43. Kaisner
KAISNER
M orning mist clings to the cobblestones like breath from the underworld, curling around my boots as I ascend the drive toward Draken Manor.
Paris is only beginning to stir behind me, the city unaware of the storm gathering at its heart.
Above, the sky is a wash of pewter, neither night nor day—just the hush before something breaks.
Draken Manor rises ahead as a mausoleum of power—stoic, ancestral, and unwelcome.
I slow as I reach the massive doors, my hand hovering over the dragon-shaped knocker.
The cold brass bites into my palm when I finally rap against it, a deliberate echo sounding through the house like a warning shot.
My breath fogs faintly in the frosty air, but I barely feel it. I think only of her.
Clarissa. Safe. Warm. Still asleep, if the gods are kind. If awake, she already knows I’ve come here. She knows why.
After what feels like an eternity, the door creaks open, revealing a stern-faced butler. His gaze widens slightly as he recognizes me, but he quickly schools his features into a mask of polite indifference.
“Mr. Drachenstein,” he says, his voice clipped and formal. “I’m afraid Mr. Draken is not expecting any visitors, sir. You’ll need to make an appointment.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Bureaucracy, even in a place like this. “I’m not the type to make appointments,” I murmur, brushing past him and into the grand foyer.
The butler sputters indignantly behind me, but I pay him no mind. My senses are on high alert, scanning for any sign of Nikolaas. A low hum of voices draws my attention to a door at the far end of the hall. Without hesitation, I stride toward it, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.
As I approach, the sounds become clearer—Nikolaas’ deep timbre, tinged with frustration, and the Ursa princess’ softer tone, attempting to soothe him.
My hand closes around the doorknob, and for a split second, I consider turning back.
But the image of Clarissa, vulnerable and alone, steels my nerves.
I twist the handle and push the door open.
The study radiates the grandeur and elegance of old-world opulence.
Rich mahogany bookshelves line the walls, filled with ancient tomes and priceless artifacts.
A massive desk dominates the center of the room, behind which stands Nikolaas Draken, his posture rigid with tension.
His mate Samara is perched on the edge of a nearby armchair, her expression a clash of concern and surprise as she sees me enter.
For a moment, silence reigns. Then, Nikolaas’ gaze stumbles upon me in the doorway. Recognition ignites like a spark to gunpowder.
“Where is she, you power-hungry bastard?” Nikolaas roars, eyes flashing with barely contained fury. He jabs an accusing finger at me. “You crossed a line, Drachenstein. There’s no going back from this.”
A confident smirk pulls at my lips. “Bold words for someone who just lost his crown.”
He storms around the desk, fists clenched at his sides, ready to strike. “You brand her, and now you want to play king? I’ll see you dead first, Kaisner!”
I stand my ground, my voice cutting with silk-wrapped steel. “Say my name again, Draken, and I’ll give you a reason to fear it.”
“Both of you, please!” Samara jumps to her feet, positioning herself between us. Her gaze darts between Nikolaas and me, pleading for calm. “This is not the way.”
I breathe deeply, forcing my tone to remain controlled. “Listen to your mate. Let’s do this the civilized way—for Clarissa’s sake.”
But my words only fuel Nikolaas further. His face contorts with rage, a vein pulsing at his temple.
“If you truly cared about her, you’d walk away now. Leave her the hell out of your twisted games.” His fist slams down on the desk, crystal rattling in its tray.
His remarks slice through my pride, anger flaring in my chest. “You mistake my restraint for weakness, Nikolaas,” I say, my tone cold.
“The only reason you’re still breathing is because she loves you.
” I want to lash out, but for once in my life, I swallow the fury.
This isn’t about my ego. It’s about Clarissa.
“She should be home—where she’s safe,” Nikolaas murmurs.
“Your sister is safe,” I bite back. My voice turns to ice, but only just. “Safer than she ever was under your watch.”
That hits its mark. Nikolaas reels back as if I’ve physically struck him. “Excuse me?” he scoffs, but there’s a tremor in it—disbelief already giving way to outrage.
“You heard me.” The leash on my temper snaps. “You were too busy chasing glory—vanishing from Paris without so much as a backward glance, while Clarissa stayed behind, exposed. Unguarded.” I step closer, voice rising. “She faced threats you never saw coming, and you weren’t there. I was .”
His face drains of color, then flushes with heat. “What kind of threats? Predators like you?” he growls, venom lacing his words.
I bare my teeth in a dangerous grin. “Every alpha in this city, sniffing at her heels while her ’fearless’ brother played hero abroad.
” My claws threaten to breach the skin of my fingers, and I fight to keep the dragon contained.
“You want to talk about danger? Try walking in late with a target on your back and no backup. That was her reality. You think that crown you chase makes you a king? You’re not even a shield. ”
Nikolaas sneers, but the tremor in his jaw betrays him. “You expect me to thank you? For crawling into her life like a parasite and feeding on her weakness?”
I don’t flinch. I’ve heard worse from men who now lie in unmarked graves. “She’s not weak,” I say dangerously. “But you are if you believe love makes someone fragile.”
“She doesn’t love you,” he spits. “She doesn’t even know who you are.”
I meet his glare, unblinking, and close the distance between us until our breaths mingle. “She knows exactly who I am. And she chose me. That’s what keeps you up at night, isn’t it, Draken? That she saw everything I am—and still opened the door.”
He bristles, hands clutching the desk’s edge. “You manipulated her,” he accuses, eyes filled with fury. “You’ve used her?—”
“I’ve bled for her!” My roar shakes the air. “I’ve gone to war in her name, risked everything for her safety. I’d set the world on fire if it meant keeping her warm. Can you say the same?”
A muscle twitches along his jaw. “You don’t get to talk about sacrifice.”
“Don’t I?” I tilt my head, my cruel smile returning. “Tell me, Nikolaas, where were you when she woke up screaming? Who held her when the cruelty of our world came crashing in?” I lean in, venom lacing my voice. “Not you.”
“Enough!” Samara gasps, her hand gently brushing Nikolaas’s arm, trying to keep the beast at bay.
But it’s too late.
“You’re poison,” Nikolaas hisses. “Everything you touch turns to ash.” A fine shimmer of golden scales flashes at his jawline before vanishing.
“I warned her,” I say, the words soft now—lethal. “I told her I would ruin her. She looked me in the eye… and asked me to do it anyway.”
With a fierce growl, Nikolaas lunges at me. But Samara steps in, arms stretched wide. “Don’t!”
I don’t flinch. Let him see the monster he’s always feared I’d become.
Because I am.
But I’m also the one Clarissa chose.
The tension hangs in the air like smoke from a smoldering battlefield—thick, bitter, and undeniable.
Nikolaas doesn’t reply. His jaw ticks. His glare is a loaded gun with no safe. But he doesn’t pull the trigger—he’s smarter than that.
I lower my voice, rough and steady. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to accept it.”
Before he can fire back, my phone rings, sharp and insistent. I ignore it, eyes locked on him.
Samara’s stare flicks between us—one a storm, the other a wildfire—and settles in the uneasy middle. “Let’s keep this civil, remember? For Clarissa.” Her voice comes tight. “Where is Clarissa, anyway?”
I exhale slowly. “She’s safe.”
“That wasn’t the question,” Nikolaas growls from behind her.
“She’s at my estate,” I say evenly. “Under guard. No one touches her unless they go through me first.”
“She shouldn’t have to be guarded,” he snaps.
I look him in the eye, hard. “Whatever you think of me, Nikolaas, understand this—Clarissa made her choice. You can hate me all you want, but you will respect her.”
Silence stretches between us like a drawn blade, humming with the promise of blood.
Nikolaas watches me, still simmering. Samara says nothing, but her demeanor is calculating, wary.
Then, with a controlled breath, I pull back. I straighten to my full height, spine taut with resolve. “She’s not a pawn,” I say, my voice low and firm. “She’s the queen. And I’m the only one playing this game who knows how to keep her from falling.”
The words hang in the air, thick with truth and conviction.
Before I can speak again, my phone vibrates, cutting through the silence. Persistent. Urgent.
I pull it from my pocket, irritation burning—until I see the name on the screen.
Janik.
My chest tightens. He never calls twice unless it’s blood.
I answer. “What is it?”
There’s a beat of static. Then Janik’s voice filters through, grave and clipped.
“ Mein Konig … It’s Miss Draken.” A breath. “She’s been taken.”
Everything inside me comes to a screeching halt. My heart. My thoughts. The air in my lungs.
“What the hell happened?” I manage.
“Ambush on the highway,” he replies, voice sharp and efficient. “Black SUV. Tactical gear. Military precision. It was clean, fast. But one of them…” He exhales. “One of them had a tattoo. A tiger. I’d know it anywhere.”
The name drops into my mind like a guillotine.
Mahindra.
I don’t say it aloud. I breathe it. A curse. A vow.
“Confirmed,” Janik growls. “It was them.”
A frigid calm seeps into my bones, replacing the burning anger with something far more lethal. My dragon stills inside me—no longer raging. Waiting.
Nikolaas sees the change in my expression. He steps forward, his gaze sharp.
“What is it?” he demands.
I lower the phone, my hand still clutching it. My voice is ice. “She’s been taken. By the Mahindra clan.”
Samara gasps. Nikolaas goes rigid, his face draining of color before rage surges in to replace it. His fists curl, his nostrils flare.
“What the hell do they want with her?” he growls.
“They want me ,” I say darkly. “She’s leverage. A message.” My jaw clenches. “And a mistake.”
Nikolaas looks ready to shatter something, fury barely restrained. “You should have brought her straight here!”
“And you should never have left her alone in the first place,” I snap, my words biting. “But here we are.”
Nikolas bristles, but he stays silent, knowing I’m right.
Samara steps forward, her voice tight with anxiety. “Do you know where they’re holding her?”
My response is immediate. “I absolutely do.”
The silence that follows trembles, suspended on the brink of war. And I? I’m already walking into it.
I turn to them slowly. “The Mahindras will pay dearly for their sin,” I growl, my voice a low tremor that rattles the air.
Fire licks my spine. My wings itch to burst free. My dragon is no longer patient—it wants blood.
“Don’t you dare meddle in this family’s affairs!” Nikolaas roars. “You have no right?—”
“I have every—fucking—right!” I explode, the last thread of restraint snapping like bone. “Clarissa is my mate!”
My fists clench, claws threatening to tear through my skin as my dragon surges forward, obsidian scales prickling beneath the surface of my arms, my neck. Rage coils hot in my chest, and I can barely keep it contained.
His features harden. “You fucking monster,” he snarls.
“Call me monster, if you want,” I inch closer, voice dropping to a growl. “She calls me hers.”
Nikolaas curls his fists tight, knuckles whitening. “This is your fault!” he lashes out. “The Mahindras are your enemies. You brought this on her!”
His words cut deep, carving truth from bone. Guilt rises like poison in my throat, but I swallow it down. Self-recrimination won’t bring her back—rage will.
“Will you please stop this?!” Samara’s voice cracks like a whip between us, sharp enough to draw blood. “She doesn’t care whose fault it is. She just needs both of you to stop posturing and go save her!”
Her words snap us both to attention. She’s right. Our squabbles mean nothing in the face of Clarissa’s danger.
Nikolaas looks away first, jaw clenched, hand dragging down his face. “We can’t just storm into their territory,” he says. “There are rules. Protocols.”
“To hell with politics,” I mutter, moving toward the door. “Every second we waste talking is another second she spends in their hands.”
Samara turns to face us both, shoulders squared. “I see two dragons standing in this room. That’s more than enough fire to melt through a fucking clan.”
Her words stop me. I turn to Nikolaas, and to my surprise, he’s looking at me the same way.
Not as an enemy. Not as a rival. But as a weapon he needs.
“She’s right,” I say, voice steady. “I’m going in.”
Nikolaas’s lips curl into a humorless smirk. “On your own? Not a chance.”
I study him for a moment. That jaw of his is set like stone.
And for the first time… I don’t hate him for it.
We won’t be friends. We won’t trust each other. But for Clarissa? We’ll raze hell.
Without another word, we move.
Two dragons. One bond. One enemy.
And the world has no idea what’s about to be unleashed.