon prince,” Sun says with a slight bow toward my father, whilst keeping his distance. “An honor.”
My father inclines his head slightly.
I raise an eyebrow. “You know each other?”
“Not exactly,” Kun says. “But we know how to sense a demon of the higher courts.”
“What gives you the guts to introduce yourself this time?” I ask, remembering how they’d skittered away when Behemoth appeared before.
“You’ve stepped into our home,” Sun replies. “It’s only polite.”
“More seriously though,” Kun adds, his expression growing serious. “We missed them taking Brynn, unfortunately, but overheard what you were saying. We’re also… concerned. About the Ides.”
“Their integration with the darkbloods is concerning,” Sun says.
“What do you know?” I ask.
“Probably not much more than you,” Kun replies. “We’ve been hanging around outside a lot while all this settles over. We were planning to do some eavesdropping ourselves.”
“Dragons, demons, and incubi,” Byzu mutters. “Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.”
“Maybe it will be,” the older dragon says gruffly, eyes narrowed on the incubi.
“And who are you?” Sun asks, frowning back at the dragon.
“Rogon,” he replies. “Colonel Rogon. And I suggest we all stop gassing and find somewhere sheltered if we’re to regroup and plan, before those darkbloods remember we’re loose cannons.”
“There’s an old groundskeeper’s shack at the edge of these woods, just a few minutes’ walk,” I remember aloud. “Abandoned years ago. It’ll be better than standing here, out in the open.”
“Yes, perfect,” Sun says, already turning with Kun in that direction.
The dragons move to follow them, but my father holds me back.
“Wait,” he says, voice low.
His crimson eyes are fixed on my shoulder. He reaches out and plucks something from there—a single strand of dark hair. Brynn’s. It must have caught there when I shoved her up against the tree.
The close reminder of her does something inconvenient to my insides.
He holds it up, the delicate strand catching the moonlight. “A gift from the Fates,” he murmurs, his eyes glowing with a sudden, sharp intelligence. “Or perhaps just the remnants of your lack of restraint.”
“Huh?”
“It could be useful,” he replies.
I frown. “How?”
“A Malabranche’s tether is powerful, but it is blind until it is forged,” my father explains. He holds the hair between his claws, and I see a faint, reddish light begin to glow around it. “With this, I could form a demonic bond between you and your prized one. A bridge of essence.”
I try not to flinch at the term “prized one.” I stare at the hair. “A bond? What kind of demonic bond?”
“For now, I suggest just a tracking spell, of sorts,” he replies.
“If I weave this into your essence, you will feel her. You will have a sense of what she’s feeling—her pain, her fear.
If you truly master it, you might even be able to hear through her ears, to see glimpses of her world through her eyes. ”
The thought sends a chill through me. “That sounds like a violation.”
Behemoth snorts. “You mortals and your ‘violations.’ She is currently in the hands of an ancient spirit whose plans apparently concern you. Do you want to be a gentleman, or do you want to make sure she’s safe?”
I look toward the dark silhouette of the academy. I think of Dominic Merlin carrying her. The ancient spirit whose motives I don’t truly understand yet.
“If I did this... would it hurt her?” I ask.
“Not if the bond is one-sided. You will be the receiver. She will be the anchor. She will feel nothing but a faint warmth, perhaps. Maybe a sense of being watched that she will likely attribute to the Ides.” Behemoth steps closer, the reddish glow in his hands intensifying.
I look at the hair. It’s such a small thing, a fragile thread of the woman I’m fairly certain I’m losing my damn mind over.
“Alright,” I finally say. “Do it.”
I tell myself that I need this security—to know that she’s okay, to know that I have a way of keeping track of her, even if I can’t physically be with her. I might go fully insane without it. And while I don’t trust my father fully either, I somehow doubt he’d do something to deliberately hurt her.
My father nods, taking the strand of hair between his massive palms. “Give me your hand.”
I extend my arm, and he places the hair across my open palm. Then he presses his own palm against mine, sandwiching the strand between us. His skin burns even hotter than mine, and I feel power begin to flow between us—ancient, primal energy that makes my blood rise in recognition.
He speaks words in a language I don’t understand. It consists of guttural, crackling syllables that seem to vibrate the air around us. The strand of hair begins to glow brighter between our palms.
Pain lances up my arm, sharp, white-hot, and merciless. I grit my teeth against a shout as the sensation burrows deeper, past muscle and bone, sinking into something more fundamental. Then the pain vanishes, replaced by... awareness. A new presence in the back of my mind, faint but unmistakable.
Brynn.
I gasp as a connection solidifies. It’s the strangest feeling, like a sixth sense wired directly to my brain. I somehow know she’s unconscious—her mind feels quiet and still—but she’s there. I can feel her, like a distant heartbeat somehow close to my own.
I can hardly believe it. I flex my fingers, half-expecting to see some physical manifestation of the bond. There’s nothing visible. I just feel it.
“This is… going to take some getting used to,” I murmur, trying to focus on the quiet presence in my mind. “I think she’s still unconscious. But definitely alive.”
“Good,” Behemoth says. “Now, let’s get to this shack.”