Page 20 of Forged in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #5)

R iven

The café smells like strong coffee and fresh pastries. I settle into the wooden chair across from Iris, back to the wall, eyes automatically checking the exits. Her hair is pure fire in the morning light streaming through diamond-paned windows, and something low in my gut tightens in response.

Domestic. That’s the word for this moment. Like we’re two regular people grabbing a meal instead of a Guild assassin and a shadow-wielding dragon sharing intelligence over coffee.

I don’t do domestic.

“What do you suppose pl?cint? is?” Iris murmurs, studying the handwritten menu. Her fingers trace the edges of the paper, and I find myself watching those movements instead of scanning for threats like I should be.

“Pastry,” I tell her, still distracted.

“And papana?i ?” She tilts her head.

“Dessert. With cream and fruit preserve.”

“Sounds rich.”

“It is. And sweet as hell.”

“You know a lot about Romanian food.” She grins.

I shrug. “I make it my business to understand the places I work in.”

“Makes sense.” She goes back to studying the menu.

And I go back to watching her.

She’s beautiful in daylight. Not the sharp, dangerous beauty I saw before, but something softer. More real. The freckles across her nose, the way she catches her lower lip between her teeth when she’s thinking. Details that make my chest do things I’m not equipped to handle.

“You’re staring,” she says without looking up.

My throat goes dry. Christ. When did I become a fucking teenager?

“Just thinking.” I signal the waitress—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes who approaches without the wariness most people show around me. Another first. Then again, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and sitting across from a beautiful woman, I guess I look less like a killer and more like a… man.

“About?” Iris sets down the menu, meeting my gaze.

“How normal this feels.” It slips out before I can stop it.

Her smile changes her entire face, and something in my chest responds like she’s just lit a fuse. “Is that bad?”

“I don’t know.” Truth again. What the hell is wrong with me? “I’ve never been normal.”

The waitress arrives, pad in hand. Iris orders eggs with fresh bread and coffee black. I stick with coffee and pick the papana?i , earning a look that suggests she finds my sweet tooth surprising.

“Never been normal, how?” she asks once we’re alone again.

I lean back, studying her. The smart thing would be to deflect. Change the subject. Keep the walls intact. Instead, I hear myself saying, “I’ve been with the Guild since I was nine.”

“Since you were nine?”

“They found me after my abilities manifested. Trained me. Shaped me into what they needed.” The coffee arrives, bitter and strong enough to wake the dead. Perfect.

“What did they need?”

“Someone who could take orders without question.” There’s no ego in the words. I’m no action hero. I’m a weapon with legs.

“Sounds… hard. Your childhood, I mean.”

“Guess it was.” I frown. “I grew up different.” I think about that for a moment, consider the life I probably missed. No teenage exploration. No young man’s adventures. No time for anything that didn’t involve weapons or strategy or learning new ways to end lives efficiently.

Her expression doesn’t change. No judgment. No pity. Just attention.

“What about relationships?” she asks quietly.

The question surprises me. I think about the women over the years—brief encounters that served physical needs and nothing more. Bodies in darkness, names I never learned or forgot immediately after. Connections that lasted hours at most, leaving me emptier than before.

“Quick flings. Nothing more.” I meet her eyes, feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with weapons or weakness. “I’ve never been on an actual date.”

That gets a reaction. Her eyebrows lift slightly, surprise flitting across her features. “Never?”

“What would be the point? The Guild doesn’t accommodate emotional attachments. Caring about someone makes you vulnerable. Distracted. Weak.”

“Do you believe that?”

For a moment, I don’t have an answer. Do I? I’ve worked this way for decades, but sitting here with Iris, feeling this strange lightness in my chest, I’m not so sure anymore.

“I used to.” My voice comes out rough. I frown down into my coffee cup as if I’ll find answers there.

She reaches across the table, fingers brushing mine. The contact sends fire up my arm, and I don’t pull away. Should, but don’t. Her skin is warm, soft, and I want to turn my hand over and thread our fingers together like this is something I have a right to.

“Tell me about your brother,” I say, needing to shift focus before I do something stupid. Like, admit how much I want to keep touching her.

The change in her expression is immediate. Love, fierce and absolute, transforms her features. Pain, too, shadowing the edges of her smile.

“Kieran.” Her lips curl up at the corners. “He’s my twin. Three minutes older and never lets me forget it.” Her voice warms with memory. “Smart as hell, stubborn as a rock, and the best person I’ve ever known.”

The way she talks about him—animated gestures, voice warming with affection—makes me envious. I’ve never loved anyone like that. Never felt that bone-deep connection to another human being.

“He was always protecting things,” she continues. “Injured birds, stray cats, kids getting bullied at school. Said someone had to stand up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves.”

“Sounds like you learned from him.”

“We learned from each other.” Her lips press together.

“Our folks passed when we were teenagers. My father died in a clan skirmish. And Mom…” She swallows.

“The mate bond was too strong. When it broke, she faded. One day, she was just… gone. After that, our aunt took us in, but really, it was us against the world.”

“I’m sorry,” I say simply.

“Shit happens.” She shrugs. “But we had each other, and that helped.” Her voice drops. “But now that the Syndicate has him, I’m not sure what he’s become.”

The pain in her words is raw, immediate. I once knew that kind of loss—the hollow ache of someone important being ripped away. But it’s been so long since I felt it for a person. Now, there’s only the illusion of purpose that’s sustained me for so long.

“You love him.” Not a question.

“More than my own life.” The words come out fierce, absolute. “I’d do anything to save him. Face the Guild, the Syndicate, the entire supernatural world if necessary.”

“Even if it’s certain death?”

Fire flashes in her eyes. “He’s my twin.”

Like that explains everything. Maybe it does. I’ve never had that—unconditional love that transcends logic or self-preservation. The Guild taught me to value mission success above personal cost, but this… this is different. Bigger.

“What about you? Do you have family? Parents?”

I shrug. “Stopped hearing from them years ago.” I know there would once have been pain in that statement, but it’s gone now. Dulled by time and distance. “After the Guild took me, we lost contact.”

Her brows pull together. “Why did they let you go? What parent would want that kind of life for their child?”

I shrug again. “The Guild pays handsomely for a child with skills. Guess they needed the money more than they needed me.”

She puts her cup down so hard it clatters. “They sold you?”

“I like to think of it more as an apprenticeship.”

“They took money for their own boy.” She’s shaking her head. “That’s fucked up in so many ways.”

“It’s done,” I say. “No sense getting worked up about it now.”

She takes in a deep breath as if considering this. “You’re so… pragmatic.”

“Is that a problem?” I drink my coffee.

“No.” She’s frowning. I’m not really sure what she needs to hear from me, so I say nothing.

Our food arrives, breaking the tension. Iris digs into her eggs while I discover that papana?i taste better than anything I’ve eaten in years. Not the food’s fault that I usually can’t taste much—my stomach’s too knotted with mission stress to process anything.

Today, everything tastes like… possibility.

“You think these people you know can actually help?” I ask as we finish our meal.

“I have to believe they can.” She sets down her fork, meeting my eyes as she pushes her empty plate away. “Because the alternative is giving up, and I won’t do that.”

“Tell me about them.”

She glances around the café, noting the other patrons, the way sound carries in the small space. Smart woman.

“Not here,” she says quietly.

I nod, signaling for the check. The waitress brings it over, and I drop enough lei on the table to cover the meal and a generous tip. Old assassin trick: never leave a trail of bad impressions.

Outside, Ra?nov’s morning energy wraps around us.

The old district bustles with tourists and locals.

Perfect cover for two people who need to blend in.

I position myself slightly behind Iris’s left shoulder as we walk.

Close enough to move if someone threatens her, far enough to give us both room to fight if necessary.

The cobblestones are uneven beneath our feet, worn smooth by centuries of use. Ancient buildings tower around us, their facades bright against the morning sky. Iris moves with casual ease, her body unconsciously swaying with a rhythm that makes my mouth go dry.

God, she’s got a great ass.

Quit it, idiot.

“These people,” I say quietly, matching her pace and keeping my eyes above chin level. “How do you know them?”

“The Cravens are family. The twins are distant cousins of ours.” Her voice stays low, meant only for my ears.

“The twins?”

“Dorian and Caleb Craven of the Craven Clan,” she says. Her voice carries respect, maybe a little awe. “Ancient bloodline, massive resources, and they’re not afraid to fight when necessary.”

“I’ve heard of them.” I nod. “Interesting that they’re twins too.”

She gives a shrug. “Common in our bloodlines. Often, we’re polar opposites, two halves of one whole. Dark and light.”

“Which one are you?” I glance at her.

“I used to think I was the dark one,” she muses. “Now… I’m not so sure.” She navigates around a cluster of tourists, her shoulder brushing mine in the process. The brief contact sends heat through my entire body.

“So these Cravens will be reliable?” I ask.

“I’m sure they will. But I can also reach out to the Collective, if all else fails.”

“The Aurora Collective.” I feel my jaw tighten. “I’ve heard of them, too.”

“Good things, right?” Her expression is so earnest that I can’t bring myself to burst her bubble with my cynicism.

“Sure,” I say, though I can tell she sees I’m not convinced.

“They’re different from other dragon organizations,” she says quickly. “No clan hierarchies, no territorial bullshit. Just people trying to make the world better for supernatural entities.”

I process this information through the filter of Guild training. Idealists usually mean well, but they also usually get themselves killed.

“Supernatural entities.” I try not to scoff. “Like a club for outcasts.”

“I know how it sounds.” She glances at me, gauging my reaction. “But I’ve seen stranger things. Haven’t you?”

Fair point. I’ve killed enough supernatural creatures to know the world is bigger and weirder than most people imagine.

We turn down a narrow alley, the sounds of the main street fading behind us. Here, the morning shadows are deeper, the air cooler. More intimate. I’m hyperaware of her presence beside me.

“What makes you trust them?” I ask.

“Because when someone needs help, they show up.” Her conviction is absolute. “No questions about bloodlines or clan politics or what you can offer in return. They just help.”

The concept is so foreign to my experience that I almost can’t process it. In my world, everything has a price. Every favor comes with strings attached. The idea of help without expectation…

“You don’t believe me,” she says, reading my expression.

“I want to.” The admission surprises us both. “But in my experience, everyone has an agenda.”

“Even me?”

I look at her. The earnest hope in her eyes, the way she’s letting me see her vulnerability despite knowing what I am. What I’ve done.

“I don’t know what your agenda is,” I say finally. “But I don’t think it involves getting me killed.”

Her smile is soft, dangerous in a completely different way than anything I’m trained to handle. “My agenda is saving my brother. Everything else is just… figuring it out as we go.”

We reach the guesthouse, and I automatically scan the street before following her inside. No sign that we’ve been compromised. But as we climb the stairs to our room, I’m thinking less about potential threats and more about the woman in front of me.

And that’s probably a mistake.

Iris turns to face me as soon as we walk into our room. “I’m not sure how to reach out to them. I’m pretty sure my phone would be traced. I’ve had it powered down since before I got to the compound.”

“We’ll use my burner; it’s clean,” I say, reaching for the device.

I know this carries implications. Anyone monitoring Craven lines will be able to trace this back to us.

I’ll just have to pray they’ve kept security tight from their end.

Though from what I’ve heard of the Cravens, that’s probably likely.

Still, I’ve never been comfortable putting my safety in others’ hands.

When I don’t immediately hand the phone over, Iris narrows her eyes on me.

“Is there a problem?”

“I’m thinking about letting you make a call that could save us,” I admit. “Or get us both killed.”

She moves closer, stopping just out of arm’s reach.

“Riven.” My name on her lips does things to me that have nothing to do with strategy or survival. “I know what this means.”

Do you? I want to ask. Do you know that I’ve never trusted another human being with anything that mattered? Do you know that giving you this phone goes against every principle the Guild drilled into me?

Do you know that I’m about to put my life in your hands, and for the first time in my adult life, that doesn’t terrify me?

“Take it,” I say instead, holding out the device.

She stares at the phone like it might bite her. “Are you sure?”

No. I’m not sure of anything anymore. But I’m tired of being alone. Tired of operating in isolation, making decisions based on nothing but cold calculation and distant orders.

For once in my life, I want to choose connection over safety.

I want to choose her.

“Make the call,” I tell her, and place the phone in her palm.

Her fingers close around it, and around mine. The contact burns through me, and I wonder if this is what normal people call trust.

Or if it’s something else entirely.