Page 16

LIV

S moke singes the back of my throat as I sprint uphill, chasing the ripple of a gunshot that never reached my ears—only my bones.

Kade’s voice punched through my pendant seconds ago— “Liv, down!” And the bead in its silver rim still pulses with a frantic heartbeat. The tree line looms above; somewhere beyond it a sniper just tried to carve my future in half.

But there’s no crack of impact, no bloom of pain.

Instead, a massive shape looms in the clearing—scaled, horned, terrifying.

A dragon. Its wings are half-furled, steam hissing off its cobalt hide as it lowers its head toward the ground.

I skid to a stop, heart slamming against my ribs, breath freezing in my chest.

I’ve read books. I've seen tattoos and illustrations. But nothing prepares me for the sheer size of real—the way the earth seems to still beneath it, the way its eyes find me with a terrifying intelligence. I stumble back a step, blood roaring in my ears, too stunned to scream.

Then flame erupts around the beast—brief, blinding—and when it fades, Kade kneels in its place, steam coiling from his bare shoulders.

At his feet lies a polymer bullet, flattened against a slab of quartz he must have yanked from the earth.

Not a stitch remains on him—his transformation must have incinerated everything he wore.

Steam rolls from his bare skin as he rises from a crouch, eyes glowing in the half-light, the raw power of his dragon form still echoing in the air around him.

I stare at him, still trembling, my body trying to reconcile what I just witnessed. "That was a dragon," I whisper. "I saw it. You were...”

Kade doesn't flinch. "You saw what you were meant to see."

My laugh is raw, disbelieving. "That's not an answer. That’s a creature from stories, not real life. Not...”

"It's real," he says softly. "I’m real."

The silence between us crackles with unsaid truths, charged and humming, like storm tension building before the first strike. My knees want to give. "I’m not dreaming? Not hallucinating from smoke inhalation or trauma?"

He steps closer, gently reaching out. "You’re not dreaming, Liv. You just saw what I really am. And I’d do it again if it meant keeping you breathing."

I swallow hard, eyes locked on his, trying to believe this new impossible world hasn’t completely broken the old one.

"The Blackstrike Unit?"

He nods. "Our secret..."

"Is safe with me," I say, forcing bravado past the throb of terror. “It missed me.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, gaze sweeping my body for blood. “Not funny.”

“No hole, no harm.” I try to grin, but a small tremor betrays me—the tiniest quake in my fingers that I hope he doesn’t see.

I glance at him—at all of him—and can’t stop the stunned words from escaping. “You’re naked.”

“Shifter hazard,” Kade says with a shrug, his voice rough but amused. “Clothes don’t make it through the fire.”

I blink, trying to process dragon physics and nudity in the same breath. “So that really happened. I didn’t hallucinate the wings, the fire...”

“Nope. All real. You just met the other half of me.”

I drag a hand through my hair, nerves buzzing. “Right. Of course. Dragon saves girl from sniper with a quartz shield. Just a normal day in the mountains.”

He jerks his chin toward the cave behind him. “There’s a go-bag stashed in the cave. Uniform, boots. I’ll be decent in sixty seconds.”

I nod and pivot away, heat creeping up my neck. “Fine. I’ll give you some privacy—though honestly, after the week I’ve had, there are worse things I could see.”

Behind me, I hear the soft scuff of his bare feet on stone, a quiet rhythm that tugs at something deep in my gut.

I keep my eyes fixed on the trees beyond the cave, determined to ignore the memory scorched behind my eyelids—Kade, naked and forged in fire, skin glowing with heat, a blade fresh from the forge.

Every muscle had gleamed in the light, each line of his body etched into my mind with the unmistakable certainty of something elemental and irreversible.

He reappears a moment later, dressed in black tactical gear, hair damp and eyes stormy. “Sniper was using thermal-invisible rounds. They’ll try again.”

“Then we move.” I tug the collar of my jacket, the pendant thudding against my chest, a warning bell in motion. “I’m not bait. But someone just tried to take me out, and I don’t believe in coincidences. Did they use this thing to mark me?”

Kade shakes his head. "No, they're human as far as we can tell. That pendant's keyed to dragon forge—heat-sensitive metal laced with sigils. They wouldn't even see it unless they were one of us or tuned into our kind of magic. It's cloaked to human tech, completely off their radar."

Well, that's a relief. I march past him, downhill toward the abandoned mine. He growls my name—half warning, half plea—but follows, collecting what’s left of his clothes. A minute later we duck into the shaft, oil-lamp glow licking damp rock.

The crate he indicates he hid earlier is gone—warded behind sigils that still shimmer faint gold. In the alcove, fresh chains lie across an anvil: metal the color of banked embers; links thicker than my thumb, patterns swirling like dragon scales.

“You forging manacles?” I demand. "Kinky."

“Restraints,” he corrects with a chuckle. “For those in the Ignis Syndicate, not you.”

“Looks like overkill… feels like overkill too—until a bullet nearly proved me wrong.”

Heat flares behind his eyes. He steps into my space, bare chest gleaming with sweat. “It kept you alive.”

“I'm not convinced it didn't make me a target.” My pulse hammers, anger and relief tangling. “You don't get to keep deciding for me.”

He braces a hand against the wall beside my head. It radiates the leftover warmth of his earlier fire; sparks still dance in dark seams. “You want the whole truth?” His voice drops to gravel. “Dragon truth?"

He draws a slow, tight breath, jaw clenched like he's fighting instinct. For a moment, I think he might back down.

“Give. Me. Something.” My voice shakes—hurt, craving, fury all welded together.

He exhales, the warm draft brushing over my skin like smoke from a banked fire, the scent of ember clinging to every syllable.

"I’m made to protect what’s mine," he says, voice rough with restraint.

His eyes burn into me, not with fire, but with the weight of something far older, far deeper.

"You’re mine, Liv Monroe. Pendant or not.

Chosen. And if I have to burn the world down to keep you safe, I will.

My kind only mates once, and I've been waiting centuries for you. "

Something inside me snaps—fear, maybe, or common sense. I shove him; he doesn’t budge. Instead he captures my wrists, guiding them above my head against the stone. Heat from his palms pours through me, igniting nerves. The forge’s coals glow brighter, painting shadows in molten strokes.

“I don’t need chains,” I whisper, eyes locked on his. “If I stay, it’s because I choose.”

“I wouldn't chain my mate,” he answers, voice low and rough. “What I would do is forge weapons to keep them breathing.”

Mates. The word detonates in my chest. I lift onto my toes and kiss him—fierce, claiming, tasting the grit of soot on his lips and the forge-heat that clings to his skin.

His mouth opens over mine, smoke and iron still hot on his breath, the kiss searing through the lingering fear until only the raw, defiant need between us remains.

He groans, mouth slanting across my lips as his tongue sweeps deep.

My back arches; stone scrapes my jacket; the air tastes of iron and cedar and a promise older than time.

His hands grip my hips, fingers sliding beneath my hem, thumbs brushing the tender skin just above the curve of my pelvis.

Each stroke sets my nerves ablaze, like fire drawn straight from the forge and traced along my spine.

My fingers tremble as his braid unspools in my hands, a silken fall of heat-damp hair.

He growls low, dragging his teeth along my lower lip before biting down—hard enough to mark, soft enough to make me moan.

My knees threaten collapse, the floor tilting under the weight of everything he’s awakening inside me.

“Kade... just so you know, I'm clean and on birth control.”

He chuckles. "Rest easy, my mate. Dragons are immune from illnesses, including STDs, and our seed will not find your womb hospitable until you are one with me."

"One with me?"

"Shh, Liv. I've got you."

He lifts me onto the edge of the anvil, my legs parting instinctively as the warm metal presses against the backs of my thighs.

We freeze—breath mingling, eyes locked—caught in the gravity between us before he begins to undress me with deliberate, reverent movements.

The air is thick with forge heat, and the scent of smoke clings to our skin like prophecy.

Cool air sweeps over my overheated skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

I gasp—a soft, involuntary sound—as my hips tilt toward his rock-hard erection, an unspoken invitation drawn from instinct and need.

He pauses, eyes simmering with molten gold, silently asking for permission.

I nod. The gesture is small, but it ignites desire where fear once lingered in the shadows of my mind.

The kiss that follows is pure exploration—our tongues moving with shared hunger, his hands mapping every inch of my body with firm, reverent pressure.

His calloused palm slides up my ribcage and closes around my breast, thumb circling and pinching my nipple until sensation blooms hot and sharp, pulling me perilously close to the edge.

My nails dig into his shoulders, anchoring me as the taste of sweat and smoke fuses on his tongue—a heady blend of heat, want, and surrender.

“Say you’re here,” he rasps against my throat, each word both plea and command, his breath searing the sensitive skin beneath my jaw.