Chapter 123 Dante
By the time it happened, I was barely breathing.
Seraphine’s dragon had gone still in my arms, not rigid, not tense, just… quiet. The black fire that had been curling around us softened, thinning into threads of warmth that brushed my skin instead of scorching the air.
Then she started to change.
Not violently. Not the way I’d seen forced shifts go.
Gently.
Her massive skull lowered against my chest, horns dissolving first, melting away into smoke and embers that sank back into her skin. Scales followed, black and iridescent retreating like a tide pulling back from shore. Her body shrank slowly, carefully, as if the world itself were handling her with reverence.
I held her the entire time.
One moment she was power incarnate, ancient, terrifying, magnificent, and the next she was Seraphine again. Warm. Human. Fragile in a way that made my chest ache.
She went boneless against me, completely asleep.
I swallowed hard and gathered her closer, adjusting my grip instinctively so her head rested under my chin, her weight fitting against me like she’d always belonged there.
No horns.
No fire.
Just her.
I carried her to the bed without thinking, every step deliberate, careful not to jostle her. I laid her down gently, easing her onto the mattress and tugging the blankets up around her shoulders. She murmured once, soft, unintelligible, and turned onto her side, curling inward.
Exhausted.
I brushed a hand through her hair, slower than necessary.
Then I stood, dimmed the lights, and turned back toward the door.
“Dante.”
I froze.
The voice wasn’t Seraphine’s.
It was deeper. Layered. It vibrated through bone instead of air.
I turned slowly.
The room hadn’t changed, but it felt fuller. Heavier. Like something immense had settled just beyond the edge of my vision.
“I’m listening,” I said carefully.
Her dragon didn’t manifest. She didn’t need to.
“You held her,” she said. “When even I could not.”
My throat tightened. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”
A pause. Then, softer, “Thank you.”
I inclined my head without thinking, respect etched into my spine. “Always.”
Silence stretched.
Then she spoke again, and this time there was no softness in it.
“Tomorrow will be hell for her.”
My jaw clenched. “I figured.”
“She will stand in places no living dragon has stood in centuries,” the dragon continued. “The Between will open. The trials will begin. The Old Guard will watch for weakness.”
“And they won’t find it,” I said immediately.
“No,” she agreed. “They won’t. But strength exacts a price.”
I glanced back at the bed, at Seraphine’s sleeping form. “What do you need from me?”
There was no hesitation.
“She will need you beside her,” the dragon said. “Not as a man.”
My breath caught. “…Go on.”
“As her equal,” she finished. “In your true form.”
The words hit like a strike to the chest.
“I’ve never shifted,” I admitted quietly. “Not fully.”
Silence.
Then interest.
“You carry fire older than memory,” her dragon said slowly. “Yet you’ve never let it wear flesh?”
“No,” I said honestly. “I’ve felt him. Heard him. But I’ve never crossed that line.”
Something stirred in my chest at that—hot, restless.
A low, dangerous sound rolled through my ribs.
You hesitate because you fear breaking her, my dragon growled inside me. That is not weakness.
Her dragon responded instantly.
“No,” she said. “It is devotion.”
I swallowed hard.
“What if I can’t control it?” I asked aloud. “What if I lose myself?”
“You won’t,” her dragon replied without doubt. “Because you love her.”
My dragon surged at that, fierce and possessive.
She is ours, he snarled. I will not harm what is mine.
The air seemed to thrum with their agreement.
“And if I fail?” I pressed, needing to say it.
“Then I will burn you where you stand,” her dragon said calmly. “But I do not believe that will be necessary.”
A breathless, disbelieving laugh escaped me. “You dragons are all the same.”
This time, I felt her amusement.
“Rest,” she said. “Stay close. When the moment comes, you will know.”
Her presence receded, leaving the room quieter—but not empty.
I stood there a long moment, watching Seraphine sleep.
Then I lay down beside her, careful, protective, one arm draped over her like a vow.
Tomorrow might be hell.
The thought settles into my bones as I lie there, Seraphine warm and steady against my chest, her breathing slow and even. The room is dark, quiet in that way that only comes after catastrophe, when the world pretends it hasn’t just almost ended.
I close my eyes.
And immediately, I feel him.
Not fire. Not heat.
Presence.
Rest, my dragon rumbles, his voice deep and layered, like stone grinding against stone beneath the earth. I will keep watch.
A low exhale slips from me. “You don’t sleep,” I murmur silently.
No, he replies. I wait.
There’s a pause,one of those heavy ones that means something’s coming. I can feel his attention settle fully on me now, not scanning the room or the territory beyond the walls, but turning inward.
Toward me.
“Can I ask you something?” I think, unsure why my chest feels tight.
You already are.
I swallow. “Do you resent me?”
The word feels dangerous the moment it forms.
His presence stills.
For a heartbeat, I’m terrified I’ve broken something, stirred an old wound I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist. I’ve kept him contained for centuries, kept him behind my ribs and under my skin, never letting him stretch, never letting him be.
Never letting him be seen.
Resent? he repeats slowly.
“Yes,” I press. “For not letting you come out. For keeping you locked away while I pretended being king was enough.”
Silence.
Not absence... consideration.
When he answers, his voice is quieter. Closer.
No, he says at last. I do not resent you... But I am hurt.
My jaw tightens. “Because of me.”
Because of longing, he corrects. Because when I see her, I want to stand beside her as I am meant to.
I glance down at Seraphine, at the faint rise and fall of her chest, the soft line of her throat where power and vulnerability coexist so effortlessly.
“You want to meet her,” I murmur.
I have met her, he says, a hint of growl threading through the words. I want to be with her.
The bond between us thrums, raw and honest.
“I was afraid,” I admit quietly. “That if I let you out, I wouldn’t come back the same.”
You will not, he says without hesitation. You are not a man pretending to be a dragon. You are both.
I huff a weak breath. “That’s not comforting.”
It is true.
Another pause. This one softer.
I want to protect her, he continues. Not from danger. From being alone in what she is becoming.
My chest aches at that. “She’s never been alone,” I argue.
She has, he replies gently. Until now.
The truth of it hits hard.
“All this time,” I whisper, “I thought I was protecting everyone by keeping you contained.”
You were protecting yourself, he says, not unkindly. And that was necessary. Until it wasn’t.
I stare at the ceiling, watching faint shadows move as the city breathes around us. “Tomorrow… if I shift—”
When, he corrects.
“When,” I repeat, conceding the point, “you’ll be there with me?”
A pulse of heat rolls through my veins, steady and sure.
Always.