41. Esme
ESME
Iglance back into the room, where Dayn is very much still naked, leaning against the bedpost like he owns the place. The sheets are a tangled mess, rumpled evidence of what was seconds from happening.
“Uh, sure, Jax,” I say, forcing a smile that’s probably more a grimace. “You can come in. Just one minute, okay?”
“Uh, sure. Okay.”
I shut the door and whirl on Dayn.
“Pants. Now,” I order, darting to the bed and yanking the sheets straight, or trying to.
“What’re you so worried about?” Dayn murmurs, scooping up his trousers and slowly sliding them on. “I’d be more concerned what I might do to him if he interrupts us again.”
“Try keeping those thoughts to yourself,” I mutter, fluffing the pillows with far more violence than necessary.
I grab my brush, climb onto the bed, and catch him by the wrist, tugging him closer so I can drag it through his hair—anything to make it look less obvious that my hands were just buried in it.
I work the brush through in quick, impatient strokes, but Dayn’s hands find my waist anyway, sliding around it. “This is doing absolutely nothing for my self-control,” he mutters.
“Yes, well, I’d like to continue making eye contact with my brother after today. So put on that shirt too, please. Unless you don’t care whatsoever about the first impression you make with my brother.”
He stoops and picks up the shirt, pulling it on. Once it’s settled, he looks at me, something quieter in his expression now.
“I do care, Esme.”
And somehow, I know he means it. I hold his gaze for a moment, still trying to understand how we got here—how the man who once made my life unbearable has become the one standing in front of me… looking like this. Like I, truly, matter.
There’s a hundred things I could say, but no time right now to say any of them. So instead, I just nod.
Then I turn, letting out a breath, trying to shake off the heat still clinging to my skin. I approach the door and pull it open.
“Come in, Jax. Sorry about that.”
My brother steps inside, his broad frame filling the doorway, and his gaze immediately snaps to Dayn, who’s now standing a few feet behind me, arms crossed, looking every inch the dragon king he is.
Jax freezes, eyes widening as they move between us—taking in my flushed face, the hastily made bed, Dayn’s still somewhat mussed hair.
His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking there, and I can practically see the pieces clicking into place in his head.
I also notice now that he has faint shadows swirling behind his eyes too.
“You...” Jax starts, voice low and edged with something between shock and protectiveness. “You’re the dragon? The one who kidnapped her? And now you’re... what, here, in her room?”
Dayn meets his stare evenly, unfazed. “Daynthazar Draxion. And yes, I’m here with your sister.”
Jax’s eyes narrow, flicking from Dayn back to me, and I can see the wheels turning—understanding dawning, mixed with that brother instinct that’s always simmered just under his surface.
“You’re her husband,” he says, voice flat but laced with something sharper, like he’s testing the words out loud.
He looks at me again. “Mom told me about the marriage. But this...” He gestures vaguely at the room, at us, his gaze lingering on my still-damp hair and some rumpled patches of the bed I didn’t smooth out.
“This is different. This is... Are you actually with him? Like, for real?”
I feel heat creep up my neck, but I square my shoulders, refusing to let embarrassment win. “Yeah, Jax. For real. And before you go all brother on me, can we skip the interrogation? You look like you’ve got bigger news than my private life.”
He rubs a hand over his face, exhaling sharply, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t fully ease.
“Fine. But we’re circling back to this later.
” His eyes cut to Dayn again, sizing him up like he’s debating whether to throw a punch or demand a family dinner.
“Just... treat her right, dragon. Or husband or not, I’ll find a way to make you regret it. ”
Dayn’s mouth curves faintly, not quite a smile, but there’s a glint of respect in his eyes. “Noted, Salem. Though I suspect she’d handle me herself if needed.”
“Damn right,” I mutter, unable to stop the smirk tugging at my mouth.
Jax grunts, apparently deciding that’s good enough for now, and turns his full attention to me. “Look, Es, things here have gotten… different.”
“Yeah, I kind of noticed that.” I look again at those shadows in his eyes. “Maybe start with your eye shadows?”
Jax leans closer, studying my own eyes.
“Your eyes…” he says, frowning. “They’re normal. No shadows now. Everyone around here is now hosting an Ide, and that’s why we have shadows. But you don’t… anymore.”
I blink, processing that information. “Everyone’s hosting an Ide. What does that mean exactly? I mean, how does it… feel? What’s been happening since I left?”
“Let’s take this one thing at a time. I’m just curious why you don’t seem to have one.”
“Maybe because I was just the conduit, not a permanent host? And then Dayn snatched me away, presumably using his own magic as a counterbalance?”
He nods, glancing at Dayn. “Maybe.”
“I confirm the last part,” Dayn says.
I don’t feel possessed, but I can’t help but be reminded of what happened during Salome’s ritual.
What she found. Something buried deep inside me that she couldn’t identify or remove.
It’s got to have something to do with the Ides, if not a full blown possession.
But given the ambiguity of it, I don’t mention it to Jax, for now.
“As for what hosting an Ide is like,” Jax says, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not going to believe this, but...” He takes a deep breath. “My Ide is Dad.”
I stare at him, the words not quite computing. “What?”
“Dad,” Jax repeats. “Theodore Salem. Our father. He’s my Ide.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I had the same reaction. But it’s him, Es. It’s really him.”
I’m still staring at him like I don’t believe my ears. “H-How could that even be possible? How would he have got caught in the ‘in between’? He was—”
“Would I lie about this?” Jax asks, his voice softening as he steps closer. “Es, it’s him. I can prove it.”
Before I can respond, something shifts in Jax’s posture. His shoulders straighten, his chin lifts slightly, and his expression changes—subtle but unmistakable. It’s like watching someone else step into his skin.
“Esme,” he says, and the voice is Jax’s but the inflection isn’t—it’s deeper, steadier, with that familiar cadence I haven’t heard in years.
My breath catches in my throat.
“Raven,” he continues, using Dad’s nickname for me, the one no one else ever used.
“Remember when you were eight, and you broke Mom’s favorite crystal bowl?
You were so scared she’d be angry that you tried to fix it with that experimental shadow-binding spell you found in the restricted section of my office—which, by the way, you weren’t supposed to be in. ”
My heart hammers against my ribs. As far as I know, Jax never knew about this, and he wouldn’t have remembered in such detail.
“You cried when it didn’t work,” he continues, his eyes—Jax’s eyes—softening with a warmth that’s achingly familiar. “And I told you that sometimes the bravest thing isn’t fixing your mistakes, but owning them. Then we went together to tell Mom, and you were surprised when she wasn’t even mad.”
Something cracks inside me, a fault line splitting wide. “Dad?” The word comes out small and broken.
He smiles and nods. “I’m here, Esme. Not exactly how I planned my return, but...”
My legs give out, and I sink to the floor, tears rising before I can stop them.
I can’t remember the last time I really cried—not since Dad disappeared.
After that, I just… shut down. Closed every door and locked it tight.
I told myself I had to be strong—for Jax, for Brynn, for Mom.
That grief was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Tears were dangerous; if I let them start, I was terrified they’d never stop.
So I buried it. I threw myself into school, into training, into becoming someone too busy, too disciplined, too useful to fall apart.
Because some part of me believed that if I ever let myself drown in it—really drown—I might never find my way back up.
But now, with Dad somehow here—speaking through Jax—that armor I’ve worn for years finally gives way. All the careful control, all the walls I built to keep myself standing, crack apart at once.
Tears spill down my cheeks, hot and relentless, and for the first time in years, I let them.
“How?” I manage, my voice breaking on the word. “How are you here?”
“I’m working on finding that answer,” he says gently, and Jax’s hands reach out and squeeze my shoulders, holding me.
“My memories around my death are fragmented at best. But instead of passing on—or joining the ancestral grid—something else happened. And when the Ides were summoned, I was pulled back too.”
I feel Dayn move closer to me. He doesn’t touch me, giving me space, but even so he feels like a quiet, steady anchor as I try to process this impossible reunion. Dad’s focus shifts as he takes in the Dragon King.
“Draxion,” he says, his tone neutral but unmistakably assessing. “You’re taking care of my daughter?”
“As much as she allows,” Dayn replies, and even through everything, I catch the note of respect in his voice.
Dad nods once, then turns back to me. “I can’t hold Jax’s reins forever. So listen to me, Esme. I want you to be careful here. This whole Ides situation is… a developing one.”
I wipe at my face, trying and failing to steady myself. “What do you mean?”
“Think late-night meetings while their hosts are asleep, weakened, or distracted. Your mother was at one last night—and when she woke, she had no memory of it. Then there was an incident with Nyv. Her Ide tried to use a faulty dagger from the crypts to strengthen its hold on her. If Jax and Ridge hadn’t found her… ”
Cold dread settles heavy in my stomach. The Ides are already acting out. The worst thing is I can’t say this is a true surprise. We always knew playing with Ide power was a wild card, that it wouldn’t be automatically easy to control it. “Is Nyv okay? Is Mom okay?”
“For now.” His jaw tightens. “I helped Mom and Brynn place discreet suppression spells on a couple of bracelets Mom had at the house. They’re wearing them now. I hope it’ll be a helpful albeit temporary way to keep their Ides in check.”
I nod slowly, processing this. “So where are Mom and Brynn now?”
“I only know that we left them at the house. Jax and I were just heading, temporarily, back to his dorm when we overheard someone saying you’d returned with the dragon,” he glances at Dayn, “so we came here.”
His answer only stirs more questions in me. I’m about to ask them when another knock comes at my door, quiet but unmistakable.
I tense at the sound, my pulse still racing from everything Jax—Dad—has just dumped on me. Dayn’s hand settles at the small of my back, warm and steadying, but I don’t feel it for long. I cross the room and pull the door open just enough to look through.
The man standing there makes me still.
He’s taller than a normal human should be, dressed simply but impeccably in dark robes, with the kind of presence that makes the space around him feel smaller.
Dark hair brushes his shoulders, neat but not overly styled, and his face is all clean lines and quiet control.
Handsome, yes, but not in a way that feels easy.
There’s something sharper, almost ethereal, underneath it.
His skin is pale, but not quite naturally so, as though light touches him differently. And then beneath it—just for a second, when he shifts—I catch it: something dark moving under the surface, like shadows slipping through water, slow and alive.
His eyes fix on me, dark enough to seem almost black, steady and unreadable, like he’s already noticed more than I’ve said.
He doesn’t move much, doesn’t need to. There’s a stillness to him that feels deliberate, the kind that makes everyone else instinctively fill the silence.
“Who are you?” Jax asks, approaching behind me. His voice is laced with confusion, and I sense my brother has taken the reins again.
A small smile touches the stranger’s mouth.
“I should apologize,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “This is the first time I’m meeting any of you in my true form.”
His gaze returns to me, unhurried. Intent.
“Call me Dominic.” A beat. “And I wanted to welcome you back personally. May I invite you—and your family—to dine with me?”
My lips part, as Jax and I both repeat at once: “Dominic?”