Page 37

T he silence stretches between us like a rubber band pulled taut, ready to snap. Dayn’s amber eyes burn into mine, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts.

“So... how exactly do we do this?” I ask, glancing around the chamber.

“I’ll go first,” Dayn says, stepping toward me.

I hold up a hand, stopping him. “Absolutely not.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. If you go first, what guarantee do I have that you’ll follow through with your end of the bargain?” I cross my arms. “For all I know, you’ll get what you need and then conveniently decide I’m not ‘ready’ for dragon blood or whatever excuse you concoct.”

His eyes narrow dangerously. “You doubt my word?”

“Let me think about that for exactly zero seconds—yes. Yes, I do.” I gesture vaguely at our surroundings. “This entire situation screams ‘trap.’ So forgive me if I’m not eager to bare my neck before securing what I need.”

“And if I have the same concerns?” Dayn counters. “How do I know you won’t take my blood and then refuse to give yours?”

“And watch as Heathborne becomes a factory for darkblood slaughtering armies? I’ve come this far, I’m unlikely to withdraw at the last minute.” I pause at his dissatisfied expression, tapping my foot on the ground. “Otherwise, we need to do this simultaneously. That’s the only fair way.”

He frowns. “And how do you propose that would work?”

“You drink from my neck while I...” I pause, considering further.

My grandmother hadn’t specified any part of his body that I had to get blood from.

She’d just urged me to drink his blood. If the body part were crucial, I’m certain she would have included it in her memo.

“While I drink from your wrist. That way, we both get what we need at the same time, and neither can back out.”

Dayn stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nods. “Acceptable. Let’s get this over with.”

He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat surging off him. “Your collar,” he says, gesturing to my top. “It’s in the way.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“You’ll need to remove it.”

“Excuse me?”

“The ritual requires direct access,” he says, as if explaining something to a particularly slow student. “Your clothing is hampering that access. ”

I stare at him, wondering if this is some elaborate power play. “You want me to strip. For a ritual.”

“Not entirely,” he clarifies. “Just enough to provide the necessary... exposure.”

“Right,” I say, drawing out the word. Because nothing says ‘ancient magical ceremony’ like partial nudity.

I hold his gaze for a long moment, then shrug off my unzipped jacket. “Fine. But if this turns out to be some weird dragon fetish thing, I’m walking out.”

“Noted,” he says, his expression unreadable.

I pull my top over my head in one fluid motion, leaving me in just my practical black sports bra. The air of the chamber raises goosebumps across my exposed skin, despite his heat, and I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest. I refuse to show discomfort.

“Happy now?” I ask, dropping my top onto a nearby stone bench.

Instead of answering, Dayn begins unbuttoning his own shirt, his fingers moving with startling efficiency.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “You only need to roll up your sleeve for me to access your wrist.”

He shrugs out of the shirt, revealing his impossibly chiseled torso marked with intricate patterns that seem to shimmer beneath his skin.

“The ritual requires symmetry,” he says, as if that explains everything.

He steps closer, his bare chest radiating heat like a furnace. The runes beneath his skin pulse with amber light, matching the rhythm of the ones on my wrist. I force myself to hold my ground despite the instinct to back away.

“This isn’t a simple procedure,” he says, his voice dropping to a lower register. “What we’re about to do... it creates a connection. Temporary, but significant.”

“Define ‘connection,’” I say, suspicion creeping into my tone.

“Blood carries memory, intent, power.” His eyes track over my face, searching. “When you drink mine, you’ll see fragments of my past. When I drink yours, I’ll see yours.”

My stomach drops. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“It’s not optional.” He reaches for my hand, turning my wrist gently to expose the runes. “These mark you as connected to me already. The blood exchange will deepen that connection, but only briefly.”

I jerk my hand away. “More information you conveniently withheld until the last minute.”

“Would you have agreed earlier if I’d told you?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s precisely the point.” His tone remains even, but there’s an edge to it now. “We’re wasting time, Esme. Mazrov won’t remain unconscious forever.”

I glance at his form on the altar, then back to Dayn. His eyes hold mine, challenging, waiting.

“Alright,” I concede. “But only what’s necessary for the ritual. No extra... sightseeing.”

“I’ll try to restrain my curiosity,” he says dryly.

He reaches for my shoulder, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he guides me closer. The heat of his bare skin near mine sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.

“Cold?” he asks, his breath warm against my hair.

“Hardly,” I mutter.

I don’t even see him move. In one fluid motion, Dayn pulls me against his chest, one hand tangling in my hair while the other wraps around my waist. His body burns against mine, all hard planes and searing heat.

I gasp at the sudden proximity, my hands instinctively bracing against his bare chest. The runes beneath his skin pulse beneath my fingertips, sending vibrations up my arms.

“Wait—” I start to say, but the word dies in my throat as his lips brush against my neck.

Not a kiss, but something more primal—testing, tasting.

His breath is scorching against my skin, raising goosebumps despite the heat.

My heart hammers frantically, and I know he can feel it, can hear the blood rushing through my veins.

I raise my foot and fumble for the dagger concealed in my boot, my movements clumsy with adrenaline. My fingers close around the hilt as his mouth travels up the curve of my neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I pull the blade free, my hand shaking slightly as I bring it to his wrist.

The cool metal touches his skin, and he pauses, his lips still pressed against my pulse point. I feel rather than see his smile against my neck.

“Clever girl,” he murmurs, the words vibrating against my skin.

With a quick motion, I slice the blade across his wrist. Dark blood wells immediately—not red but something deeper, almost black with flecks of gold swirling within it. The scent hits me—metallic but with undertones of smoke and something ancient, like petrichor after a lightning strike.

I stare at the blood, suddenly hesitant. My grandmother’s warning echoes in my mind, but now faced with the reality, doubt creeps in. What will this do to me? What connection will it forge that Dayn seemed so reluctant to share?

While I hesitate, Dayn doesn’t. His grip on my waist tightens, pulling me impossibly closer.

His lips part against my neck, and I feel the sharp scrape of teeth—not human teeth, but something more feral, more dangerous.

My breath catches in my throat as he hesitates for just a heartbeat, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt on my skin.

Then pain, bright and shocking, as his teeth pierce my flesh.

I gasp, my back arching involuntarily. It’s nothing like I expected—the sharp sting quickly gives way to something else entirely, a flood of heat that spreads from the puncture through my entire body.

It’s intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for, invasive yet strangely pleasurable.

His mouth works against my neck, the gentle suction sending waves of sensation down my spine.

My knees threaten to buckle, but his arm around my waist holds me upright, pressed against him like we’re caught in some macabre dance.

The dagger in my hand suddenly feels heavy, almost forgotten.

The cut on his wrist still bleeds freely, dark rivulets running down his arm.

My grandmother’s warning pounds in my ears, competing with the thundering of my own pulse.

Drink his blood.

Through the haze of sensation, I manage to lift his wrist to my mouth. The scent is stronger now—ancient, powerful, intoxicating. I press my lips to the wound, hesitating at the last moment as doubt crashes through me. What if this is exactly what he wants? What if my grandmother was wrong?

But Dayn’s already drinking from me, his teeth deeper now, sending waves of heat through my body that make it hard to think. Each pull of his mouth against my neck draws a gasp from my lips, my body responding traitorously to his touch. It feels like a lot more than a few drops .

Before I can second-guess myself further, I close my eyes and press my mouth to his wrist.

The first taste explodes across my tongue—metallic yet sweet, burning like dark molasses and ginger but smoother, with undertones of something ancient and wild.

It’s nothing like human blood, nothing like I expected.

It scorches down my throat, igniting every nerve ending as it goes.

I feel it spreading through me like liquid fire, racing through my veins until I’m burning from the inside out.

Images flash behind my closed eyes—a mountain range I’ve never seen, bathed in crimson sunset; a woman with copper hair and steely gray eyes; hunters approaching in a forest clearing; hands tracing runes onto parchment; flames engulfing a village; a battlefield strewn with bodies; a night sky filled with wings.

His memories. His past. Fragments and glimpses, too quick to grasp fully, but enough to feel the weight of centuries pressing down on me. Loneliness. Rage. Power. Loss.

His arm tightens around me as I drink, drawing me closer until there’s not a breath of space between us.

My free hand grips his shoulder for support, nails digging into his flesh as the sensations threaten to overwhelm me.

His skin burns beneath my touch, the runes pulsing faster, matching the frantic rhythm of my heart.

I feel his teeth withdraw from my neck, but his lips remain, tongue sweeping over the wound in a gesture that’s both practical and disturbingly intimate. The sensation sends a shudder through me, and I nearly lose my grip on his wrist.

“Enough,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it.

But I can’t stop. The taste is addictive, the power intoxicating. Each swallow sends another rush of heat through my body, another flash of memory behind my eyes. I want more. Need more.

His hand tangles in my hair, pulling sharply to break my connection to his wrist. “I said enough, Esme.”

I gasp as our contact breaks, his blood still on my lips, my body humming with energy.

The chamber seems to spin around me, the streaks of colored light blurring.

My legs tremble, threatening to give way beneath me.

I clutch at Dayn for support, my fingers digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders.

“Easy,” he murmurs, steadying me with both hands now that I’ve released his wrist. The wound there is already closing, the dark blood slowing to a trickle before stopping completely. “The first time is... intense.”

That’s an understatement. My entire body feels electrified, my senses heightened to an almost painful degree.

I can hear the slow drip of water somewhere deep in the stone walls, smell the ancient dust and the copper tang of blood in the air.

Even Dayn’s heat against my skin seems magnified, each point of contact between us like a brand.

“You should have warned me,” I manage to say, my voice sounding distant and strange to my own ears.

“Didn’t I?” he asks, one hand still at my waist, keeping me upright.

I try to pull away, needing space to process the riot of sensations coursing through me, but my limbs refuse to cooperate. A wave of dizziness hits me, and I sway dangerously.

“The disorientation will pass,” Dayn says, his voice closer to my ear than I expected. “Give it a moment.”

“What did you... see?” I ask, suddenly remembering his words about blood carrying memory. The thought of him witnessing fragments of my past makes me feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my state of undress.

He’s quiet for a beat too long. “Enough,” he finally says, the word heavy with meaning.

Before I can press him further, he releases me abruptly, stepping back as if he too needs distance. The sudden absence of his heat leaves me cold, my skin prickling with goosebumps. I reach for my discarded top, pulling it on with hands that aren’t quite steady.

“The ritual,” I remind him, desperate to focus on something concrete. “We should continue.”

Dayn nods, turning toward the altar where Mazrov still lies unconscious.

His back is to me now, the intricate patterns beneath his skin shifting with each movement like living tattoos.

He looks to one side, and I notice a smear of my blood on his lips before he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

“Are you ready?” he asks, not looking at me as he pulls his own shirt back on, fingers working quickly at the buttons.

I’m not sure what I’m ready for anymore. My body still hums with foreign energy, my thoughts scattered and unfocused. But I nod anyway, moving to join him at the altar.

“What happens now?” I ask, working to keep my voice level.

“Now,” Dayn says, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that steals my breath, “we unbind a dragon.”