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.”