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“I never meant to hurt you, my Alice. My dying is nothing compared to my living without you.”

“Then we’re going to have to stop all the dying, Fenrother.” I gaze at his strong jaw, the muscle ticking there as he attempts to contain himself. “We’re going to have to live.”

“I can’t be without you, Alice. You are the scales, the wings, the sky, and the heather. You are the soft breeze which blows across the moors, the hunt, the sleep, the filled belly. You make my world whole and my heart light.” His lips graze mine. “I love you, my little mate. I will love you to the end of time and beyond.” He nuzzles into my hair. “I will always love you.”

“Wyrm!” A screech rends the air.

Fenrother takes in a long breath, his chest swelling. He lets it out slowly, as if deliberating.

“Leave this to me,” he says, releasing my body which instantly feels the loss of my big Wyrm.

His chest is streaked with my blood as he changes to his Wyrm form. I peek between his legs to see the queen hovering in the air a short distance away.

“What do you want?” Fenrother asks, his voice devilishly low.

“How dare you come to my palace and use your flame. Where did you even get it anyway? I control flame in the Yeavering.”

“Not anymore,” Fenrother replies. “The prophecy of the Lambton Wyrm has been fulfilled. It started the moment you gave me my mate.”

Queen Mab screams. I clamp my hands over my ears at the demonic shriek.

“There is no prophecy, stupid Wyrm,” she snarls. “There is no curse.”

“No curse?” Fenrother says evenly.

“I removed it many years ago. My mother was a banshee who should have never had magic. You don’t curse a monster like you. You control it. And I want to control everything in the Yeavering,” she snarls.

Fenrother beats down with his great wings and lifts off the ground, matching her height. Fear grips at my lungs, my heart jumping into my mouth. He may have burnt the palace, but taking on Mab is another matter entirely.

“You cannot control me,” he growls, and it reverberates through the air. “My mate, my young, and I belong to no one but the Yeavering, and you are not the Yeavering.”

Lightning spikes all around us, slamming into the ground and making me leap away. The ionised air crackles, but Fenrother seems uninterested.

His eyes are fixed on Mab.

She throws back her head and laughs, a horrible cackle which sears through my brain. Lightning dances in the sky before it slams into her, her body shaking as it flows through, blackening her white dress. Just when I think it might have killed her, or at least slowed her down, her eyes open, blank white orbs which glow, and she directs the energy directly at Fenrother.

He moves easily to avoid it, but one spike hits him in the chest. I run forward, but to my amazement, it bounces right back at Mab, striking her and sending her off balance, spiralling to the ground.

“Wyrm!” Her voice is high-pitched, piercing, but the strength has gone. “What have you done?”

“I am not to be controlled by you, Mab,” Fenrother growls. “Nor is my mate. You will leave us be, now and for eternity.”

His huge head pushes down over her body, the vast jaws pressing against her, before he snorts, sending her hair flying backwards.

“You would kill me, Wyrm?” she says, all the confidence gone from her body and voice. “You would eat me?”

“I would not. It serves no purpose, and I wish you to remain as a warning to any others who believe they can bend me to their will. I belong to my mate. She alone controls the Lambton Wyrm. She alone will stop anyone who attempts to take me.”

He rears up, displaying the patch of my blood on his chest. Mab gasps, looking down at herself, a red stain on her clothing which fizzes and smokes.

With a hollow scream, she pops out of existence.

In an instant, he has resumed his other form. Fenrother turns on his heel and walks back to me, his hands around my upper arms as he gazes into my eyes.

“I would move the Yeavering for you, little mate. Down fells, stop streams, prevent the heather from blooming, but while there is breath in my body, I will protect you and our young.”

He plucks at a silver piece of fabric protruding from his pocket, and it unravels into a scarf. Gently taking my arm, he winds it around the wounds, and I feel an instant relief, as if a door somewhere has closed and the draught chilling my body has been cut off.