by Olivia Ash
I look at Drew, piecing everything together. The soldiers up there, the ones that knocked out the entire embassy, belong to him.
To his family.
My throat stings with betrayal, and the hurt swiftly fizzles into barely contained anger as I fight with Drew’s grip on my arm.
His father and brother carry themselves like hardened warriors, and from the stories I’ve heard, they’re not opposed to violence.
But I will not let them take me. I don’t care what I destroy or who I kill.
“She’s feisty,” Jett says with a chuckle.
As a last-ditch effort, I dip into the magic burning in my chest. It bleeds into me, filling my veins, ready to appear the moment I give the word. I don’t have perfect control over it yet, but I can wield it well enough to help me now.
With a wounded look at Drew’s stoic face, I wonder if he’ll make me do this—if he will truly make me kill him.
The thought makes my throat burn with grief. Horror. Guilt.
“Good work, son,” Jett says with a nod of approval. “If she really is the dragon vessel, a little concussion won’t hurt her.” He gestures toward the opposite end of the hallway. “Knock her out, since she’s being difficult. Let’s go.”
My magic sparks and sputters within me, ready to attack.
“Do it, and you’ll die,” I snap, glaring at Drew.
Drew, to his credit, chuckles. It’s the first time he’s broken that stoic glare since we came across his father, and I have no idea what it means.
“You would, too,” he says softly. “Kill me, I mean.”
I tense, readying for battle, biting back the searing sting in my throat at his betrayal. “Damn right, I would.”
It’s a lie.
Well, partly.
Bringing myself to kill him would rip me to shreds, but I’m a woman of war. It would be brutal. It might break me, but I’ve endured shattering grief before. One way or another, I’ll find a way to recover.
Eventually.
Hopefully.
“Do it,” Drew says, his eyes scanning me. “Show them what you can do.”
For a moment, I simply gape at him in confusion. “You want me to kill you?”
He smirks. “You can’t, but I want to see you try.”
“Drew!” his father snaps impatiently. “Stop playing with your new toy. We’re leaving.”
That breaks me.
It makes me snap.
The idea that I barely exist to this asshole. That I’m just something to claim, nothing but property to keep in line and control.
My magic pushes against my fingertips, begging me to let loose. Ribbons of white light shimmer across my skin like the northern lights, aching to break free.
Though Drew still has a firm grip on my arm, I twist as much as I can, aiming my hands at his muscled torso.
My palms flatten against his shirt, the threat real and very near, but he just watches me.
Waiting.
Daring me to do it.
Bastard.
My throat aches. Tears burn at the corners of my eyes.
I can’t believe he’s going to make me do this.
“Damn it,” his father snaps. “Milo, go grab her.”
Absolutely not.
In that moment, as Milo takes his first step toward me, I release the power in my blood. The burst of white light tears through the shadows, blinding me, filling the space with crackling energy.
But never—not once—does Drew’s hold on me loosen. He teeters momentarily, thrown off balance, and I hear the feint hiss of breath as he sucks in air through his teeth, trying to mask the pain.
And yet, he doesn’t let go.
When the brilliant white light finally fades, he’s still standing beside me. Though his shirt has burned away, revealing the hard muscle beneath, he is otherwise unharmed.
No blood. No bruises. And still very much alive.
He watches me, that stoic expression back, like he’s just waiting to see how I react.
I gape, unable to process what I’m seeing. My body spent and exhausted from the blast, I teeter in his grip. And, in a blistering instant, my grief and sorrow are replaced with utter shock.
This magic—it has destroyed buildings, dissolved men to dust. But against Drew, this incredible power didn’t even draw blood.
He just—but—he can’t—
I have no words. Nothing—ever—has survived a blast from this magic. Even the rocky cliff gave way, dissolving into nothing, and yet Drew is entirely unaffected.
He is far more powerful than I could have ever imagined, and I am royally, totally screwed.
“That—wow,” his father says, applauding. His commanding voice echoing through the hallway. “I am truly impressed. She’ll be useful, son.”
“She isn’t yours, Father,” Drew says curtly, glaring at the weathered man. “And neither of us will be returning with you.”
Deeply confused and not entirely sure what to expect, I watch Drew cautiously as a thin glimmer of hope sparks to life within me.
This could go one of three ways.
One—he’s just messing with me. Again. And he’ll drag me off to the Darrington Capital.
Two—he wants me for himself, and he’ll just throw me over his shoulder again the moment his father leaves.
Or, three—he really is the man I’ve come to admire. To adore. And he’s going to defend me with his life, if he has to.
All I can do is watch and wait, and after a lifetime of being in control of almost any given situation, this is absolute agony.
For a moment, the Darrington Boss simply studies Drew’s face, as if he’s waiting for the punch line. After a moment or two of silence, he barks out a harsh laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Very,” Drew says with a nod. Briefly, his eyes flit to me, softening ever so slightly as he scans my face. “None of this was supposed to happen,” he adds quietly, only loudly enough for me to hear.
As if that’s supposed to make any of this better.
“Drew, what are you doing?” his father asks condescendingly. “Explain yourself.”
“I am protecting the dragon vessel.” Drew raises his voice again, loud and clear, his confident tone carrying easily through the dark hallway.
“This isn’t how you do it,” Milo says, finally breaking his silence, gesturing toward me. “There’s more at stake than—”
“Silence,” Jett says abruptly, casting an irritated glare at Drew’s brother.
I frown, glancing between the two, wondering what Milo was about to say that Jett didn’t want me or Drew to know.
“I think I would like to know what’s at stake, actually,” Drew says with a wry smirk. “Care to continue, big brother?”
Milo frowns, adjusting his grip on the gas mask in his arm instead of answering.
“Pity,” Drew muses. “Always so eager to do what you’re told.”
At that, Milo wrinkles his nose in loathing, glaring daggers at Drew as an old insecurity is blatantly revealed.
Huh.
He must be so easy to manipulate. To control. A few verbal jabs, and he’s basically putty in Drew’s hands. I narrow my eyes, studying the heir-apparent to the Darrington family line, quickly understanding why Drew is becoming the front-runner choice to replace him.
“I know what this is,” Jett says suddenly, clearly disappointed. “She’s spoken for, Drew. You can’t have her.”
“I know,” Drew says quickly.
Too quickly.
“She belongs to Jace Goodwin,” Jett adds in a chiding tone. “That won’t ever change.”
“She’s the dragon vessel, for Christ sake,” Drew snaps, standing a bit taller and loosening his grip on my arm. “She belongs to no one, least of all Jace.”
Drew’s touch on my arm becomes tender, and though he doesn’t look at me, he leans in protectively. With that subtle motion, he makes one thing abundantly clear—if Jett or Milo want to get to me, they have to go through him
first.
I’m floored.
I genuinely thought Drew was going to hand me over. Hell, I was ready to defend myself in the most horrifying way—killing him—and nothing worked. I couldn’t kill Drew even if I wanted to. He’s just too powerful.
And yet, when I had no control over the matter, Drew still protected me.
“You repulsive disappointment,” Jett says, sneering. “You would give up your title, your wealth, everything you have—over some girl?”
“Gladly,” Drew says without missing a beat.
The shattered pieces of my heart fuse back together with that admission, and even though we’re not out of danger yet, I finally relax in Drew’s grip.
I almost can’t believe it—that Drew would do all that.
For me.
“This won’t end well, Drew,” his father warns.
Drew lifts his chin in defiance. “Care to elaborate?”
My gaze drifts between the two of them, and I wonder who would win in a fight. Drew is impressive, almost impossibly powerful, but I’ve heard horror stories about his father. About the entire cities he’s burned to ash. About the dozens of dragons he can take on, completely solo, bringing nothing to the battle except for his own fire and fury.
The Darringtons are almost universally feared for many reasons—but Jett Darrington is the primary reason.
“You’re running out of time,” I say calmly, tilting my head ever so slightly, as if I’m bored.
For the first time, Jett looks me in the eye. His glare is chilling, but after a lifetime with Zurie, he’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m quickly regaining my strength after the attack on Drew, thankfully. And since I have no idea what’s about to happen, I need to be prepared.
For anything.
I nod to the ceiling, vaguely gesturing toward the army of shifters above us. “How much longer do you think that gas can keep everyone knocked out? When they wake up, they’ll be aching for a fight. Did you bring enough soldiers for a war? Not even you could get away with this if you get caught.”
Jett scowls, his gaze shifting between me and Drew for a moment before he finally turns to his other son. “Milo, give the order to retreat.”
“Yes, Father,” Milo says with a nod. He pivots on his heel and charges down the corridor, off to do his father’s bidding.
Slowly, Jett begins to close the distance between us as the echo of Milo’s footsteps bounces off the walls.
When the patter finally begins to fade, the Darrington Boss pauses, barely ten feet away. His salt and pepper hair is easier to see now, as are the deep and weathered lines on his face.
He may still be fierce as he nears his seventies, but the ferocity won’t last much longer.
“I could just take her,” the Darrington Boss says haughtily. “Do you think you could win against me, boy?”
Drew smirks. “Easily.”
It’s a cocky answer, meant to intimidate more than anything, but it still wipes the smile off Jett’s face. “You always did have the confidence of a king.”
Drew shrugs, feigning disinterest.
“You know you’re fit to rule, Drew,” the Boss says quietly, with a gentle nod over his shoulder. “Not him. You.”
“So you keep saying,” Drew says curtly. “And yet he remains the heir-apparent.”
“Because you have to prove yourself,” Jett snaps, as though they’ve had this conversation before. “And now, your opportunity to do so has finally come.”
Drew waits in silence, staring down his father, daring him to continue.
“You have one chance to make this right.” Jett holds up his pointer finger for emphasis. “Just one.”
Drew frowns. “Let me guess.”
“She’s your ticket back home.” The Darrington Boss nods toward me. “Your redemption. Turn her over, and you will succeed in proving yourself to me. Fail to do so, however, and you will never set foot on Darrington property again.”
With that, Jett gives me a scathing once-over and walks down the hallway, disappearing into the shadowy section of the hallway, where the light bulbs have all burned out. Eventually, the only indication he was ever there is the echo of his footsteps.
Together, Drew and I watch the darkness, both of us breathing a little heavily as our surging adrenaline begins to fade.
I look at the fire dragon’s face. “Drew—”
“Not yet,” he says softly, tugging gently on my arm as he heads back the way we came.
Drew just paid the ultimate price, at least as far as a Darrington is concerned—he gave up his title, his future, and all of his wealth.
For… me.
Chapter Twenty-Three
As we race down the hallway, my eyes already adjusted to the darkness, my mind buzzes with questions. Theories. Concerns.
“Stop, Drew.” I pause in the middle of the dark corridor, my hands on my hips as I try to process everything that just happened. “I need—back there, you—”
“I know,” he says softly, stopping with his back to me.
Without his shirt, I can see the hard muscle that covers his body, right down to the alluring curve along his spine that leads into his pants.
Setting his hands on the back of his head, he sighs heavily. “Look, Rory, I’m no good with feelings. I don’t—I can’t—”
He groans in frustration and turns to face me, those intense brown eyes of his so like his father’s.
But unlike his father, Drew watches me with desire. Affection.
Love.
He runs a hand through his thick brown hair, staring blankly down the hallway as if he wishes he could run away from this conversation. “We have to get to safety.”
“We’re plenty safe,” I point out, gesturing back at the incredible distance we’ve already put between us and his father. “And I need answers.”
“I care about you,” he says simply, as if that’s enough.
I lift one eyebrow hesitantly and gesture for him to continue.
He groans. “Are you really going to make me do this feelings thing?”
“If that’s what it takes, then hell yes,” I say with a confused laugh. “I need to understand what just happened!”
“Fine, fine,” he sets one hand in the pocket of his jeans. “Look, I’m not one to wax poetic, okay? I let my actions speak for themselves.” He gestures back toward the corridor where we faced off with his father. “And I hope what happened back there tells you exactly how I feel about you.”
Absently, I rub the spot on my arm where he held tight. I realize now it probably wasn’t to keep me rooted in place so they could abduct me. Rather, it was probably to ensure I didn’t run off solo into the castle filled with a small army of Darrington soldiers. I’m good, sure, but I can still be outnumbered—and there’s the very real chance I would’ve been caught, regardless, if I’d left Drew’s side.
All of this—he did it to protect me.
Even the stupid, irritatingly dominating parts.
“I thought you were going to hand me over,” I admit.
“Never,” he says sharply, his chest puffing a bit at the mere thought. “Not to him, not to anyone.”
I smile, a bit flattered at how worked up he’s getting.
“Oh, you—” Drew laughs and shakes his head. “You just said that to get under my skin, didn’t you?”
“No,” I say with a chuckle. “That was just a happy bonus.” I briefly look at my hands, and my smile begins to fade. “Drew, you pushed me, back there.” I frown, catching his eye. “You goaded me into trying to kill you.”
He nods, his eyes scanning my face as he stands there, not explaining anything.
“Why?” I ask, astonished. “Why would you push me that far, to make me think I had to kill you—” My voice breaks.
“I’m sorry,” he says gently, crossing his toned arms. “I’m not proud of that.”
“Then why—”
“My father needed to see your power,” Drew says firmly. “He needed to know
you weren’t to be messed with, needed to understand the strength you carry within you. And I…” He groans, trailing off and rubbing his face. “I needed to know that you could follow through with it. That if someone betrayed you, no matter who it was, you would act. That you would protect yourself at all costs.”
I bristle with anger. “How dare you goad me into something so horrible!”
“I know,” he says softly. “I’m not one for apologies, I’m really not, and this might be the only one I ever give you.” He watches me intently. Sincerely. “I hope you forgive me someday, but it was the last thing I needed from you. To know that you could handle the difficult decisions coming your way.”
His mood shifts, and he frowns deeply, his gaze becoming blazingly intense. “Because you will face impossible decisions, Rory. With your magic, with the people coming after you—that’s inevitable.”
I grit my teeth and pace the small hallway, shaking my head in frustration—and hating that I kind of see his point.
“That was an asshole move,” I say, furious.
“I know.” He nods. “I’m an asshole, sometimes.”
I grimace. “Yeah, you really are.”
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Truthfully?
No.
Why would I be?
As I pace in small circles, my anger boils to a breaking point. White light snakes across my skin as I silently fume, burning through my rage.
The hit on the dojo.
The false betrayal.
Thinking I had to kill a man I very much respect.
The last hour or so replays in my mind, and for a moment, all I can do is simmer in the sizzling embers of my fury.
But, as the rage burns, I slowly run out of it.
The white light shimmering over my skin begins to recede, and the anger is quickly replaced by relief.
Tonight’s outcome is definitely in my favor. Drew proved himself to me. The dojo survived. And, for once, the Darringtons didn’t get their way.
“Say it again,” I demand, looking at the floor, the last smoldering cinders of my anger refusing to fade.
“What?” Drew asks, clearly confused.
“Apologize,” I say, gesturing for him to get on with it.
