Chapter 86 Dante
One second I was barely holding myself together, knuckles white at my sides, the next I was nose-to-nose with Thane, fire rolling off me in waves I wasn’t bothering to hide.
“You don’t get to drop something like this into my world after the fact,” I snarled. “Not after kidnapping women. Not after dragging humans into it. Not after nearly starting a war.”
Thane didn’t flinch. That alone told me how long he’d been preparing for this conversation.
“You weren’t ready,” he said evenly.
That did it.
Lucian stepped in hard to my right, water pressure spiking so sharply the air hummed. “You don’t get to decide that,” he snapped. “You should have brought it to the table.”
Thane’s gaze flicked to him. “I tried.”
“No,” Lucian shot back. “You tried once, with Valin, and when he shut down you decided secrecy was better than transparency. That leaves Dante and me as the only two kings who had no idea dragonborn women were failing at this rate.”
My jaw clenched so hard it ached. “You let us walk into this blind.”
Thane’s mouth tightened. “Valin didn’t just shut down,” he said. “He sealed himself off. Cut contact. Refused further discussion. When death refuses to acknowledge a problem, that’s not denial—that’s fear.”
“Then you come to us,” I said flatly. “You don’t go underground and start experimenting on women like lab subjects.”
Lucian turned on him fully now. “I’ve been alive the longest out of the five of us,” he said, voice low and furious. “Longer than you. Longer than Kael. If you were so afraid of our reaction, you could have gone to my father. He’s seen extinction cycles before.”
Thane hesitated.
Just a fraction.
I caught it.
“You didn’t,” I said. “Why?”
Thane exhaled slowly. “Because I didn’t know how you’d react. Any of you. Because Valin’s response scared me. Because Kael… Kael went a different direction.”
Lucian’s eyes narrowed. “Different how?”
“He started researching,” Thane replied. “Biology. Chemistry. Human–dragon integration. He wanted solutions that didn’t involve drowning.”
“And you let him,” I said.
“I didn’t stop him.”
Silence fell heavy between us.
“You didn’t stop any of this,” I continued, my voice shaking now—not with rage, but disbelief. “Kidnapping. Trafficking. Using human infrastructure. Dragging in former consorts. And Renee—” I laughed bitterly. “Renee wasn’t even dragonborn.”
Thane’s expression didn’t change. “No.”
“I don’t even know how that works,” I snapped. “Borrowing power? Shadows that weren’t hers?”
“Consort bonds can do strange things,” Thane said. “Especially with shadow.”
Lucian shook his head sharply. “That doesn’t make it right.”
“No,” Thane agreed. “But it made her useful.”
My fire surged dangerously. “You nearly started a war with humans over this shit.”
“Nearly,” Thane corrected. “Not actually.”
I stepped forward, heat cracking the air. “You don’t get points for almost burning the world down.”
“And yet,” Thane said coolly, “you nearly did exactly that yourself an hour ago.”
That shut me up.
Lucian swore under his breath. “This isn’t the same.”
“No,” Thane said. “It’s not. You burn from love. I burn from necessity.”
“Don’t romanticize this,” Lucian snapped. “How many women have died, Thane?”
The question hit like a blade.
I watched Thane carefully.
He didn’t answer right away.
“Answer him,” I growled.
Thane finally said, “More than I like. Fewer than if we’d done nothing.”
Lucian’s hands clenched. “Numbers.”
Thane’s jaw set. “Roughly thirty-eight women have successfully changed in eight years.”
My stomach dropped.
“That’s not—” I started.
“Seventy-five percent more than natural awakening rates,” Thane finished. “Left alone, most never wake at all.”
Lucian stared at him in horror. “And how many died trying?”
Thane didn’t respond.
“Thane,” Lucian said sharply.
His eyes hardened. “Enough.”
The word sat heavy and poisonous in the air.
Lucian ran a hand through his hair, voice breaking despite his effort to keep it steady. “You’ve upset the balance of life. Of course awakenings are failing. You can’t force nature and expect it not to push back.”
Thane scoffed. “I don’t believe in that shit.”
I turned on him. “You don’t get to not believe in balance when you are balance. Death doesn’t exist in isolation. Neither does fire. Neither does water.”
Thane’s gaze flicked toward the stairs—toward where Seraphine was resting.
“She’s proof you’re wrong,” he said quietly.
“No,” I said. “She’s proof you chose the most violent path possible.”
Lucian nodded grimly. “She woke without drowning. Without chemicals. Without being broken first.”
Thane was silent now.
“For the first time,” Lucian continued, “someone awakened by listening instead of force.”
I felt something shift in my chest—pride, fear, awe all tangled together.
“She’s not your experiment,” I said. “And she’s not your solution.”
Thane finally looked tired. Ancient. Worn thin by centuries of watching things die.
“I never said she was,” he replied.
“Then what is she?” I demanded.
He met my gaze steadily. “A chance you never gave me.”
I shook my head. “You never asked.”
The silence that followed was heavy—not hostile, but devastating.
Because buried beneath all of it was the truth we were all dancing around:
Dragonkind was dying.
And Thane, in his terror of that truth, had chosen control over trust.
Lucian exhaled slowly. “You should have told us.”
“Yes,” I said. “You should have trusted us.”
Thane looked between us—water and fire, standing together for once instead of opposite.
“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t.”
I clenched my fists.
“And now,” I said, voice cold and resolved, “you don’t get to do this alone anymore.”
His eyes flicked back to the stairs again.
“Especially not with her.” I quickly added.
For the first time since this conversation began—
Thane didn’t argue.
Thane broke the silence himself.
He straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders like a weight had finally settled where it belonged, and his gaze drifted—once again—toward the staircase.
“I will have a mate like her one day,” he said quietly.
The words landed wrong immediately.
Lucian stiffened. My fire spiked before I could stop it.
“Careful,” I warned.
Thane didn’t look at me. “Not as a prize. Not as a conquest. As an equal.” He finally turned back, eyes steady, unflinching. “Someone who can stand where she stands without breaking.”
I laughed once, humorless. “You really don’t know when to stop talking, do you?”
He ignored that too.
“Maybe it’s her,” he went on calmly. “Maybe it isn’t. That choice won’t be mine.” His gaze sharpened. “But I won’t pretend I don’t recognize what she is.”