Chapter 38 Dante
“Because you’re dragonborn.”
The room dropped into silence.
Not the quiet kind.
The suffocating kind.
The kind that wraps around the spine and squeezes.
Seraphine didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t even breathe.
Amara’s fork clattered to the table.
Lucian swore under his breath.
And Seraphine—
She stared at me like I’d just pulled the floor out from under her.
Finally, a whisper:
“…I’m sorry, I’m what?”
“Dragonborn,” I repeated, voice low, controlled. “A dormant lineage. Half-human. Half-dragon. You carry one of the ancient bloodlines in your DNA.”
She laughed.
But not a real laugh.
A sharp, disbelieving huff that cracked at the edges.
“Okay—no. No. That’s—Dante, that’s insane. That’s not real. Dragons aren’t real—”
Lucian coughed. Loudly. “I mean… they used to be.”
Seraphine glared at him.
I stayed focused on her. Only her.
“You’ve felt it,” I said quietly. “All your life. Heat that doesn’t burn you. A pull toward things you can’t explain. Instincts that don't match your upbringing. Nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares—”
“Stop.” Her voice trembled. “Just—stop. You’re talking crazy.”
“Am I?” I stepped closer again, slow and deliberate. “Or did you always know something was different about you? Something… waiting?”
She shook her head, but it wasn’t denial.
It was panic.
Fear.
Recognition.
“Seraphine,” I murmured, “what do you feel when you get angry?”
She swallowed hard. “…hot.”
“And when you’re scared?”
The answer whispered out of her: “Hot.”
Her eyes widened the second the word left her mouth.
Because she heard it too.
The truth in it.
The instinct behind it.
Her body giving answers her mind wasn’t ready for.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice.
“That heat? That is not human. That is your dragon—sleeping, but reacting.”
Seraphine shook her head hard. “No. No, you can’t just say that and expect me to—what does that even mean, Dante?”
“It means,” I said slowly, “that you were born with a lineage older than any human kingdom. A lineage that sleeps inside you until something—or someone—wakes it.”
Lucian exhaled sharply but didn’t interrupt.
He knew this was the part she needed to hear from me.
I continued.
“Dragonborn are descendants of dragons who took human form centuries ago. Their power dilutes over time… unless something reawakens it.”
She blinked at me, trying to process. “Reawakens how?”
I held her gaze—steady, unflinching.
“Through a bond. Through danger. Through instinct. Through another dragon.”
“Another—another dragon?” Her voice cracked. “Dante, what are you—”
“I am fireborn,” I said softly. “A full-blooded dragon. My power never slept. I was born with it awake.”
Her lips parted.
“You’re a…”
“Yes.”
She swayed slightly, like the ground was shifting beneath her, and I reached out instinctively—
But she stepped back.
It stunned me far more than it should have.
“Lucian,” I said without looking away from her, “tell her what you are.”
Lucian cleared his throat. “Waterborn. Second generation. I was born to a dragonborn mother and a human father. My bloodline is awake—just like Dante’s, but different.”
Seraphine looked between us, shaken.
“Waterborn,” she repeated faintly. “Fireborn. Dragonborn. This sounds like a bad D&D campaign.”
Amara raised her hand. “Question.”
Lucian blinked. “…Yes?”
“What does that make me?”
Her tone was sarcastic, but her eyes weren’t.
They flicked between me, Lucian, then back to me.
Seraphine, despite her panic, whispered, “Yeah… what about her? She’s been pulled into this too, right? Does that mean she’s…?”
I turned my attention to Amara.
Measured her.
Really looked at her.
Lucian already had.
“It means,” I said carefully, “that she’s dragonborn as well.”
Amara choked on nothing. “I’m—EXCUSE ME?”
Lucian gave a slow, knowing nod. “I knew something felt… familiar. But I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.”
Seraphine grabbed Amara’s hand. “How do you know? What makes her—what makes us—whatever this is?”
“Heat,” I said, “belongs to fireborn and fire-line dragonborn. That’s why you run hot when you’re scared, angry, overwhelmed. It’s why you survived my dragonfire touch without burning.”
Seraphine swallowed hard.
I continued.
“But Amara… doesn’t run hot. She never has.”
Lucian stepped forward, voice softer than I’d ever heard it.
“She runs cold.”
Amara shivered slightly—subtle, but real.
“You said yesterday,” Lucian added gently, “that cold weather doesn’t bother you. That you ‘think better in the cold.’ That you feel calmer around water.”
Seraphine stared at her.
“Oh my god… Amara… that’s true, isn’t it?”
Amara blinked rapidly. “I—well—yeah, but I always thought that was just… me.”
“No,” Lucian said quietly. “It’s your lineage. You’re waterborn. Like me.”
Amara froze, eyes locked onto his.
Something sparked between them—sharp, mutual, magnetic.
Seraphine looked between the two and whispered:
“So that’s why they’re connected.”
I nodded once.
“Yes.”
Seraphine’s throat bobbed as she swallowed.
“And me?” she whispered, voice barely there. “Fire, like you?”
I stepped toward her—slow, deliberate.
Her breath caught.
Her pulse fluttered.
Her heat rose.
“Yes,” I said, voice low, reverent. “You are fireborn. Dormant. But not for long.”
“What happens,” she whispered, “when a dragonborn wakes?”
Lucian opened his mouth—
I cut him off.
Because this was my answer to give.
“When a dragonborn wakes,” I murmured, “their true nature ignites. Their power awakens. Their instincts sharpen. Their senses heighten. And the dragon inside them chooses.”
“Chooses what?” she breathed.
“A mate.”
The air left the room.
Seraphine stared at me—
Wide-eyed.
Shaking.
And burning.
“W–what?” she whispered.
“Your dragon,” I said, voice deepening, “choses the one who awakens it. The one whose fire matches yours.”
Lucian muttered under his breath, “And that’s why Kael’s losing his shit.”
But I didn’t look away from her.
Not for a second.
“Seraphine,” I said softly, “your dragon is waking.”
Her eyes blazed—
fear, confusion, instinct, desire—
all wrapped into one.
Amara whispered, “Holy shit…”
Lucian echoed, “Yep.”
And Seraphine—
She whispered one broken, terrified thought:
“…because of you?”
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t have to.
The truth was already written in the heat rising under her skin.
Seraphine’s voice trembled on the edge of something raw—fear, confusion, disbelief, all tangled together.
Before I could answer, she forced out another question, almost desperate:
“Who… who is Kael? And why is he mad? Why does he care if I’m—this? Dragonborn? Whatever that means?”
Lucian exhaled sharply. “Oh boy. Here we go.”
But I owed her the truth.
At least part of it.
I stepped closer to her, slow and deliberate, trying not to let my heat flare too much.
“Kael Drakov,” I began, “is the Shadow King. One of the five ruling dragon sovereigns. My counterpart.”
Seraphine blinked. “…Shadow King?”
I nodded once.
“Each king rules a kingdom—fire, water, shadow, storm, and death. Kael commands the Shadow Kingdom. And he is… ambitious.”
Lucian snorted. “That’s the polite word.”
Seraphine swallowed. “So why does he care about me?”
“Because,” I said softly, “Kael wants power. And dragonborn consorts make kings stronger.”
“Consort,” she echoed slowly. “As in… a mate?”
Lucian interjected, “More like… a magically bonded partner. It’s a political thing. A power thing. A lineage thing.”
I added, “And Kael already has one consort—Onyx. The woman you met at the bar.”
Seraphine’s eyes widened. “Onyx? That—THAT—woman? The one I was sitting next to?”
Lucian nodded. “Yep. That one.”