Page 23

23

SERAPHINE

T hankfully Jackson had his own errands to run and leads to check.

The moment he headed to his apartment, I headed out letting him assume I was heading home to shower and regroup to make my own calls. .

It’s cowardly. But this isn’t a conversation I want him anywhere near.

Hell, I don’t even want to be in it.

But when Draconis Fire sends a message, you show up. Or they assume you’ve chosen war.

The message came two hours after I killed the PEACE mole. No names. Just coordinates. A sigil etched in red wax that burned the second I touched it. Classic dragon posturing—power display first, negotiation second.

They want to talk.

I already know what about.

The entrance is carved into the base of an abandoned opera house, long condemned but never demolished. The glamour over it shimmers like oil on water, trying to push me back before I even cross the threshold.

It doesn’t work.

I descend the obsidian steps in silence, each footfall echoing in the hollow belly of the world.

The chamber is lit by dragonflame—those strange flickering blue fires that give no heat but show everything. The walls are lined with stone columns etched in runes older than the cities above. And in the center, waiting like a judge in some ancient court, stands Maelin Drakon.

Tall, angular, terrifying in a way that doesn’t need theatrics. Golden eyes. Scales blooming across his throat and hands like molten tattoos. He and his mate have been the leaders of Draconis Fire since long before I was born. I’m not sure how old he is, but I know he’s seen and knows more than he will ever share.

His voice, when he speaks, is low and seismic. “Nightshade.”

“Drakon.”

He watches me for a beat too long. Then gestures to the seat across from him—a slab of polished blackstone that doesn’t look particularly inviting.

I sit anyway.

“You’ve made enemies,” he says.

“I always do.”

“But not like this.”

I lean back. “If this is about the shifter I killed?—”

“It is,” he says. “And it isn’t.”

“Then maybe stop speaking in riddles and get to the point You’re supposed to be a dragon, not a fae.”

His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. “Very well. We offer you truce, Seraphine Nightshade. Sanctuary. Power. Our protection against what’s coming.”

I blink. “That’s very generous.”

He nods once. “We remember what your mother was. What you are. The Black Sun stirs, and the balance tips. It would be… wasteful to let you fall without cause.”

My spine tightens. “There’s a ‘but’ coming.”

“There is,” he agrees. “Your human. The detective. He goes.”

I don’t flinch. But inside I’m screaming.

“I saved his life,” I say. “He’s the reason I found the lab. The reason I survived more than once.”

“And he’s the reason you’re a pariah now,” Maelin replies. “The supernatural community is watching. Waiting. You killed one of your own to protect him. Whether justified or not, it sends a message.”

“Yeah. That I’m not letting anyone else die on my watch.”

“To the dragons,” he says, “to the shifters, the covens, the fae, it says you’ve picked a side.”

“I didn’t realize the line was still that clear.”

“Oh, it is.”

I stare him down. “So this is the price of your protection? I get to live, as long as he doesn’t?”

“No. He doesn’t need to die. Just leave. Be gone. You sever the bond. End the tie. Walk away from the key, and we shield you from what comes.”

I laugh. It’s a bitter sound. “You think I can walk away?”

“You mean because of the bond?” He tilts his head, golden eyes glowing faintly. “Please, Sera. You’ve survived worse.”

“He’s not just a link. He’s mine. ” I don’t know what makes me say it, especially now, but it comes out as a promise, a threat. And I mean it more than anything I’ve ever meant before.

Maelin’s expression shifts. Just slightly. “Then that’s your decision.”

“No,” I say, standing. “That’s my war.”

He doesn’t stop me as I turn to leave. But his words follow me, carved into the air like flame:

“Then you’ve chosen your side, Nightshade. May it not burn you alive.”

Outside, the wind hits me hard.

I suck in breath after breath, trying to still the tremor in my hands.

Because I did choose.

Not power. Not safety. Not legacy or bloodline or damnation.

I chose Jackson. And now I’m going to have to pay for it.