Page 112 of Forged in Fire

Viktor’s rugged face holds amusement as he watches the familiar argument play out. “Perhaps a compromise. Enhanced security that doesn’t require complete isolation.”

“See?” Elena gestures triumphantly. “Reasonable.”

“Fine,” Caleb concedes. “But I want remote sensors, magical wards, and at least three escape routes.”

“Of course you do.”

I laugh, settling deeper into Riven’s embrace. This is what normal looks like for us—strategic discussions disguised as domestic planning, security concerns wrapped in relationship negotiations. It shouldn’t work, but somehow it does.

“What about you two?” Vanya asks, moving to sit across from us with Hargen beside her. She looks different in casual clothes, platinum hair loose around her shoulders instead of pulled into its usual severe style. Feminine rather than militant. “Any thoughts about living arrangements?”

Heat creeps up my neck. “We haven’t really discussed—”

“The downtown safe house is available,” Viktor offers. “Fully warded, excellent security, close enough to headquarters for quick response times.”

“That’s very generous,” Riven says carefully, and I catch the undertone of a man who’s never been offered generosity without strings attached.

“It’s practical,” Viktor corrects. “You’re both valuable assets. We want you comfortable and secure.”

Assets. The word should bother me, but Viktor’s tone carries warmth that transcends military terminology. We’re not just resources to be managed—we’re people he wants to protect.

“Plus,” Hargen adds with a slight smile, “mate bonds require privacy. Trust me on this.”

More heat floods my cheeks. I feel Riven’s amusement at my embarrassment mixed with his own awkward awareness of being the center of attention.

“We’ll consider it,” I manage.

“Consider it quickly,” Elena advises. “Before Caleb gets it into his head to lock you up, too.”

“Elena,” Caleb warns.

“What? It’s true. Remember when you tried to go to that clan meeting without me? You made it to the parking garage before the separation anxiety kicked in.”

“That was a special circumstance—”

“You threw up in a planter.”

“It was a response to potential threats.”

“You threw up because I was more than fifty yards away.”

“For God’s sake, I did not throw up. How the hell did I pick a woman who’s so out of touch with reality?”

“Because I’m perfect for you.”

“I suppose there’s that,” he huffs.

Riven’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. I feel his relief that we’re not the only ones who struggle with the intensity of dragon pair bonding.

“The point is,” Elena continues, ignoring her mate’s mortification, “you’re going to want privacy. And probably soundproofed walls.”

“Elena!”

“What? I’m being helpful!”

The easy banter washes over me, carrying the kind of warmth I’ve only ever found in fantasy. People who care about each other enough to tease mercilessly. People who’ve seen each other at their worst and stayed anyway.

People who choose to be family.