Page 14 of Born in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #2)

Chapter 14

D orian

I sprawl on my couch, a bottle of whiskey balanced on my chest, staring at the exposed beams of my warehouse ceiling. The golden liquid catches the light of a side lamp, casting golden patterns across the brick walls. It’s been over a day since I left Juno’s apartment, and yet her scent still clings to my skin—rosemary and fear.

The memory of her face when she saw my eyes haunts me. That split-second transition from desire to horror plays on repeat in my mind. I take another swig straight from the bottle, letting the burn distract me from the hollow ache in my chest.

What the hell happened to me? Why the fuck did I lose control like that?

I can only assume it was a combination of lust and the battle hormones raging in my system. When I’d seen that fucker put his hands on her, something had snapped inside me. It was all I could do to stop myself from shifting and incinerating him on the spot.

Madness. That’s all I can think it was. A moment of madness.

Except now she won’t talk to me, and it hurts in a way I can’t comprehend.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I ignore it. Another buzz. Then three more in quick succession.

“Fuck off,” I mutter to no one.

It buzzes again, more insistently. With a growl, I reach for it, nearly knocking over a half-empty glass in the process.

Lydia.

I consider ignoring her, too, but the clan elder isn’t someone even I can blow off without consequences. I swipe to answer.

“This better be important.”

“Check your social media.” Her voice is tight, controlled in that way that signals genuine alarm. “Now.”

“I’m a little busy at the moment.” I take another swig.

“Dorian.” The sharpness in her tone cuts through my haze. “Put down the bottle and check TikTok. Search #DragonConspiracy.”

Something in her voice sobers me instantly. I sit up, setting the whiskey aside, and open the app.

“What am I looking for, exactly?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

The hashtag is trending. Millions of views. I tap the top video, and my blood turns to ice.

Shaky night footage. Dark shapes against a moonlit sky that could be wings. A distorted voice narrating over images of Craven Industries’ headquarters.

Bullshit!

There’s no way they would have filmed a dragon anywhere near the Towers; it has to be some sort of image manipulation. But the idiots viewing this will never consider that.

“The dragons are among us,” the voice declares. “And they’re hiding in plain sight. Our source has not only seen them but been carried by one to its mountain lair.”

The username flashes in the corner: @MaraLives.

Mara. The blue-haired lunatic.

“Elena’s friend,” I breathe, suddenly stone-cold sober.

“This is a breach of the highest order,” Lydia says, her voice glacial. “Your brother needs to get this under control immediately.”

“I’ll handle it.” I end the call, already on my feet, scrolling through more videos.

Each one is worse than the last. Grainy security footage of what could be Caleb and me entering the building, with captions speculating about our “true forms.” Maps marking supposed dragon sightings across the Pacific Northwest. Theories about Craven Industries being a “front for the dragon elite.”

No definitive proof—nothing that couldn’t be dismissed as conspiracy nonsense—but the sheer volume of content and engagement is staggering. And dangerous.

My phone pings with a security alert from our system. Then another. And another. Malakai’s codes have been used to access the Heartstone chamber again. And shady characters have been hanging around our offices. Could be crackpots looking for photo opportunities. Or it could be Syndicate operatives looking for a way to turn this to their advantage.

Another alert pops up. An email from an anonymous source. I run an eye over it, scowling at the contents. Some fucker threatening more exposure. Threatening the Heartstone.

Goddammit!

As if we don’t have enough to contend with.

I grab my jacket and keys, rage building with each step toward the door. Juno’s frightened face momentarily flashes in my mind, but I push it aside. This is bigger than my wounded pride or whatever the hell was happening between us. This is about survival.

I make the trip to Craven Industries’ headquarters in record time. Caleb’s assistant, Sloane, barely glances up as I storm past her desk. She’s used to the Craven twins and our disregard for protocol. I throw open his office door without knocking, finding him staring out the window, tension evident in the rigid line of his shoulders.

“You need to see this,” I say, thrusting my phone toward him.

He turns, irritation flashing across his face. “What is it now?”

The moment he sees the screen, his expression hardens. I watch him absorb the implications, his jaw tightening as he scrolls through the videos.

“Jesus. For fuck’s sake,” he mutters.

“It’s gone viral,” I tell him. “Millions of views in the past few hours. #DragonConspiracy is trending worldwide.”

He watches the main video again, eyes narrowing at the clever editing—just enough to suggest without proving, to spark curiosity without providing definitive evidence.

“Elena must have told her,” he says, anger simmering beneath his controlled tone.

I nod, keeping my impatience in check. Why doesn’t he have her under control, dammit? There’s something off about him—beyond the obvious stress. A strange intensity in his eyes, an almost feverish quality to his movements.

“Our confidentiality protocols are shot. And that’s not all.” I swipe to another screen showing the security alerts. “We’ve picked up increased chatter about Craven Industries on various forums and social media platforms. People are digging, Caleb.”

He clenches his fists. “Is that all?”

“No.” I hesitate, knowing the next bit will push him over the edge. “There have been sightings of suspicious figures near the building. Our surveillance caught them loitering around, but we haven’t been able to identify them yet.”

I show him the grainy surveillance images of men in dark clothing, faces carefully obscured, hovering near our entrances.

“And to make matters worse, Malakai’s access codes were used again, despite being revoked.”

Caleb slams my phone down on the desk with enough force to crack the screen protector. “That’s impossible.”

“Apparently not,” I reply, matching his intensity. “He’s bypassing our security somehow. We have a mole, or he’s got inside help.”

The situation is spiraling. Between the Syndicate’s moves, Malakai’s betrayal, and now this public exposure, we’re under siege from all sides. And my brother looks like he’s about to snap.

“This is getting out of hand,” I say, watching him carefully. “We need to control the narrative before it spirals.”

He nods, but his focus seems elsewhere. I notice a strange, almost glazed quality to his eyes, like he’s listening to something I can’t hear.

“Hey,” I snap my fingers. “You with me?”

“Yeah,” he says, though clearly he’s not. I’ve known Caleb my entire life—five minutes less than he’s known me, as he never fails to remind me. I can read his tells better than anyone. Something’s wrong. Something beyond the obvious crisis unfolding around us.

“There’s something else,” I say, watching his reaction closely. “We received a message. Anonymous, but it’s got the Syndicate’s fingerprints all over it.”

I pull up the email on my phone and hand it to him.

“‘Enjoying your newfound fame?’” he reads aloud. “‘It’d be a shame if more secrets came to light. The Heartstone isn’t safe, and neither is she. You can’t protect her forever.’”

His grip tightens on the phone, knuckles whitening. The threat is clear. They know about Elena, that she’s important to him.

“They’re taunting us,” I say, though what concerns me more is his reaction—too personal, too raw.

“Someone’s feeding them information,” he says, the implication hanging heavy between us.

“Caleb, we need to act. Now.”

He pushes away from the desk. “I’ll handle Elena,” he says finally.

Warning bells go off in my head. The way he says her name—like it physically hurts him—sets off every protective instinct I possess. Not for Elena, but for my brother. For the clan.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” I ask carefully. “You’re too close to this. To her.”

He shoots me a warning glance that would make most men step back. “She’s compromised our security. Exposed us. Do you have a better idea?”

I study him, noting the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the slight tremor in his hands. If what I suspect is true, this must be killing him.

“Just… be careful,” I say. “Don’t let your emotions dictate your actions.”

He scoffs. “You sound like Dad.”

“Maybe he had a point,” I counter, ignoring the flash of pain his comparison triggers. “Emotions make us vulnerable.”

I see the memories wash over him—our father’s stern lectures, his warnings about attachments, his cold, calculating approach to leadership. “A leader must remain detached,” the old man used to drill into us. “Emotions cloud judgment and judgment is the key to survival.”

I believed that bullshit once. Maybe part of me still does. But watching Caleb now—seeing the conflict tearing him apart—I’m not so sure anymore.

“Dorian, I need you to manage things here,” he says abruptly, grabbing his coat. “There’s a clan meeting set within the hour. I want you to take it.”

“Me?” I can’t hide my surprise. Caleb never willingly hands over the reins, especially not for something this critical.

“You not up to it?” He cocks his head, the challenge unmistakable.

I snort, masking my concern with our usual competitive banter. “Of course I am. Just wondering if you’re ready to have your baby brother step into your shoes.”

“Have fun with that,” he scoffs. “While you’re at it, tighten security protocols, monitor any further leaks, and see if you can track down how Malakai’s gaining access.”

“That all?” I tilt my head, watching him closely. “What about this video?”

“Keep that on hold until I get back. I think it’s going to take some careful handling.”

“You don’t say,” I mutter. “Where are you going?”

“To the cabin.”

The cabin. Our family’s secluded retreat in the mountains. The place Caleb goes when he needs to think—or when he’s about to make a decision that will impact the entire clan.

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to fix this.” The words sound hollow.

“If that’s possible, at this point,” I say, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice.

He gives a curt nod and exits the office, leaving me alone with the mess.

As the door closes behind him, something occurs to me. “Wait! Caleb!” I call after him, but the sound of the elevator doors pinging open tells me he’s gone. I call up his number and dial him.

“What?” he barks.

“The Heartstone,” I say. “If Malakai was in the chamber, we need to see that the Stone is safe.”

“It’s fine. I have it.”

“What?” I frown. “Why the fuck do you have it?”

“I needed to show it to Elena.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“Why the hell did you need to do that, you asshole?” This doesn’t compute.

“Because…” He pauses. “I needed to check something.”

“Check what, Caleb?” When he doesn’t respond, I press harder. “What the fuck did you need to check?”

“It’s nothing that concerns you. Get that shitstorm under control. I’ll work on things from my side.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t concern me? The Heartstone affects all of us, dammit!” I realize that I’m talking to dead air and resist the urge to fling the phone across the room.

Instead, I sink into his chair, the weight of responsibility settling uncomfortably on my shoulders.

Something’s wrong with my brother. The way he reacted to Elena’s name, the strange intensity in his eyes, the almost physical pain that flashed across his face when he spoke of her. It’s more than just anger at a security breach.

I’ve seen Caleb angry. I’ve seen him disappointed, frustrated, even afraid. But this? This is something else entirely. Something I’ve never witnessed before.

“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

If I’m right—if Caleb has somehow formed a connection with Elena—we’re in even deeper shit than I thought. A clan leader compromised by a human? The elders would revolt. And in the middle of this crisis with Malakai and the Syndicate? The timing couldn’t be worse.

I grab the phone, dialing our communications director.

“This is Dorian Craven,” I say when she answers. “I need you to put together a response team immediately. We have a situation.”

As I outline what needs to be done—discrediting the videos as elaborate hoaxes, deploying our media contacts to run counter-narratives—my mind keeps circling back to Juno.

The look on her face when she saw what I truly am. The fear in her eyes. The questions I couldn’t answer.

I push the thought away. The clan comes first. It has to. My personal shit will have to wait. I put a call through to Sloane, telling her to delay the clan meeting until I can sort this shit out. I don’t have answers right now; anything I say will only make things worse.

But even as I hang up, coordinating the next steps in our damage control plan, I know I can’t leave things as they stand with Juno. She saw something impossible, something that defied her understanding of reality. And unlike Elena, she has no context for it. Aside from a barrage of ridiculous viral videos pointing to me that she might stumble across if she has even one social media account.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter. I need to talk to her. To explain. To make sure she doesn’t become another liability in a situation already spinning out of control.

And maybe, if I’m honest with myself, I need to see her again for entirely selfish reasons. To see if there’s anything left to salvage from whatever was growing between us before my dragon decided to make an appearance.

But that will have to wait. Right now, I have a clan to protect and a brother to save from himself.