Page 23 of Born in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #2)

Chapter 23

D orian

I slam through the doors hard enough to crack the reinforced frame. The air around me shimmers with heat, my control hanging by threads frayed to breaking. Every face turns toward me—some wary, others sympathetic. All keeping their distance.

Good. I’m not fit for company.

“Nice of you to join us,” Caleb says from the head of the conference table, his voice carefully neutral. My brother looks exhausted but immaculate in his tailored suit, the picture of corporate leadership despite the crisis. Always the perfect fucking heir.

I don’t bother responding. My boots leave scuff marks on the polished floor as I stalk to the far end of the table, deliberately positioning myself away from everyone. Juno’s scarf is knotted around my neck; the fabric still carries her scent, but now it’s beginning to fade.

Three days since the attack. Three days since I watched the security footage of Juno disappearing under tons of concrete and steel. Of me digging her out and holding her as she died.

Three days of hell.

“We were discussing containment strategies,” Caleb continues, nodding toward the wall of screens displaying news coverage. Helicopter footage shows the devastated upper floors of Craven Towers, smoke still rising from the damage. Another screen displays a blurry image of what’s unmistakably a dragon in flight, circled in red with the caption: “MONSTER ATTACK OR ELABORATE HOAX?”

Social media metrics scroll across another display—trending hashtags, viral video counts, conspiracy theory forums exploding with activity.

“Containment?” I spit the word like poison. “Our enemies attacked our headquarters in full view of the world. They killed Juno. And you want to talk about fucking containment?”

Luke straightens in his chair, his dark blond hair perfectly styled despite the crisis. “Watch your tone, Dorian. We’re all upset, but protocol exists for a reason.”

“Protocol?” I laugh, the sound harsh and humorless. “Tell me, Luke, which ancient dragon protocol covers YouTube and Twitter? Which sacred text explains how to handle viral videos of our kind?”

“Enough.” Caleb’s voice cuts the tension. “Dorian, we all understand your pain. But right now, we’re facing exposure on a scale we’ve never encountered before. If we don’t address this immediately, hunting down those responsible becomes irrelevant—we’ll be too busy fighting for our survival as a species.”

I grip the back of a chair, the metal frame warping under my fingers. “Malakai’s Circle and the Syndicate are behind this. They orchestrated the attack, and they have to pay. Now.”

“We don’t know anything for certain,” Elena says, looking up from her notepad. Her precise handwriting covers pages of observations and theories. “The timing suggests coordination between the Syndicate and the Circle, but historically, they’ve been enemies. We need to investigate before jumping to conclusions.”

“Investigate?” My voice drops dangerously low. “While we sit here taking notes, they’re planning their next move. Juno is dead because of them.”

The room falls silent at my words. Elena’s expression softens, her hand unconsciously touching the silver locket at her throat. It was once her mother’s. Lila Ross, the woman who disappeared into the depths of Craven history. I can’t deny that she understands grief.

Lydia, elegant in emerald green, studies me silently.

“Your pain is valid, Dorian,” she says after a measured pause. “And justice will come. But first, we must ensure our kind survives this exposure. Then we hunt.”

I want to argue, to rage, to transform right here and burn this sterile room to cinder. Instead, I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white, my dragon ring cutting into my flesh.

“Fine,” I growl. “What’s the plan?”

Caleb taps a command on his tablet, changing the main display to show social media analytics.

“Current situation: We have approximately thirty-seven confirmed videos of dragon sightings during the attack. Facial recognition has identified forty-three Craven Industries employees who were present and witnessed supernatural elements. The building’s security systems were compromised, giving us limited control over internal footage.”

“Traditional methods are still viable,” Luke interjects. “Media suppression, political leverage—”

“This isn’t 1950, Luke,” Elena interrupts, earning a glare from the traditionalist. “We can’t just call a newspaper editor and kill a story anymore. Once something hits social media, it exists forever in some form.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Luke challenges. “Allow centuries of secrecy to end because of modern inconveniences?”

I tune out their bickering, my attention caught by security footage playing on a smaller screen. The lobby of Craven Towers during the attack—chaos, debris, smoke. A glimpse of the coffee shop where Juno worked. The counter where she stood every day, now crushed under concrete and steel.

My vision blurs red. Something inside me cracks, dragon heat leaking through. The conference table begins to smoke where my hands rest.

“—need a different approach entirely,” Elena is saying as I force my attention back to the room. “Someone who understands viral media and how to manipulate it.”

“You’re not suggesting—” Caleb begins.

“Mara,” Elena confirms. “She created this dragon conspiracy theory online before she knew what she was getting into. She understands how to work within that world.”

“Absolutely not!” Luke stands, indignation radiating from him. “Another human with conspiracy theories? This is exactly the kind of modern nonsense that—”

“Call her,” I interrupt, surprising everyone, including myself. “If she can help us resolve this faster, then we can focus on what matters—finding those responsible for the attack.”

“But she’s the one who fucking started this shit,” Luke blisters.

“Then let her finish it,” I tell him.

Caleb studies me for a moment, then nods. “Elena, make the call.”

While Elena steps aside to contact Mara and explain the situation, I move to the window overlooking the city. Seattle continues its normal rhythm below, oblivious to the war that’s begun. Somewhere out there, Malakai is planning his next move. The thought makes my blood boil, dragon fire rising in my throat.

“We’ll find them,” Caleb says quietly, joining me at the window. “And they’ll pay for what they’ve done.”

“The question is, will they pay enough?” I respond flatly.

“Dorian.” His voice softens. “I know what Juno meant to you.”

“Do you?” I turn to face him. “Do you really understand what it’s like to find your other half only to lose her before—” I stop, the words catching in my throat.

Before what?

Before we got married and got the house with the white picket fence? I’m a fucking dragon. Any future with me would be mired in violence.

Fire. Destruction. Death. This is the world we inhabit. It’s not fit for humans. Juno learned that the hard way.

Before Caleb can respond, the doors open to admit a whirlwind of electric blue hair and clashing patterns. Mara Jones arrives like a color explosion in the somber room, multiple devices clutched in her arms, a backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Holy shit, you guys are in deep trouble,” she announces without preamble, dumping her technology onto the conference table. “Have you seen Twitter? Reddit’s dragon forums have exploded. There are three separate YouTube channels doing frame-by-frame analysis of the footage.”

Luke physically recoils from her presence, his expression suggesting she’s tracking mud on sacred ground. Lydia, by contrast, watches with undisguised fascination.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Elena says, resuming her seat as Mara plugs in various devices.

“Are you kidding? This is like conspiracy Christmas.” Mara’s fingers fly across keyboards, screens lighting up with social media feeds. “Though I’m still processing the whole ‘dragons are real, and my best friend is dating one’ thing. No offense, Caleb.”

Caleb clears his throat. “We need your expertise in containing this situation. Our existence depends on secrecy.”

“Yeah, that ship has pretty much sailed,” Mara says, gesturing to her screens where the dragon footage plays on a loop across multiple platforms. “You’re trending on every platform. #DragonAttack, #CravenTowerMonster, #SeattleDragon—they’re all blowing up.”

“Can it be contained?” Lydia asks, leaning forward with interest.

“Contained? No. Redirected? Maybe.” Mara pulls up analytics. “Right now, you’re hovering between ‘holy shit, dragons are real’ and ‘elaborate hoax.’” She taps her bottom lip with a lime-green fingernail. “You know, you could capitalize on this. Open up a theme park and make some money out of this thing. Just imagine! Dragon rides, walking with dragons. Dragon photo booths. DragonAde! You know… like Gatorade but with—”

“No,” Luke says flatly.

“Mara, we really need to squash this thing,” Elena adds. “Lives are at stake.”

Mara looks deflated before perking up. “Okay, then I guess you need to push it firmly into hoax territory.”

“How?” Caleb asks.

“You could claim it was a military exercise gone wrong. F16s going after alien craft that had gone off course! It happened in Nevada. It could have happened here.”

“That did not happen in Nevada, Mara,” Elena sighs, rubbing her eyes.

“Alright, maybe not. How about flaming weather balloons?” She looks around at us hopefully. All eyes turn to the screen where half a dozen dragons are breathing fireballs at the top of Craven Towers in swooping flight paths.

“Okay, that’s a no on the weather balloons.” She rubs the back of her neck, where dark hair seems to be blending into the indigo blue. “Or you could—” Mara stops mid-sentence, eyes widening as a new idea strikes. “Oh, my God. A movie publicity stunt! That’s it!”

“A what?” Luke’s voice drips with disdain.

“A viral marketing campaign for an upcoming film!” Mara’s excitement builds as she types rapidly. “It explains everything—the dragon sightings, the building damage, even the coordinated social media explosion. Companies do crazy publicity stunts all the time.”

“That’s absurd,” Luke protests. “No one would believe—”

“Actually, they would,” Mara interrupts, pulling up examples. “Remember the Carrie telekinesis prank? The Devil Baby in New York? People go nuts for this stuff, and film companies spend millions on viral marketing.”

“It could work,” Lydia says slowly. “Craven Industries has subsidiaries in entertainment. We could retroactively create a film project.”

“We’d need CGI mock-ups, preliminary posters, a fake production timeline,” Caleb muses, strategic mind engaging. “And statements from ‘actors’ who were part of the stunt.”

“This is outrageous,” Luke stands, dragon heat shimmering around him. “Centuries of dignified secrecy, and you want to reduce us to a movie gimmick?”

“I want us to survive,” Caleb counters firmly. “Dignity means nothing if we’re exposed, hunted, experimented on.”

“I agree with Caleb,” Lydia says, surprising Luke. “Adaptation has always been our strength. When humans invented photography, we adjusted. When they created security cameras, we adapted again. This is simply the next evolution of our concealment.”

Luke looks betrayed. “You can’t seriously support this… this circus approach.”

“I support survival,” Lydia responds calmly. “And this plan offers our best chance.”

Caleb makes his decision with the finality of a true leader. “We proceed with Mara’s suggestion. Sloane,” he turns to his PA, who’s been standing silently in the wings, “coordinate with our entertainment subsidiary to create the necessary background materials. Mara, I need a comprehensive social media strategy. Luke,” he pauses, a calculated gleam in his eye, “I want you to work directly with Mara as our traditional oversight. Ensure our dignity remains intact within this modern approach.”

Luke’s expression is priceless—horror mixed with outrage as he realizes he’ll be working with the social media influencer. Mara seems equally dismayed but recovers quickly.

“Great! Let’s start with a dragon design that’s close enough to the footage but different enough to claim ‘early prototype’ status,” she says, pulling up digital modeling software.

As they move to the side of the room, Mara’s head bent over a screen, Luke stiff as a board, Caleb shifts the meeting’s focus.

“Now, to the second priority: investigating the attack itself.”

Elena nods, professional mask firmly in place, though I notice how she gravitates toward Caleb, their shoulders nearly touching.

“We’re tracking three potential culprits,” says Caleb. “Malakai directly, the Circle under his leadership, and the Syndicate. The timing of Elena’s abduction by Malakai and the Towers attack suggests coordination, but we need proof.”

“Proof?” I can’t contain my bitter laugh. “They killed Juno. That’s all the proof I need.”

“Dorian,” Caleb’s voice carries a warning.

“No.” I slam my fist on the table, leaving a dent in the polished surface. “While we sit here planning PR strategies, our enemies are out there, believing they’ve won. They attacked our headquarters, threatened our clan, killed an innocent woman—my—” I choke on the words I never got to say to her. My woman. Mine. “They need to pay. Now.”

The room falls silent. Even Mara stops typing, sensing the dangerous current running through the air.

Caleb dismisses the others with a subtle gesture. They file out quietly, leaving just my brother and me in the war room.

“I know what you’re planning,” he says once we’re alone. “Going after them alone is suicide, Dorian.”

“Maybe.” I don’t bother denying it. “But I’ll take as many of them with me as I can.”

“And then what? I lose my brother over a human?” Caleb’s composure cracks slightly, revealing genuine fear beneath. “We’ve already lost too much.”

“Juno wasn’t a clan member,” I say quietly. “But she was… everything. And I never even told her.”

My brother heaves a sigh as he looks at me. “Dorian…” He purses his lips. “How well did you know her?”

I stare at him for a second—just one second—before I launch myself at him and grab him by the throat.

“Well enough,” I snarl into his face. Scales cover my fist, my claws biting hard enough to draw blood.

Caleb flinches but doesn’t react. “I’m sorry, brother. I had to ask.”

“You think this was some passing fling?” I shake my head. Somewhere deep inside, a little voice is telling me why Caleb might have assumed this. My track record sucks.

“I think it was something you didn’t understand, Dorian.” His voice is hoarse from the pressure of my hand around his throat. I loosen my grip. “Something special.”

I release him abruptly, stepping away. “It was,” I whisper, wishing I’d had time to truly understand the connection I’d felt to her. “She was… in here.” I thump my chest.

“I can see that.” Caleb moves closer, risking the dragon heat still radiating from me. “So help us do this right. Help us find who’s truly responsible, gather our strength, and strike decisively. Not just for vengeance, but for justice.”

I want to refuse, to storm out and begin my hunt immediately. But centuries of brotherhood hold me in place, the loyalty between us stretching but not breaking.

“Three days,” I concede finally. “You have three days to find concrete evidence of who orchestrated the attack. Then I’m going hunting, with or without the clan’s blessing.”

Relief flickers across Caleb’s face. “Thank you.”

As he turns to rejoin the others, I remain alone in the room, fingers tracing the patterns on Juno’s scarf. The stars embroidered in silver thread catch the light, reminding me of how she’d described her parents taking her to watch meteor showers as a child.

“I’ll find them,” I promise her silently. “And when I do, they’ll learn why dragons were once the most feared creatures on earth.”

I tuck the scarf more securely around my neck and follow my brother, my grief temporarily contained but not diminished. Three days to play by their rules. Then vengeance will have its due.