Page 31 of Fated by Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #1)

Chapter 31

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The vault door explodes inward. I duck as debris sprays across the chamber, jagged shards of metal embedding themselves in the stone wall behind me. Dust stings my eyes, but I don’t need to see—I feel Elena. Her terror claws at my ribs like a caged animal, the mate bond fraying under the weight of Malakai’s grip on her.

There she is.

Malakai stands with his hand locked around Elena’s wrist, forcing her palm toward the Heartstone. The crystal pulses crimson, casting jagged shadows across his face. Elena’s free hand claws at his arm, her silver eyes wild, her breaths coming in sharp, panicked gasps.

“You’re too late, Craven,” Malakai snarls. The stone’s light glints off his jagged teeth, turning his grin into an animal leer. “Her blood will finish what her coward mother started.”

Rage fires through my veins, molten and unrelenting. I lunge forward, but Lydia’s warning shout stops me cold as she comes up behind me.

“Don’t!” Her taloned hand grips my shoulder, claws digging into my flesh. “The Heartstone’s unstable—one spark and this whole block goes up!”

Malakai laughs, the sound echoing like bones rattling in a drum. “Smart girl. Back off and let me do what should have been done years ago!”

“You’re going to destroy us, Steele!” I snarl. “You don’t realize what’s at stake, damn you!”

“No, you don’t truly understand what’s at stake.” His free hand presses Elena closer to the crystal, her fingertips trembling inches from its surface. “Too long, Craven. For too long, you and your line have dictated to us. Forced us away from our true purpose. Well, now I have the power in my hands. The power to use the stone the way it should have been all along.”

“You have no idea how to control it, Malakai,” I try to reason with him.

“Don’t be a fool. I know exactly what I’m doing. Rossewyn blood awakens it. And with it, I’ll burn your pathetic human compromises to ash.” Malakai shoves Elena forward, and I feel myself bristling, surging toward him.

Elena’s entire body shakes, her knees buckling under the strain. But her voice cuts clean through the chaos. “Go to hell.”

That’s my girl.

She slams her palm onto the Heartstone.

The world whites out.

A shockwave hurls me against the vault wall. My skull cracks stone, and for a heartbeat, there’s nothing but ringing silence. Then light—blinding, searing light—floods the chamber, scorching my retinas. I throw an arm over my face, the heat searing my skin even through the scales rippling across it.

When my vision clears, the Heartstone isn’t just glowing. It’s alive .

Elena floats inches above the ground, her hair whipping in an unfelt wind. The stone’s energy ribbons around her, tendrils of crimson and gold weaving through her fingers like liquid fire. Her eyes—fuck, her eyes —are twin eclipses, pupils drowned in starlight, galaxies swirling in their depths.

Malakai stumbles back. “Impossible. You’re not—”

He freezes as Elena’s gaze locks onto him.

“You don’t touch what’s mine.”

Her voice isn’t hers. It’s ancient, a chorus of women long dead. My dragon roars in recognition—

Lyria’s lineage, alive in her bones.

We never had to show how to use that power. The knowledge runs in her veins.

Malakai snarls, his form blurring as he shifts. Scales erupt across his skin, wings shredding his suit. But Elena is faster.

She flicks her wrist.

The Heartstone answers.

A whip of pure energy lashes out, slicing across Malakai’s chest. He crashes into the far wall, his roar shaking dust from the ceiling. The impact cracks the stone, fissures spiderwebbing toward the vault’s ceiling.

I’m moving before I think, my own shift rippling under my skin. Fire floods my throat, molten and ready.

“Elena! Look at me! ”

Her head turns. For a heartbeat, the cosmic void in her eyes flickers.

‘Caleb.’

I hear her voice in my mind, fractured but hers. The bond surges, a bridge between us, and I’ve never felt such a complete sense of wholeness. It’s like breathing for the first time.

She’s not alone in this battle. Neither am I. Malakai is going to face both of us. And we are fucking formidable.

He doesn’t know what he’s in for.

Malakai lunges, flames spewing from his maw. I tackle Elena sideways, shielding her with my body. Heat singes my back, but her hands press against my chest—and suddenly, the fire curves , arcing harmlessly around us. The flames lick the walls, scorching the stone.

She’s weaving the stone’s energy like a shield, her fingers trembling but precise. The Heartstone’s power buzzes in the air, a living thing, its rhythm echoing the beat of my heart.

“Get him close!” she shouts, her voice straining. “I can hold him!”

I nod. Trusting her is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

Malakai charges, claws raking stone. Sparks fly as he drags them across the floor, his ungainly gait barely slowed by the missing leg. I meet him head-on, scales erupting across my fists. We collide, dragon-to-dragon, our roars shaking the vault. Behind me, Elena’s hands are raised, the Heartstone’s light spiraling into chains that glow like molten iron.

“Traitor!” Malakai spits, talons tearing my shoulder. Blood wells, hot and slick. “You’d side with humans over your own kind!”

“You’re no kin of mine,” I snarl, driving my knee into his gut. He staggers, but his laughter is relentless, manic.

Elena’s voice crescendos, the chains snapping forward with a sound like shattering glass. They wrap Malakai’s limbs, searing his scales where they touch. He thrashes, but she’s relentless, the stone’s power fueling her. The vault trembles, dust raining down as the building groans above us.

“Now, Caleb!”

My fist cracks his jaw. He stumbles, and Elena yanks the chains taut. Malakai collapses, his human form reasserting— broken, bleeding, but grinning. Blood drips from his split lip, pooling on the stone.

“This isn’t over.” His laugh rasps like steel wool. “The Syndicate’s already here. You think you control the story now? I do! I control all of you! This stone is not the only source of power I can tap into!”

Fuck, he’s insane.

Above us, the building shudders. Distant explosions rip through the air—Syndicate dragons breaching the perimeter. The sound of shattering glass and screams filters down from the lobby.

Malakai seizes the distraction. With a burst of stolen energy, he snaps free of Elena’s bonds and lunges for the exit. Within seconds, he vanishes into the smoke-choked tunnels.

“Stop him!” Lydia shouts, her scales glinting as she moves to pursue him.

But the Heartstone flickers, its power waning. Elena sags against me, sweat-drenched and trembling. Her fingers clutch my arm, her breath ragged.

“Let him go. He’s not… worth it.”

Malakai’s laugh echoes from the tunnels. “Enjoy your victory, dragonslayer . It won’t last long.”

Then he’s gone.

The silence is worse than the battle.

Elena’s breaths come shallow, her fingers knotted in my shirt. I press my forehead to hers, our shared warmth a fragile anchor.

“You’re okay. You’re here,” I breathe the words.

She nods, but her eyes are vacant, haunted. “The stone… it showed me things. My mother, Malakai… he’s hunted us for generations. He wanted her to—”

A roar splits the air.

Not Malakai. Not the Syndicate.

Dorian.

The sound is raw, feral, drenched in pain.

Elena pales, her grip tightening on mine. “Something’s wrong.”

We race upstairs, the stairwell choked with smoke. The lobby is a warzone—shattered glass crunches underfoot, and the acrid stench of burning plastic stings my throat. Syndicate dragons circle outside, their shadows blotting out the moon.

We find Dorian in the rubble, cradling a woman’s body.

Juno.

Her café apron is soaked in blood, the cheerful polka dots grotesque against the crimson. A massive pillar lies shattered beside them, its granite veined with cracks. Dorian’s arms wrap around her. He’s trembling. His skin is still darkened by scales that are streaked with ash. His face is a mask of anguish.

“She pushed me,” he chokes out, his voice shattered. “I was—I was shifting to reach her, and she saw it. The pillar—” He breaks off, his fingers curling gently around her limp hand. “She shoved me out of the way. How did she even…?”

Elena kneels beside him, her fingers brushing Juno’s wrist. She looks at me and shakes her head before turning back to him.

“I’m so sorry, Dorian.”

He doesn’t seem to hear her. His thumb traces the curve of Juno’s cheek, smudged with ash and blood.

“She said she’d beat my latte art. The coffee queen.” His laugh is a broken thing, raw and hollow. “Stupid. So stupid.”

I grip his shoulder, the words clotting in my throat. What do you say to a man who’s holding someone who just died for him? The lobby groans around us, the structural damage from the battle too severe. Somewhere above, a beam cracks.

“We need to move,” I say quietly.

Dorian doesn’t respond. He gathers Juno closer, shielding her from the falling dust. It’s Lydia who finally coaxes him up, her voice uncharacteristically soft. We make our way out of the ruined building, silent as we observe the wreckage of the street outside.

The Syndicate is already retreating, their forces scattering like roaches in the light. I’m not sure what sends them off. Right now, I’m too exhausted to care.

The city is left scarred but standing. Tomorrow, we’ll deal with the inevitable consequences. It’s going to take everything we have to suppress this story.

“Mr. Craven?”

I swivel my head to see Sloane picking her way through the rubble. A strand of hair clings to her cheek, and there’s a streak of ash across the front of her pristine white shirt. Aside from that, she’s as immaculate as ever.

Thank fuck.

“I’m assuming you’ll want PR on this asap?” she asks.

I stifle the urge to laugh out loud.

“Yes. Thank you, Sloane.”

She gives a tight smile. “Gas leaks. Terrorist attacks. Mass hallucination. We’ll figure something out.”

“I have faith in your judgment.” I smile.

She nods and turns away, leaving Elena and me standing in the ruins of Craven Tower, the Heartstone between us. Its light is softer now, almost… watchful. The moonlight filters through the shattered windows, painting the debris in silver.

She threads her fingers through mine, her touch steadying. “Malakai’s still out there.”

“Let him come.” I kiss her temple, her skin warm with residual energy. “He doesn’t know what he’s up against.”

Her smile is tired but fierce. “We’ll need a bigger stone.”

A breeze stirs the ashes at our feet. Somewhere in the wreckage, a phone rings—a reporter, no doubt. I ignore it. Let the others handle the fallout. For now, there’s only this: Elena’s hand in mine, the Heartstone’s hum, and the fragile hope kindling in my chest.

As day breaks, as grief and victory dance in the ashes, I almost believe it.

Almost.