Page 1 of Forged in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #5)

I ris

The birthday celebration dissolves around us as guests filter away, leaving behind the remnants of normal life—scattered plates, deflated balloons, the lingering scent of vanilla frosting.

Families and friends are gathered together: Hargen’s protective arm around Vanya’s shoulders, Ember hovering near her parents like she’s still learning she’s allowed to. Even Mara and Luke have found some kind of rhythm; their interaction amiable despite the underlying tension.

And here I am. Standing apart. Always standing apart.

Except now they’re gravitating toward me, pulled by curiosity and alarm at what I’ve just revealed.

“Let’s move this conversation somewhere more private,” Viktor suggests, gesturing toward a smaller passage off the main hall. “Away from curious ears.”

We relocate to Viktor’s office—bookshelves line the walls, a massive conference table dominates one side, while a desk cluttered with maps and paperwork takes up the other.

A suitable workspace for the Aurora Collective’s leader.

I move toward the table where the others are gathering, phone still clutched in my hand.

“Show us the footage again,” Hargen says, settling beside Vanya on one of the chairs pulled up alongside the table.

I pull up the video, hating how unsteady my hands are as I pass the phone around.

Three years of searching, and this grainy security feed is the first real proof that Kieran might still be alive.

The figure in the footage moves with that familiar loose-limbed gait, shoulders slightly hunched, the way he always carried himself when he was thinking hard about something.

Same auburn hair, same build, same unconscious tilt of the head when he’s concentrating.

It’s him. I know it’s him.

“The timestamp says this was recorded yesterday,” Viktor notes, studying the screen analytically. “Where did you get this?”

“Anonymous contact,” I admit. “Someone who knows I’ve been looking for him.”

The admission feels like weakness, but there’s no point lying to these people. They’ve all risked their necks for each other enough times to recognize desperation when they see it.

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all,” Mara mutters from where she’s perched on the corner of the table, laptop balanced on her knees.

“Could be a trap,” Luke says, though his tone lacks judgment. Just assessment from someone who’s spent decades evaluating threats.

“Of course it could be a trap,” I snap, then catch myself. These people don’t deserve my anger. They’re offering to help when they could just as easily tell me to handle my own problems. “But it’s also the first tangible lead I’ve had in years. You think I’m not going to follow it?”

Everyone exchanges glances—the kind of looks that pass between people who’ve been in the supernatural war business long enough to know that hope and stupidity often wear the same face.

Ember looks up from where she’s been tracing patterns on the table’s surface, her expression troubled. “So, as I told you before, I’ve had dreams about this place…”

“Yes,” I say.

“Well, in my dreams, there’s always someone else there. Someone who doesn’t belong, but can’t leave.”

I snap a look at her. “What do you mean, can’t leave?”

“I don’t know exactly. It’s like they’re… stuck. Waiting for something, or someone.” She meets my eyes, and there’s an old soul quality to her stare that reminds me of why some witches make people nervous. “What if your brother isn’t there by choice?”

“I think that’s a given, don’t you?” Hargen says quietly. He doesn’t say it out loud, but we all know the subtext. That Kieran isn’t just missing—he’s being held. Used. The Syndicate has had three years to break him.

Three fucking years.

“He’s alive,” I say, more to convince myself than anyone else. “For now, I’m just grateful for that.”

But grateful doesn’t cover the sick twist in my stomach when I think about what years of Syndicate hospitality might have done to the brother who used to dare me to jump off garage roofs and sneak out to teenage parties.

“I’m going to get him,” I say, the decision taking shape. “I’m leaving tonight.”

“Because of ten seconds of video and a girl’s dream?” says Luke. Ember shifts awkwardly, staring down at her hands. She’s still not confident in her powers.

“The dreams of a witch,” I tell him. “To me, that’s enough. I’m going to find him.”

“Absolutely not,” Caleb says, his voice carrying the authority of someone used to making life-and-death decisions for an entire clan. “You want to rush off to an unknown location based on a psychic connection and a piece of surveillance footage that could easily be bait?”

The rational part of my brain knows he’s right. The part that’s been keeping me alive knows he’s right. But the sister part, the twin part that’s been hollow and aching since that night the Syndicate took him—that part doesn’t give a damn about rational.

“You didn’t hesitate when Elena was in danger,” I snap at Caleb. “You went charging off to save her without waiting for backup or strategy sessions.”

Caleb’s expression tightens, jaw muscle jumping. “That was different.”

“How?”

“Because Elena was in immediate danger. Your brother’s situation appears to be…” He pauses, choosing his words with the care of someone walking through a minefield. “Stable.”

“Stable?” The laugh that escapes me has sharp edges. “He’s been missing for three years. Three years of whatever they’ve done to him, and you think his situation is stable?”

“He’s walking around under his own power,” Elena says gently, ever the investigator trying to piece together facts from fragments. “No visible restraints, no signs of immediate distress. That suggests he’s not in immediate danger.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” I snort, not caring how bitter I sound. “I think we should go.”

Vanya leans forward, her maternal instincts clearly extending beyond just Ember. “It wouldn’t be safe for you, Iris. We need more information before anyone goes anywhere,” she says. “Like, where do we even start looking?”

“Most likely Eastern Europe, if history is accurate,” says Luke.

“Then that’s where I’m going,” I say firmly.

“Right. Just hop on a plane, land in a foreign country, and ask if anyone knows where the secret dragon organization is holding your brother.” Dorian’s tone is dry.

“It’s better than nothing!” I resist the urge to throw my hands in the air in frustration.

Nadia, who’s been standing at the outskirts of the group observing us, finally speaks up. “This chamber, this Sleeping King—if someone’s disturbing that kind of power, we’re talking about consequences none of us can predict. It’s not just about a rescue mission.”

“That’s true. The Sleeping King isn’t just a historical figure. According to the old stories, anyway. Kael Craven was the most powerful dragon of his generation,” Hargen adds, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s studied the histories. “If someone’s trying to wake him…”

“They’d need a damn good reason,” Caleb finishes grimly.

Mara’s head pops up from her laptop screen. “Wait, what do you mean, wake him? The guy’s been dead for centuries, right?”

“Yes.” Viktor waves a dismissive hand. “We mean metaphorically, of course.”

But I catch the look that passes between Caleb and Dorian, quick and loaded with meaning. They know something the rest of us don’t.

“But the dragon sleep—” Ember starts.

“Is a myth, my dear,” Viktor interrupts her smoothly. “Just like vampires having no reflections and being allergic to garlic.”

“Wait!” Mara’s eyes go wide with interest. “Vampires? Where are the vampires? Could I interview one?”

Luke looks like he’s developing a migraine. “We’re discussing dragon lore, Mara.”

Viktor continues as if the interruption never happened. “Legend has it that the last king’s legacy would live on beyond him, not just through his bloodline, but something darker. If someone has access to whatever has been locked in that chamber, it’s likely they could tap into it.”

“Like some sort of power?” Ember asks, leaning forward.

“The worst kind of power,” Caleb mutters. “The kind that ends dynasties.”

I stare at the phone screen, at that shadowy figure who I’m certain is my brother. Kieran, who pushed me toward the escape route when the Syndicate had us cornered. Who told me to run and not look back. Who I failed to save because I was too scared, too weak to stand and fight beside him.

The guilt sits in my chest like a rock I’ve been carrying for so long, it feels like it’s part of me.

“I’m going,” I say quietly. “If there’s even a chance he’s alive, I’m going to find him.”

“Then you won’t go alone,” Ember says immediately, that steel in her young voice that reminds me of her mother.

“Absolutely not,” Vanya protests, her composed mask slipping. “Ember, you just turned twenty-one. You have no field experience—”

“But I have the connection,” Ember interrupts, and there’s something in her tone that makes everyone stop talking. “You heard what I said about the dreams. If I can help find Iris’s brother, if I can make sense of what’s happening in that chamber—isn’t that worth the risk?”

“No!” Vanya and Hargen say in unison, loud enough that the word bounces off the office walls.

I don’t say anything because my mind is too busy spinning in circles, trying to process my next steps.

“Nobody’s going anywhere until we know exactly where these chambers are located,” Viktor declares firmly. “And when we do move, it’ll be with a carefully planned operation. Not some half-cocked rescue mission.”

“Agreed,” Caleb says, stepping forward. His presence shifts the energy in the room—suddenly, we’re not just talking about a rescue, we’re talking about war. “If this involves Kael Craven’s resting place, then the Craven clan needs to be involved. Our ancestors’ legacy, our responsibility.”

Luke straightens, already shifting into tactical mode. “How many people are we talking about? What kind of opposition should we expect?”