Chapter 51
The cabin door creaked open, but I couldn’t be bothered to care who the intruder was—because it smelled like they’d brought breakfast. I stretched beneath the sheets, arms aching in the best way, and rolled over to find a note on Shayde’s pillow–
Went to get breakfast
Sure enough, the intruder was a freshly showered and dressed Shayde Wylder, who now set a tray of breakfast at the foot of the bed.
He was already back in his winter leathers—minus his cloak.
Today, we’d search for a safe place to activate the ancient rune portal and return to the Hollow.
Scarlet and her crew would meet us there.
“You know you sleep like the dead?” he said, raising a brow as he began organizing the small plates.
I sat up and leaned against the headboard, my voice still thick with sleep. “I’ve been told something like that.”
He settled near my feet and handed me a steaming cup of tea.
I reached for it, and to my surprise, he followed with a plate bearing two biscuits and a neat square of butter.
I set the tea on the nightstand and got to work spreading the butter.
Shayde picked up a bowl of oatmeal and blew gently over the spoon before taking a bite.
“What if I wanted the oatmeal?” I asked, playfully accusatory for so early in the morning.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “You don’t like oatmeal. I figured the biscuits were a safe bet.”
“How would you possibly know that?”
Shayde shifted, turning to face me fully, one knee propped on the bed.
“You brought me breakfast almost every morning when I was behind bars,” he said. “And every time, you’d leave the oatmeal untouched. You ate everything else—but not that.”
I blinked at him, caught off guard by the observation. Then, slowly, I stuffed a bite of biscuit into my mouth, chewing slowly.
After breakfast, we gathered our belongings in silence.
The quiet was… awkward. And I couldn’t manage a snarky comment or funny retort.
Not because I didn’t want to, but because I’ve never shared a night like that with anyone before.
And that someone just so happens to be the one I’m supposed to hate.
But the things he said last night…
The way he touched me.
The way he looked at me—like I mattered.
Like I was more than just a mission partner or a hate-fuck he needed to get out of his system.
I shoved my nightclothes into my satchel with more force than necessary. Shayde glanced at me from across the room, his expression indecipherable. For once, there was no trace of the Shayde I’ve come to recognize—no look of indifference, no sarcastic jab waiting on his tongue.
Right now, he’s just looking at me. Like he’s trying to figure out what this is. Like he doesn’t know either.
The fear of becoming vulnerable with him clogged my throat. And I did the only thing I know how to do when I feel myself connecting to someone in a way that would give them power over me—the opportunity to hurt me.
I shut down. I armor up. I take back my control.
And I hurt them first.
“Last night cannot happen again.”
I was ready for a stoic agreement, but the look of utter confusion on Shayde’s face stole my breath. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it.
“You were working for the enemy, Snake.” I forced venom into my voice, but it burned my throat to call him that. “You delivered my sister to the Grim. To Tyria. How would it look if I came home suddenly okay with your existence? I’d be a fraud. A joke of a warrior for our people.”
Shayde flinched at the nickname. Still, he said nothing.
I inhaled sharply. “And you? You pursued Scarlet last year. How would it look if you were now pursuing me—someone who looks exactly like her? You’d look like a fool.”
My breath hitched. My hands shook. I turned away and started packing, trying to hide it.
“That’s the difference between us.”
His voice stopped me cold. I spun back.
His eyes—open and vulnerable a moment ago—had gone hard. Cold. The edge in his tone had returned, rough and ragged like before this mission.
I scoffed. “And what’s that?”
Shayde closed the distance, but not completely. He stopped a foot from me, leaving a space I itched to fill. “I don’t care what I look like anymore. Not to the people around me. Not to the world. Not even to myself. But you—do.”
His words slammed into me like a final blow.
His voice turned cruel. “I thought I’d found another tortured soul that matched my own. But I guess I was wrong. You hate me. Got it.”
He turned and opened the cabin door.
“I will never forgive you for what you did to her,” I rasped.
Morning light poured through as he stepped over the threshold and dropped his head. “You’ll have to get in line,” he said. “Because that makes two of us.”
Suddenly, a deafening explosion rattled the walls.
We rushed outside, and my stomach twisted at the sight. The tavern was engulfed in flames. A figure stumbled out of the front door, completely ablaze, and collapsed just beyond the entrance. From an upper-level window, the barmaid screamed for help—thick black smoke poured out behind her.
Another explosion rocked the ground, and I clapped my hands over my ears as the cabin-rental building was reduced to rubble—this time thanks to the massive gray dragon that tore through it.
We dove for cover as it released a torrent of silver fire.
The flames stretched for hundreds of yards and set the surrounding trees ablaze.
“We have to help!” we shouted simultaneously, both of us blinking in shock at the other’s words.
We rushed to the village center, guiding frantic civilians away from the dragon now circling above, preparing to dive again and unleash more destruction. Screams echoed through the square, and smoke stung my eyes.
My gaze locked on a small boy—no older than six—his leg pinned beneath a charred beam. He cried out, his face streaked with soot and tears. I sprinted toward him, lungs burning, heart pounding. But the dragon was already diving, its maw glowing with silver flame. It would reach him before I did.
Suddenly, a flash of white fur burst from the treeline.
One of our wolves lunged, massive jaws clamping around the beam, while another used brute force to shove it aside.
The boy was yanked free just in time, and the three vanished into the trees before the dragon’s flames scorched the ground where the child had been.
A piercing screech split the air, and I clutched my head—then realized it wasn’t a sound at all but a voice, amplified and everywhere.
“Tyria, it has been reported that two Aryan soldiers are among us. They have stolen an invaluable item from our leadership and must be brought to justice.”
The voice was Cora Reyes.
“Assisting in their return beyond the wall is an act of treason and will result in your public execution.”
They know we’re here. And they know what we’ve found.
A sharp metallic clash rang out behind me. I whirled to see Shayde locked in combat with two Tyrian troops. One struck low—Shayde twisted, parried, then drove his boot into the other’s chest, sending him sprawling.
I drew my longsword and charged.
A female Tyrian sprinted toward Shayde’s back, sword raised. I ducked beneath her swing and drove my blade up through her jaw—the steel burst from her mouth. She choked, gurgled, and I kicked her off before turning to the next.
An enemy lunged at my side—Shayde’s blade punched through the attacker’s ribs over my shoulder. I spun, slashed a second Tyrian’s throat, and slammed my hilt into a third’s skull. We fell into rhythm, fighting back-to-back.
“I don’t know how long we can hold them off,” I shouted, blocking a blow.
“We’re going to have to activate the runes—here!”
“What? Where?” I snapped, countering with a downward slash.
Shayde spun, his sword flashing as he ran another Tyrian through. Blood and soot streaked his face and leathers. The thunder of wings closed in fast. “Our cabin,” he said, eyes scanning the burning wreckage. “We lock the door and open the portal there. It’ll close the second we’re through.”
I gave a tight nod. More Tyrian troops stormed through the smoke. The dragon’s shriek peeled the sky.
“Go get it ready—I’ll cover you.”
“What? No!”
“Go, Fitzroy!” Shayde’s shout cracked like a whip, leaving no room for argument.
I hesitated for half a heartbeat—then turned and ran.
Back at the cabin, I slammed the door and threw the bolt. My satchel hit the bed, contents spilling across the blanket. I shoved aside everything until I found the paint. I gripped it with shaking hands and forced myself to breathe.
Dropping to my knees before the paneled wall, I uncorked the paint and began drawing. Precise strokes. No room for error. Every movement had to be perfect—one mistake, and the portal would either fail or send us somewhere we might never come back from.
Halfway done.
Outside, the sky rumbled again, louder this time. My spine stiffened. I was one curved line from completing the arch when new thunder shook the sky—two more sets of wings. Not just one dragon now, but three.
My body moved before I could think. I dropped the brush, sprinted to the door, and ripped it open. Smoke filled my lungs. Fire lit the forest. And my heart slammed against my ribs as I searched the chaos for…
Him.
Shayde was locked in combat with a Tyrian twice his size—but still holding his own, moving with a ferocity I’d never seen. He’d been inching toward the cabin, but another attacker must’ve cut him off.
A flash of gray scales caught my eye. The dragon burst from behind the burning buildings, its massive wings fanning the flames higher. It opened its jaws, and deep in its throat, silver fire churned—glowing brighter by the second.
My eyes snapped back to Shayde.
It’s coming for him. And he doesn’t have access to his fire element to protect himself.