Chapter 33 Wolf Food
Azerath
Joy is a dangerous thing for an ancient creature.
It makes the world feel new again. It sharpens the edges of sensation. It reminds you of everything you have endured—and everything you have denied yourself.
As Serafina laughed against the wind on my back, her arms locked tight around my spine-scales, that joy flooded me without restraint.
Her Valyn blood had surfaced fully and I had felt it the moment her fear gave way to exhilaration, when the ember in her chest flared not in panic, but in delight. The flame recognized the sky as home long before her mind did.
Flying freed her and that knowledge pleased me more than it should have.
By the time we returned to the hut, the forest silent beneath the wolves’ watchful presence, my happiness was near unbearable. I contained it only through discipline learned over millennia. Dragons who surrender to joy too quickly tend to scorch the world around them.
Once we were safely inside the hut, she turned to me.
Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. The lingering thrill of flight still clung to her, written in the way she stood straighter, breathed deeper.
Plans had changed.
She no longer wanted to travel on foot. She was ready to fly.
“Tomorrow, we plan,” she said, decisive now. “At night, we fly to Dust. And I know exactly where we can land without anyone seeing us.”
I studied her for a moment, then allowed myself a smile.
“Look at you,” I said lightly. “One flying lesson and now you plan to conquer the world. Shall I burn Aetheria as well and make you Empress?”
She scoffed, folding her arms. “Ha ha. Very funny, Azerath. We’re just going to pick up my brother and leave. Simple.”
“I must warn you,” I replied, my tone sobering, “simple does not always mean easy. We will scout first. Dust will be crawling with Imperial Enforcers.”
She exhaled slowly, conceding the point. “You’re right. As always.”
Then she hesitated.
“By the way, Azerath,” she said, stepping closer. Her voice softened, the confidence giving way to something quieter. Hopeful. “I’d like to learn how to channel my magic… if I do have magic.”
Her eyes searched my face, wide and earnest. “Can you teach me?”
I smiled, unable to hide my satisfaction. I had been waiting for that question.
“Of course,” I said without hesitation. “We can begin now.”
Her posture shifted immediately. Shoulders squared. Attention sharpened.
“The warmth you feel in your chest,” I said, my voice lowering, steady, “that is your ember. That is where your magic comes from. Learn first how to awaken it by thought alone. For now, it awakens only through emotion—fear, anger, instinct."
Her brow creased. “I thought… I thought it was just me... being frightened. Or angry.” She paused. “That’s really the source of my magic?”
“Yes,” I said simply. “We share the same flame. My magic and yours draw from the same source.”
I reached for her hand and guided her palm to my chest, directly over my heart.
“Do you feel it?” I asked.
Her breath caught. Her eyes widened, then softened. “I feel it,” she whispered.
We were standing too close. I was aware of the warmth of her skin, the scent of vanilla and honeysuckle, the way her breathing slowed as she focused on the sensation beneath her palm, of how easily she fit within the space I allowed her.
A memory surfaced then. The dream we had shared. The moment where my mouth had met hers. It felt so real.
I lifted my hand without thinking, brushing an errant strand of hair from her face. My knuckles grazed her cheek—smooth, impossibly soft.
She did not pull away.
Instead, she tilted her head toward me, lashes lowering, lips parting.
Everything else fell away. Sound, space, time—gone. There was only her.
For one treacherous heartbeat, I lowered my head, my gaze fixed on her lips.
For that single heartbeat, I wanted.
Badly.
Then I stopped.
Because I did not want Serafina to love the man.
I wanted her to love the dragon.
All of me. Entirely. Without illusion. Without confusion.
If she was to love me, it would be with full knowledge of what I was.
I stepped back, severing the moment before I did more harm than good.
“Your bath is ready,” I said, forcing calm into my voice. “You should rest.”
Color rose in her cheeks. Confusion followed mingled with disappointment. Then, she nodded.
“Good night, Azerath,” she said quietly.
Regret and guilt struck immediately.
Before she could retreat further, I pulled her into my arms—carefully, gently, a loving embrace meant to reassure her.
“When the right time comes, my Serafina,” I murmured against her hair, “but know this—I am yours. Forever.” I loosened my hold, just enough to look at her. “Good night, my little dragon rider. Dream well.”
She looked at me for a moment longer, then her lips curved into a small smile. “Thank you, Azerath. Good night.”
She disappeared behind the partition to her bathing space.
I moved to my own.
Cold water filled the basin. With a motion of my hand, my clothing vanished, and I stepped into the bath. The water chilled my skin at once. Steam rose within moments as heat bled from my body.
A groan escaped me—low, appreciative—as the excess fire finally began to dissipate.
Just her closeness did this.
Just her presence.
I remembered another time I had taken human form for reasons unrelated to survival. Elias and I had traveled to the Kingdom of Acaris in search of an Emberborn blacksmith to help forge a sword worthy of legend.
There, I had met a sorceress. Dark-haired. Pale. Eyes black as sin. Young. Skilled. Willing.
I had given in to physical want. It had been satisfying, but empty. There had been no bond, no sense of loss when we parted. I remembered her distress when we left. She had promised to wait for me, no matter how long it took.
I had never returned.
With Serafina, the roles were reversed.
I was the one willing to wait.
The thought surprised me. I allowed myself a quiet breath of amusement. Waiting was not difficult because of time. It was difficult because restraint mattered.
I wanted to reach for her. To touch her hair again. To test whether she would pull away or lean closer. But every action carried consequence. She needed choice, not pressure. Trust, not surrender.
This was not desire alone.
This was devotion awakening.
I would move carefully. As both man and dragon.
I would let her see all of me before she decided.
\-----
Ryven
We waited the entire day just outside the Cursed Forest.
Helga, Jehan, and I perched high in the branches of an old ash tree, legs dangling, backs pressed to bark rough with age. From there, we could see the forest clearly—and the wolves.
They did not roam. They did not hunt. They guarded.
A wide arc of them lined the forest’s edge, silent and still, eyes fixed outward. None crossed into the sunlight. None tested the boundary. They simply waited, as if daring the world to try.
That alone told me the girl was near.
I needed to find her before Magnus decided to pay another visit to my hut.
“I’ll kill him for you,” Helga said casually, taking a long pull of ale from her flask.
I shook my head. “He’s still my father.”
She snorted.
“A father doesn’t do that to his son’s woman,” Jehan argued. “Just say the word, Ryven. We’ll kill him for you.”
“And Aldo will have our heads,” I replied. “Magnus supplies half the rebels’ provisions.”
Helga rolled her eyes. “Aldo, that fat fuck, will throw a fit.” She drank again. “But maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s time the rebels chose a leader who isn’t rotten to the core.” Her gaze slid to me. “Like you.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “I don’t think the rebels want a bastard son of an Imperial Mage leading them.”
Then I heard it. Footsteps.
“Sshhh,” I whispered. “Someone’s coming.”
Ten Imperial Enforcers emerged from the path—tight formation, polished armor dulled by dust.
They stopped short when they saw the wolves.
The Enforcers whispered among themselves, uneasy. None stepped forward.
The wolves stood at attention, eyes fixed on the Enforcers. They did not growl. They did not charge.
They waited.
Helga’s grin widened. Jehan cracked his knuckles. I tilted my head toward the ground.
We dropped from the tree without a sound
I circled behind four Enforcers huddled close together. Helga and Jehan flanked the remaining six.
They were too focused on the forest to notice us.
“How the fuck are we supposed to get past all these wolves?” one of them muttered. “There are too many. We strike one, the rest will swarm.”
I stepped out of the shadows.
“I know how to bypass the wolves, mate,” I said.
They spun around.
“Using bait.”
Electricity gathered in my palm, bright and violent. Helga and Jehan mirrored me.
We threw.
The force slammed into them, not enough to kill—but enough to stagger. Enough to shove them backward, boots scraping dirt, balance lost.
Right to the Cursed Forest’s edge.
The wolves lunged.
Screams tore through the clearing. Armor meant nothing. The wolves were fast, precise. Teeth closed. Bodies fell. Silence followed just as quickly.
Blood darkened the dirt.
Helga clapped. “I’d like the beasts if they hadn’t eaten Ansel and his team." She glanced at me. “By the way, have you told her yet?”
I shook my head, eyes on the horizon. The sky was turning orange-red. Dusk was coming.
“Haven’t seen her yet,” I said. “I’ll head to Coal tomorrow. Tell her the bad news.”
The wolves began to move as the light faded—closer now, less patient.
“Let’s go,” I added. “Unless you want to be fresh meat.”
We teleported back to Rebel headquarters.
I checked my hut first.
No sign of Magnus.
Relief hit harder than it should have.
I ate supper with Rowenna, pretending I wasn’t waiting. Pretending I didn’t expect the air to split open at any moment.
Magnus did not come. He was probably busy.
But I knew he would want an update.
I took a piece of parchment and wrote:
No girl yet.
But your Imperial Enforcers are now wolf food.
I whistled sharply.
A raven appeared, black eyes sharp, wings beating once before settling.
“Bring this to Magnus,” I said, smiling as I slid the parchment in the small message capsule on its leg.
The raven vanished into the night.
Let Magnus choke on that.