Chapter 96 Dante
“Valin,” I said flatly. “Storm territory.”
Amara’s brows knit together. “Storm allows witches?”
“They always have,” I replied. “Old compacts. Old magic. Storm doesn’t suppress—it absorbs. Valin believes knowledge, even dangerous knowledge, is better observed than erased.”
Lucian’s expression darkened. “So witches could hide in his territory without resistance.”
“Or with permission,” Amara said quietly.
She looked at me. “So we start there.”
My first instinct was to laugh.
My second was to sit down before my knees gave out.
I dropped to the floor with my back against the kitchen cabinet, staring at nothing in particular as the pieces slammed together in my head.
“Let me make sure I’ve got this straight,” I muttered. “We’ve got one dragon king drowning women in the name of survival. Another experimenting with forced awakenings. And a third—who just happens to rule storm territory—possibly destabilizing us with witch magic.”
Lucian swore under his breath. “I don’t buy coincidence at this scale.”
“Neither do I,” Amara said. “Storm sees patterns before anyone else does. If Valin knew what Thane and Kael were doing—and he did—then interfering indirectly makes sense.”
“To test us,” Lucian said slowly. “To see how we’d react under pressure.”
“To see who breaks,” Amara added.
I dragged a hand through my damp hair. “They’re all doing this differently. Different methods. Different justifications.”
“But the same outcome,” Amara said. “Control.”
Lucian pushed himself upright. “What I don’t understand is coordination. Thane and Kael barely tolerate each other. Valin doesn’t trust anyone.”
“And yet,” I said, voice tight, “their actions are colliding.”
Silence fell.
Heavy. Loaded.
“That doesn’t happen by accident,” Amara finished.
From the hallway, the shower shut off.
All three of us went still.
For a moment, none of this mattered—kings, witches, territory politics—because the person at the center of it all was drying off in the next room, holding together a world that was actively trying to tear itself apart.
Lucian followed my gaze. “She can’t be in the middle of this.”
“She already is,” Amara said gently. “Whether she wants to be or not.”
I clenched my jaw. “Then we make damn sure she’s not alone in it.”
Lucian nodded. “Agreed.”
“And Dante?” Amara asked softly.
I looked down at my hands.
“We don’t confront Valin yet,” I said. “Storm doesn’t respond to accusations. We gather proof. We trace the witch magic. We lock down the penthouse and find out exactly what kind of construct was used.”
Lucian exhaled slowly. “That buys us time.”
“Good,” I said. “Because if Valin is pulling strings from storm territory—”
The bathroom door opened.
Seraphine stepped out, hair damp, eyes clearer than they had any right to be after tonight.
I stood immediately.
—“then I’ll deal with him.”
Seraphine’s voice cut cleanly through the room, finishing my sentence like it had always been hers to end.
All three of us turned at once.
She stood there barefoot on the tile, damp hair clinging to her shoulders, wrapped in one of my shirts like it was armor instead of cotton. There was color in her cheeks now. Fire in her eyes. Not wild—focused. Dangerous in the way calm storms are dangerous.
“If Valin is in charge of the witch magic,” she continued evenly, “then I’ll be in charge of the witch hunt that ends this foolishness for good.”
The air shifted.
Lucian blinked. Amara straightened.
I felt it in my chest—my fire answering hers, low and steady.
“I’m done with games,” Seraphine said. “This is my life now. I’m not sitting idle while other dragon kings blow it apart because they can’t tell their elbow from their thumb.”
Amara let out a soft, stunned laugh. “Tell us how you really feel.”
Seraphine’s mouth twitched. “Oh, I will.”
Lucian stared at her for a long second, then scrubbed a hand over his face. “You realize you just declared war on a storm king.”
She shrugged. “No. I declared cleanup.”
I couldn’t stop the sound that left me—a low, rough huff of something dangerously close to pride.
Before I could say anything, there was a sharp knock at the door.
Lucian startled like he’d been shot.
“I’ve got it,” he said instantly—and then nearly launched himself across the townhouse, moving faster than I’d seen him all night.
The door opened. Closed. Opened again.
A flood of smells hit the room—lemongrass, chili, garlic, basil.
Thai food.
Lucian returned juggling bags like a champion, shoving a wad of cash into the delivery guy’s hand and slamming the door shut with a satisfied grin. “I tipped him enough to forget this address ever existed.”
Amara groaned appreciatively. “You beautiful, aquatic bastard.”
“I know,” he said, already setting containers on the counter. “I’ll grab plates. You get the girls.”
Amara nodded and headed down the hall, calling softly for the others.
I turned back toward Seraphine.
She was still vibrating with that wired energy—ready, sharp, burning from the inside out. Too much, too fast.
I took a step toward her.
Then another.
A strange sound slipped out of my throat before I could stop it.
Low. Resonant.
Her eyes widened.
We both froze.
“…Did you just—” she started.
I pulled her into me without thinking, arms wrapping around her back, holding her there like my body had decided before my brain could interfere.
The sound came again.
A purr.
An actual, unmistakable, dragon-deep purr.
Seraphine laughed softly, stunned, her forehead resting against my chest. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “Are you purring?”
I groaned and dropped my chin to her hair. “I don’t— I’ve never—”
“Well,” she said gently, “that’s… new.”
The purr deepened despite me.
Traitorous dragon.
For the first time all night, the tension in her shoulders eased. Just a little.
Good.
Let her breathe.
Let her eat.
Let her gather strength.
Because if she was serious—and I knew she was—then whatever storm Valin had set in motion was about to meet fire that refused to burn blindly.
And I would be right there with her.
Purring or not.