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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

PYRAH

In the darkness of my cave, my dragon's treasure glints under the pale glow of the mushrooms. I curl in the nest of pine boughs Rook built for me. Outside the mouth of the cave, moonlight colors the enchanted mist gray, still not yet darkened by his silhouette. I roll over with a frustrated sigh.

"You should rest," Lark whispers, lying under her blanket nearby.

"I can't." I breathe in Rook's scent, which still lingers on the pine boughs where he touched them. "Something feels wrong. In my gut, in my blood—I know he needs me.”

Lark’s eyes glow like embers. Sometimes she looks so much like her brother that it makes my chest ache. "Trust me, Rook has survived for this long on his own. He knows what he's doing.”

But her words ring hollow. Dread grabs my ribs like a fist, squeezing my lungs until I can barely breathe.

"What if the queen catches him? What if—" My voice snags on the words. "What if I never see him again?"

"Pyrah." Lark's tone softens. "He will come back."

I swallow hard, fighting the urge to cry. Dragons rarely cry. But since I'm human, tears burn behind my eyes and threaten to overflow.If I let them, they will betray my weakness.

“We should have gone with him,” I say, thickly, past the lump in my throat. “We could have protected him."

“While you can’t shift? No. He made the right choice.”

Yet another reminder of my current vulnerability. I miss the freedom of my wings and the power of my dragonfire. I'm trapped in this soft body, my blunt teeth and nails useless compared to fangs and claws.

"Gods." Lark's voice breaks the heavy silence. "I'm still hungry."

"You are?"

"Dinner wasn't enough. I can't survive on soup alone."

I prop myself up on one elbow. Across the cave, her eyes smolder. "Do you mean…?"

"The devouring kiss." She traces her lips with the back of her claws, as if remembering the taste of desires consumed before. "I spent much of my energy on magic. Tomorrow, I will hunt for prey. A succubus must feed every day to survive."

My heartbeat stutters. "Every day?"

"Yes." She hugs the blanket tighter to her body. "If I wait much longer, the hunger will start gnawing at me from the inside out, destroying my own body."

Realization settles over me like a shroud. Rook's tension at dinner. His refusal to kiss me with a devouring kiss. The way he pulled away when I offered to feed him...

"He lied to me." My throat tightens. "Rook said he could wait, that he didn't need to feed yet."

"My brother has always fought his own hunger as an incubus." Lark's voice carries a trace of sorrow. "He thinks he can deny himself through willpower alone."

"But why? Why wouldn't he just tell me?"

"To protect you. He would never harm you by choice."

He was starving himself to keep me safe. My heart aches at his steadfast devotion. All this time, he's been fighting his own nature, denying his needs. For me.

"I knew he was lying," I say. "He can be such a stubborn, infuriating, beautiful man."

She lets out a broken laugh. "You know him well already."

Lark falls asleep long before I’m ready, the rhythm of her breathing turning deep and slow.

She looks so peaceful, even if that might not be the truth of how she feels.

I envy her ability to rest. Perhaps her time in the Forgotten Tower taught her how to carve out tranquility from the threat of danger.

Stirring, Lark tugs her cloak tighter around herself. It gets cold at night up in the mountains. Her broken horn catches the glow of the luminous fungi. I wonder how long ago she was hurt.

My restless fingers fidget with the pine boughs. I strip needles from a branch and toss them away, a small act of destruction that distracts me. The bed Rook made feels empty without him.

I can't sleep— won’t sleep—until he has safely returned.

I toss and turn in my bed of pine boughs, unable to stop, my body as uncomfortable as my mind. I barely spent any time at all in Netherhaven, when Scaldric brought me there, but I imagine the city and the castle. I think of all the dangers that could trap Rook there.

Nothing lasts as long as a night without sleep.

Outside the cave, the enchanted mist begins to lighten from gray to white. It's nearly dawn. I watch with rising horror as day breaks.

"Lark,” I say. "Lark, wake up."

She blinks open her eyes. "What is it?"

"Rook never came back."

Lark sits upright, alert in an instant. Her gaze sweeps the cave as if hoping to find him lurking in some corner, but of course he isn't here. We are alone.

"He promised,” I say. "He promised he would return by dawn."

"We should wait for him to return." She toys with a gold coin from my dragon's hoard. She turns it over and over between her fingers. "It's a long road from Netherhaven."

"He went to find the soulstone." The words slip out before I can stop them. "In the castle library."

Lark freezes, her face draining of color. Her fingers clench around the gold coin until her knuckles turn white. "What did you say?"

"The soulstone. He said it would help control his hunger, help us find our kelrial ." I lean forward, caught by the horror in her expression. "What's wrong?"

"No, no, no." Lark drops the coin, pressing her palms to her temples. "Zin told me about the soulstone. She's the one who said it was in the castle library."

"Zin?" My blood turns to ice. "The queen's sorceress?"

"Queen Dulcamara's favorite." Lark's voice cracks. "We worked together when I was still a royal sorceress. I know Zin all too well. If Rook went into the castle looking for the soulstone..."

"It was a trap." The realization hits like a physical blow.

"Can't you make a portal into the castle?" My voice rises with desperation. "Like you did for Rook at the graveyard?"

Lark shakes her head. "The stones of Netherhaven Castle won't let me. They're imbued with ancient magic that repels portals and most spells. Even the most powerful sorceress in the Overworld can't breach those walls with magic."

I kick aside my treasure, sending gold scattering across the cave floor. The metallic clinking echoes off the walls, matching the chaos in my mind as I search for solutions.

"I can't stay here," I say. "Not while he's in danger."

Lark frowns. "Don't put yourself in danger."

"I don't care." My fingers curl against the stone wall, my nails feeble instead of claws. "I would fight for him."

"And how will you fight?" Lark's frown deepens. "Are you skilled with a sword?"

"No, but?—"

"But you can't shift into a dragon. For how long? Days?"

Heat burns behind my eyes, though I refuse to let the tears fall. "Stop treating me like I'm helpless. I may be stuck in this form, but I am still a dragon. I've killed dozens of knights who thought they could claim my head as a trophy."

"And now you can't." Lark's words cut deeper than any blade.

"You sound just like Scaldric. Like I'm something to be protected and locked away."

"That's not what I?—"

"I don't need your protection. I need your help before?—"

I can't finish the thought. Can't breathe past the invisible claws of dread that strangle my neck. The cave walls feel like they are clamping down around me, this space shrinking until there's nothing left. I'm no stranger to this panic that overwhelms me, this animal instinct that screams to hide.

Last time I felt this way, Rook held me in his arms, his deep voice rumbling through my body, soothing me until the fear ebbed.

But this time, he's gone. He could be gone forever.

When I try to stand, my legs give out and I fall to my hands and knees. I’m pushed down by a phantom weight as my fingers are splayed on the stone. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision as I forget how to breathe. I’m trapped, trapped in this cave and in this body.

"Pyrah?" Lark's voice sounds faraway, underwater. "What’s wrong?”

I can’t speak, can’t think.

Hands cradle my face, but they feel wrong somehow—too small, too soft. Not Rook's hands but his sister’s.

"You're here with me," Lark says, her voice an anchor. "You're safe."

Cool magic seeps from her fingers into my skin, like mountain mist on a summer morning. Dread loosens its grip around my ribs, and I'm left gasping for breath as if I nearly drowned.

Lark lifts her hands from my face. "Better?"

I'm still shaking, my heart still pounding too hard against my ribs like a trapped bird, but I can feel myself returning to solid ground. The cave no longer feels too small. "I think so," I say, my voice hoarse. "I-I'm sorry for getting angry with you."

"Fear and anger are two sides of the same coin. Often, one disguises the other." Her words carry the weight of someone who knows this truth all too well.

I think of my mother's death, of all the years of hiding in my cave, of all the dragonslayers who tried to kill me. My fingers trace the scars on my neck where Scaldric bit me, marking me as his mate. Even now, I remember the pain.

"Anger is better. I hate losing myself to fear." I hug myself, trying to stop the trembling in my body. In my dragon form, I have never felt this vulnerable—being a woman betrays every emotion, every weakness. "I'm not strong enough."

"You are," Lark says. "This doesn't make you weak."

"Who am I without the fear and the anger?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "Take them away, and I don't know who I am. If there's anything of me left. I have spent so long struggling to survive, I'm not sure I remember how to live."

"I know how you feel," Lark says, softly. "I don't know the answer."

I press my palms flat against the stone floor, grounding myself in this place. This cave has been my sanctuary for so long—my fortress against dragonslayers, my shelter from storms, my refuge from the world that wanted me dead.

But now the cold stone offers no comfort. The walls that once felt protective now feel like a prison. Every shadow reminds me of Rook's absence, every echo mocks the silence where his voice should be.

Then it hits me—bright and sudden as lightning splitting the sky.

"Zin." I grab Lark's arm. "We don't need to break into the castle. We need to draw her out."

"What do you mean?"

"If she set this trap, she must know where Rook is." My fingers tighten on her sleeve. "We could set our own trap. Catch her. Make her tell us what happened to him."

Lark's eyes widen. "You want to capture Zin?"

"You know her better than anyone. Know how she thinks, what she wants." I look into her eyes. "Help me trap her, Lark. She's our only link to Rook."

Lark's face relaxes as understanding settles in her bones. She paces across the scattered gold, her bare feet making soft clicking sounds against the metal.

"You're right." Her voice comes out as a husky whisper. "Queen Dulcamara would never kill him outright. She would want to make an example of him first. Which means..."

"He's alive." The words taste like hope on my tongue. "Somewhere."

"If Zin orchestrated this, she will know exactly where they're keeping him." Lark's fingers twist in her hair. "But catching her won't be easy. She's clever, dangerous."

"More dangerous than leaving Rook to rot in some godforsaken dungeon?" My hands clench into fists. "Than abandoning him to whatever tortures the queen and her sorceress have planned?"

The memory of Zin's magic crawling across my skin makes my stomach turn. But beneath the revulsion burns something hotter—rage at what she's done to Rook, to Lark, to me.

"We can't let them win," I say.

Lark traces patterns in the scattered coins, lost in thought. "I know how to draw Zin out."

"How?"

She rises, her red eyes smoldering. "There's something Zin wants more than anything. More than pleasing Queen Dulcamara. More than tormenting prisoners."

My skin prickles at her tone. "What is it?"

When she speaks, it's so quiet, almost a whisper. "Me."