Page 19 of Forged in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #5)

“Enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”

The finality in his voice makes it clear the topic is closed. But the knowledge sits between us now like a wall I’m not sure I can climb over. He kills people for money. Takes contracts from anonymous clients and eliminates their problems without question.

“So who decides who gets to live or die?” I ask bluntly. Because how else do you address such things?

“The Guild I work for takes on contracts,” he says. “We never know who the clients are. Anonymous payments, encrypted communications. It’s designed to prevent personal complications.”

“Personal complications?”

“Like this.” He gestures between us. “Like caring about the target.”

The casual way he says it makes my breath catch. “And you don’t? Care, I mean?”

Something flickers across his face—too quick to identify. “I used to think that caring would make me less effective.”

“Used to?”

“Things change.”

The admission hangs in the air between us, raw and honest. I’m tempted to press for more, but I’m not sure how.

“Your turn,” he says, breaking the moment before it can become too heavy. “How did you get mixed up in this?”

I take a breath, trying to figure out where to start. “Three years ago, the Syndicate raided our community. They took my brother, along with several others. I’ve been hunting for him ever since.”

“And you tracked him to that compound?”

“Intelligence suggested Kieran was being held there. I went in to save him.” The memory of those final moments—Kieran’s impersonal voice, the way he’d looked at me like a stranger—makes my chest tight. “Obviously, that didn’t go according to plan.”

“You went in alone?”

“I work better alone.”

“Clearly.”

The dry comment makes me bristle. “I would have succeeded if—”

“If your brother hadn’t been compromised,” he says. “If he hadn’t led you into a trap.”

Put like that, it sounds suicidal. Which, honestly, it probably was.

“Why?” Riven asks quietly. “Why risk everything for one person?”

“Because he’s my brother.” The words come out fierce. “Because I don’t abandon the people I love.”

“Even when they abandon you?”

The question sucks the air from my lungs. For a moment, I can’t breathe around the pain of it.

“He didn’t abandon me,” I say finally, choked. “He was conditioned. Programmed. Whatever they did to him, that wasn’t choice.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’ll deal with it when we find him,” I say. “But I won’t give up on him.”

Riven nods slowly, like he understands something about loyalty and impossible choices. “Fair enough.” He takes in a breath and then opens his mouth, as if to say something. Then closes it again.

“What?” I ask, expecting him to say something about how stupid I am.

“Why did you let me fly with you?” he asks. “What made you change your mind when we left the mountains? After I got you to the cabin, I was pretty sure that…”

“That I hated you?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Who says I don’t?”

“Do you?” He tilts his head, the light catching the startling silver blue of his eyes. From this angle, the thick column of his throat is exposed, and I have a startling urge to press my lips to the pulse there.

Because I’m insane.

“We’ll see,” I say, finding myself fighting down a smile. There’s something oddly charming about this man. Which is insane, considering the circumstances of our meeting.

“So why did you change your mind?” he repeats. “Why did you choose to stay with me?”

“You saved my life.” I tilt my head. “Three times.”

“Three times?” He frowns.

“You protected me from those guards in the compound,” I say. “Then you got me out of the line of that first shot in the cabin.” I meet his eyes. “And then this.” I glance down at his arm. “That bullet was meant for me.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because it does.” I raise my chin. “I settle my debts. By my count, I owe you two more.”

“That’s not how this works,” he says.

“Isn’t it?” I ask.

“I don’t save people to put them in my debt.”

“Then why do you?”

He pauses. “I don’t save people at all.” It sounds like it causes him pain to say it.

“Except me.”

“Except you.”

I’m not sure what to make of that, so I change the subject. “Let’s figure out what to do next.”

His lip twists. “To be honest, this is something I never planned for.”

“No kidding.” I roll my eyes. “But I have people who could help.” I think of Caleb and the others. They’re probably pissed at me, but they’ll still do right by me. “Unless you have a better idea?”

“Not anymore.” The admission carries weight I’m not sure I understand. Like he’s cut more ties than just his professional obligations. “But this place is as good as any to lie low a while. Until we can plan the next step.”

My stomach chooses that moment to growl loud enough to wake the dead, cutting through whatever heavy moment we’d been building toward.

Riven’s mouth quirks upward. “Seems like our next step is food.”

“Is it safe?” I glance toward the window, half-expecting to see black SUVs rolling down the cobblestone street. “To go out, I mean.”

“For now, yes. There’s a place nearby. Small, local. The kind where strangers stick out, which means so would anyone hunting us.” He stands, testing his injured arm with a careful roll of his shoulder. “We need to eat.”

Fair point. I watch him move to the small bag of supplies, pulling out a clean shirt and jeans that somehow manage to fit his lean frame perfectly. The man really does think of everything.

“Your clothes are still relatively clean,” he observes, not looking at me as he changes. “But there’s a spare shirt if you need it.”

I check my reflection in the small mirror above the washbasin.

My hair’s a disaster, and there’s dirt smudged across my cheek, but the dark clothing has held up better than expected.

A quick wash with cold water and soap helps, though I still look like I’ve been running through forests and dodging bullets.

Which, technically, I have.

Ten minutes later, we’re walking down a narrow side street that barely fits two people abreast. The morning sun filters through laundry lines strung between buildings, making the whole scene feel dreamlike.

Riven moves beside me with that same careful awareness I noticed earlier, but there’s something different now. More connected, maybe. Like the act of tending his wound and sharing pieces of our histories has shifted something between us.

The cafe he leads me to sits tucked into the ground floor of a building that looks like it’s been chiseled from ancient stone. Wooden tables worn smooth by countless conversations, windows that let in just enough light to read by.

“Order whatever you want,” Riven says, settling into a corner table where he can watch both the door and the street. “My treat.”

I find myself chuckling. “Is this a date, Riven?”

“If it is, it’ll be one for the books.” He’s totally unfazed by my teasing.

I scan the menu, written in Romanian with English translations underneath. My stomach growls again at the thought of actual food instead of protein bars and whatever I could grab on the run.

But as I sit across from this enigmatic man—assassin, protector, puzzle I can’t quite solve—a dangerous thought creeps in.

What if I let my guard down? What if, just for an hour, I pretend we’re exactly what we look like—two people sharing breakfast in a charming cafe, instead of fugitives planning our next move?

What if I let myself trust him completely?