Page 33 of Fated by Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #1)

Chapter 33

E lena

Caleb’s fingers trace the fresh mate mark on my collarbone as morning light bleeds through the penthouse windows, coloring the room in gold and orange. The bite still throbs, a sweet ache pulsing in time with the Heartstone humming on the nightstand. Its glow is faint but steady, almost alive, as if it senses the importance of the day ahead.

Caleb dresses my wounds in silence, his jaw tight, his movements deliberate. The claw marks Malakai left on my ribs are angry and raw, but Caleb’s touch is gentle, almost reverent.

“They’ll test you today,” he says finally, smoothing a bandage over the wounds. His voice is low, edged with worry. “Stay close. Don’t let them bait you. Luke will likely push your buttons.”

I snort, leaning back against the headboard. “The guy probably thinks I’m a walking Molotov cocktail.”

Caleb’s thumb brushes my cheek, his touch lingering. “You are a Molotov cocktail. But you’re my Molotov cocktail.”

I swat at him, but he catches my wrist, his grip firm yet tender. He presses a kiss to the marks left by the power that surged from me, his lips warm against my skin. The air shifts suddenly—thick, electric—and the Heartstone on the nightstand flares, casting crimson patterns over the walls. The hum grows louder, almost urgent.

“That thing’s getting restless,” I mutter, eyeing the stone warily.

Caleb’s gaze darkens. “It knows what’s coming.”

He rises from the bed and heads over to the closet, pulling on a fresh shirt. His back is a roadmap of claw marks, but the bite mark I left last night glows faintly, a ridge of raised flesh that looks just like mine.

“They’ll grill you,” he says, tossing me a black sweater that looks far too big. “Play nice, but don’t let them.”

I catch it, bristling. “I’m not here to audition. They either accept me or—”

“Or they’ll try to kill you. Yeah.” He fastens his buttons, eyes flicking to mine. “But I accept you. That’s all that matters.”

The Heartstone shimmers as I reach for it. It answers his words with a pulse of heat. Maybe it agrees.

We take the private elevator down to the lobby of Caleb’s high-rise apartment block, its mirrored walls reflecting our exhaustion. Caleb’s hand never leaves my waist, his grip protective but not stifling.

Outside, the city is a discordant symphony of honking horns and distant sirens, the air thick with the scent of rain and exhaust fumes. A black SUV waits at the curb, its engine idling. Caleb opens the door for me, his gaze scanning the street for any signs of danger.

“This isn’t just a meeting,” I say as we slide into the backseat. “It’s a trial, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his eyes fixed on the city blurring past the windows. “They’ll try to test you,” he says finally, his voice low. “But they don’t know you like I do.”

I glance at him, my chest tightening. “And what if they’re right? What if I’m not… enough?”

He turns to me, his eyes burning with intensity. “You’re more than enough. You always have been.”

The drive is short but suffocating. By the time we pull up outside Lydia’s stately mansion, the tension is taut between us. Caleb helps me out of the car, his hand slipping into mine. I stare up at the building, trying not to let my mouth drop open. Apprehension unfurls despite my earlier bravado.

“Nice place,” I say as I take in the tall pillars and mullioned windows.

“She calls it home.” Caleb shrugs. “And it’ll have to do until we can get back to the Towers. There’s far too much attention there right now. She’s got adequate facilities for us—her home hosted many clan meetings before the Towers were constructed.”

I mull over this for a moment, struck by the amount of history held in these walls. It’s something I’m going to have to get used to—surrounding myself with beings who’ve seen more in their lifetimes than I can even begin to comprehend.

The meeting room isn’t what I expected. No dripping caves or bone thrones. Just a large, old-world room dominated by a heavy walnut table with a giant chandelier suspended over it. Gold-wallpapered walls with huge, framed portraits of stern-faced men in old-fashioned clothing. A rearing horse battling a dragon. The place looks like it could be the set for some sort of period-piece movie. I half expect a Jane Austen character to come swanning in wearing a ball gown.

The elders sit around the table, their expressions stoic. Lydia is at the head, her silver braid coiled like a crown, her eyes already locked on me. Luke sits beside her, his arms folded over a chest that’s more muscle than man. We may have faced a powerful enemy together just hours ago, but there’s no friendly familiarity now. I’m here to prove myself.

“So,” Luke’s voice booms. “The human thinks she’s one of us.”

Caleb’s grip tightens on my waist, his tone sharp. “Watch your tongue.”

Lydia raises a hand, her voice calm but commanding. “Enough. The Stone has spoken. Caleb has chosen. Show us your mark, girl.”

I shrug off my jacket and tug the neckline of my sweater away to reveal my neck; the mate mark glows faintly over my pulse. The mark mirrors Caleb’s own, a perfect match. Luke’s nostrils flare, but Lydia leans forward, her ancient eyes narrowing as she studies it.

“The mate mark,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Craven and Rossewyn. The circle is complete.”

I cross my arms, feigning nonchalance. “So, what—I get a membership card now?”

Lydia raises an eyebrow at my sarcasm, and I instantly regret it, but there’s no way in hell I’m taking it back.

She observes me for a moment as if considering this before she speaks. “The bond is forged. The Stone accepts her. But loyalty…” She slides a dagger across the table, its blade smoking faintly. “…must be earned.”

Caleb growls, an unmistakable threat in his voice. “Lydia—”

“It’s fine,” I interject, picking up the dagger. The hilt sears my palm, but I don’t flinch. “What’s the play? Blood oath? Trial by combat? Tea ceremony?”

Lydia almost smiles, a flicker of amusement in her cold eyes. “A simple question. Why do you fight?”

The room falls silent, all eyes on me. My mind races with a dozen answers— because I’m broke. Because Malakai took my mother. Because I’m sick of assholes thinking they own the damn world. But the Heartstone pulses in my pocket, and the truth spills out unbidden.

“Because someone has to burn the rot away.”

Lydia studies me, her expression unreadable. “Naive. But honest. Place your blood on the stone.”

I slice my palm, wincing as crimson drips onto the glowing crystal. The room floods with light, blinding and intense. Visions flicker in the smoke—Lyria battling Malakai’s ancestors. The Heartstone fracturing.

Fracturing!

I suck in a breath and snatch my hand away. “What the hell is that?” I rasp, my voice shaking.

“What?” Luke tilts his head.

“I saw… I saw…” I swallow hard.

“She has the gift of sight,” someone whispers.

“Tell us what you saw,” Lydia presses.

“It cracked,” I whisper as I picture it again. “A shard. A dark shard of the Heartstone. But it’s gone.”

Lydia’s face tightens. “The Lost Shard. A fragment split during the First War. Its location died with Lyria. For centuries, we hoped it was buried… or destroyed.”

Caleb steps closer, his voice steady but laced with concern. “But now?”

“We know Malakai’s attack wasn’t random. He sought her .” Lydia nods at me.

“When we faced him last night before he ran away, he said the Heartstone wasn’t the only source of power,” I recall.

“He’ll want the shard too.” Lydia nods thoughtfully.

“So, we find it first,” I say.

“We?” Dorian speaks up from the shadows. We all turn. He leans against the doorframe. There’s an indigo scarf knotted around his neck that’s at odds with the rest of his appearance. His eyes are hollow, haunted, but his jaw is set with determination. “Bold words for a rookie,” he says.

“Dorian…” Caleb warns, but his brother just shrugs. “If he’s hunting the shard, it’s already in play,” adds Caleb.

“Then I’ll find it,” says Dorian.

Lydia arches a brow. “Alone?”

“Watch me,” Dorian says, pushing off the wall. “I owe her that much.”

There’s no doubt in my mind of who he’s talking about, and my heart aches for him.

Lydia dips her head. “The Shard answers to Rossewyn blood. It will call to you, Elena. But Malakai’s spies will, too.” She shares a look between me, Caleb, and Dorian. “This task will rest upon the three of you.” She raises a hand when Dorian opens his mouth to object. “It’s too important for your ego to take hold here, Dorian.” Her smile softens her words. He gives a curt nod, though I’m sure the argument is far from over.

I try not to shift from foot to foot as I feel the eyes of the elders upon me. I’ve passed this test; I can feel that. But I know there will be more. I’ve survived the past twenty-four hours through sheer luck… and the love of a man who seems almost too good to be true.

“I’m not sure I know what to do with my power,” I admit quietly, because, for God’s sake, it needs to be said.

“You will learn.” Lydia smiles. “We will show you. And let’s face it; it’s in your genes.” She finally rises and reaches for my bleeding hand. I give it willingly. “Welcome to the clan, Rossewyn. Try not to burn it down.”

Caleb smirks, his voice dripping with pride. “Too late.”

***

Elena

Later, we stand on Craven Tower’s shattered roof, the city sprawling beneath us like a wounded beast. The Heartstone shard warms my palm, its pulse syncing with Caleb’s heartbeat. The building has weathered a firestorm, but we’re not afraid to be up here. Why would we be? We’ve faced far worse and come through it. Besides, my boyfriend’s a dragon.

“They accepted me,” I say, my voice carrying on the wind. “Kind of.”

“They’re terrified of you,” he corrects, nuzzling my hair. “Smart move.”

I lean into him, breathing in his familiar smoky scent. “This shard… You think Malakai has it?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Caleb murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. “We’ve got this one.” He pauses, his voice softening. “And I’ve got you.”

“Cheesy,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.

The wind shifts, carrying the faint scent of rain and ash. The Heartstone flares, casting our shadows across the skyline. A dragon, a witch, and a legacy too stubborn to die.

I squeeze Caleb’s hand, my resolve hardening. “Let them come.”

He laughs, and for once, it’s bright, unburdened. “Oh, they will.”