Chapter 3 THREE
The world dissolved into a nauseating rush of sound and
shadow. It was like being flushed
down an endless, lightless drain.
The only solid thing in the universe
was Kaelen’s hand, a burning brand
around mine, anchoring me against
the torrent. I squeezed my eyes
shut, but the darkness pressed in
anyway, a physical weight.
Just as my stomach threatened to
rebel completely, the motion
stopped. The silence that followed
was deafening.
I opened my eyes.
We were standing in the center of a
room I’d never seen before. It
wasn’t an alley, or a cave, or
anything I might have expected. It
was… an apartment. A luxurious,
modern loft, all clean lines, polished
concrete floors, and floor-to-ceiling
windows that should have shown a
city skyline. Instead, they were a
uniform, dull grey, like a television
tuned to a dead channel.
I wrenched my hand from Kael’s,
stumbling back a step. “Where are we? What was that?”
“A waypoint,” he said, his voice flat.
He walked to the kitchen—a
minimalist affair of dark wood and
steel—and poured a glass of water
from a chrome tap. He drank it in
one long swallow, his throat
working. He moved with a
predator’s economy, every motion
purposeful. “One of many. They
are… between places. Off the map.
For now, we are safe.”
“Safe?” My voice cracked. “Safe
from what? That… that vampire?
Silas?” The name felt foreign and
dangerous on my tongue.
Kaelen set the glass down with a
sharp click. “From Silas. From the
Onyx Syndicate that runs the
auction. From any other power that
sensed the disruption you caused.”
He turned those molten gold eyes
on me, and the weight of his gaze
was immense. “You shattered a very
delicate, very old game, little
mouse. The pieces are still falling.”
He began to pace, a restless, caged energy radiating from him. The loft
was spacious, but he seemed to
make it feel small. “We have
perhaps a day. Two, if we are
fortunate. Then they will triangulate
this location. The magical signature
of that portal is not subtle.”
I hugged myself, the cheap, rainsoaked fabric of my jacket cold
against my skin. The reality of my
situation was crashing down, each
wave more terrifying than the last.
“My sister. Elara. She’s in the
hospital. If they know who I am,
they’ll go after her.”
He stopped pacing. “They already
know who you are. And yes, they
will use any leverage they can find.
She is a vulnerability.”
“She’s my sister!” The words were a
sob, torn from a place of pure,
primal fear.
“And that is what makes her a
vulnerability!” he snapped, his voice
suddenly sharp, echoing in the
sterile space. A wisp of smoke, real
smoke, curled from his nostrils. The sight was so bizarre, so utterly
impossible, that it stole my breath.
He was a dragon. A real, live dragon
currently smoking with frustration in
a multi-million dollar loft.
He saw my expression and reined
himself in, the smoke dissipating.
His voice lowered, becoming
dangerously calm. “Listen to me,
Lena Vance. Your old life, your
human concerns—they are a
coastline we have sailed away from.
The only thing that matters now is
the storm ahead. You think your
debt was a chain? This bond you
have triggered is a shackle forged in
starlight and blood. There is no
breaking it.”
“The Fated Mate thing,” I
whispered, the concept feeling
more absurd and terrifying with
every passing second. “That can’t
be real. It’s a… a romance novel
trope.”
“Is it?” He was in front of me again
in two swift strides, not touching
me, but his proximity was
overwhelming. “Then explain the taste of ozone on your tongue when
I am near. Explain how you knew I
was looking at you in that auction
hall, through a crowd of a hundred
other beings. Explain the echo of
my pulse you feel in your own
chest.”
I stared at him, my mouth dry.
Because I could taste it, a sharp,
electric tang. And I had felt his
gaze, a physical pull. And my heart
was beating a frantic, syncopated
rhythm that wasn’t entirely my own.
“It’s a biological imperative,” he
said, his voice dropping to a husky
whisper. “A magical covenant. For
my kind, it ensures the strength of
the bloodline. The mate is chosen
not by choice, but by destiny. And
destiny,” he added, a grim finality in
his tone, “has a very dark sense of
humor.”
He reached out, and this time I
didn’t flinch. His fingers hovered
just beside my temple. “May I?”
I gave a tiny, jerky nod. His touch was searingly hot. A flood
of images, sensations, and
emotions that were not mine
crashed into my mind. A vast,
glittering hoard of gold and jewels
in a mountain cavern. The feel of
wind tearing over scales as he
soared through thunderclouds. The
cold, bitter taste of betrayal—Silas
Vane, once a business ally, smiling
as silver chains snapped shut. The
profound, soul-crushing loneliness
of power, of centuries stretching
out in an endless, solitary line.
I gasped, staggering back, breaking
the contact. The memories were
already fading, but the echo of
them remained—the grandeur, the
freedom, the pain. It was all real.
Every impossible bit of it.
“You see?” he said quietly. “The
bond allows for… glimpses. It will
grow stronger. Our thoughts may
begin to bleed together. Our
emotions will certainly become
entangled. It is a vulnerability for us
both.”
I sank onto a low, sleek sofa, my legs unable to hold me. “What
happens now?”
“Now,” he said, his gaze shifting to
the grey, dead windows. “We wait.
We plan. And I teach you how to
survive in a world that sees you as
either a pawn, or a snack.” He
walked to a blank wall and pressed
his palm against it. A section of the
wall slid back with a hiss, revealing
not a closet, but an armory.
Gleaming weapons of strange
design hung next to what looked
like simple, elegant clothing.
He pulled out a tunic and trousers
of a dark, supple leather and tossed
them to me. They were far too
large. “Change. Your wet clothes
mark you as human, as vulnerable.
The scent of your fear is a beacon.”
He turned his back, giving me a
semblance of privacy. My hands
trembled as I stripped off my
soaked jeans and jacket. The
leather was soft and warm against
my skin, carrying the faint, smoky
scent of him. It was deeply
unsettling.
As I fastened the last clasp on the
tunic, a low, resonant chime echoed
through the loft, a sound that
seemed to come from the walls
themselves.
Kaelen went perfectly still. His head
tilted, as if listening to a frequency I
couldn’t hear. The grey light from
the windows flickered, for a single
second, showing the ghostly outline
of towering, twisted spires against a
bruised purple sky, before snapping
back to flat grey.
He turned to face me, and for the
first time, I saw a flicker of genuine
alarm in his golden eyes.
“They’re here,” he said, his voice
deadly calm. “Sooner than I
expected. The Syndicate doesn’t
just want me back, Lena. They want
you erased for the insult you’ve
dealt them.”
He strode to the center of the room,
and the air around him began to
shimmer with intense heat. “It
seems your first lesson in survival starts now.”