Page 25 of Forged in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #5)

I ris

The monastery disappears behind us in a haze. I press my face to the helicopter’s window, watching muzzle flashes burst around the ancient walls. Somewhere in that madness, Riven is fighting for his life.

Because I trusted Elena to help me save him.

“You had no right to make that choice for me!” The words tear from my throat, raw with fury and desperation.

Elena doesn’t turn from the co-pilot’s seat, but her shoulders tense. “Iris—”

“No!” I slam my palm against the window. “You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies. You don’t get to drag me away while he’s down there bleeding out!”

Beside me, Luke keeps his eyes straight ahead, professional distance wrapped around him like armor. Smart man. This isn’t his fight.

“He told me to get you out,” Elena says, her voice carefully controlled. “His exact words were ‘Keep her safe.’”

The helicopter banks sharply, and I catch one last glimpse of the monastery. Smoke rises from the courtyard. Bodies scattered across ancient stones. And somewhere in that hell, the man who saved my life is probably dying.

“We’ll go back for him,” Elena says, finally turning to meet my eyes. “I promise you, Iris. We’ll go back.”

I stare at her, seeing the guilt written across her face. The knowledge that she might have just sentenced a good man to death. “Will we? Or will there be another committee meeting? Another strategic discussion about acceptable losses?”

The words hit their mark. Elena flinches, her pale eyes flickering with pain.

“He’s going to die because of me,” I whisper, sinking back into my seat. “Because I trusted you to help.”

The flight to Seattle stretches endlessly, each mile taking us further from the man I left behind.

My shadows shift restlessly within me, competing with the fire, responding to the fury and guilt churning in my chest. Through the headset, the pilot’s voice provides clinical updates—altitude, heading, estimated arrival time.

As if this is just another extraction. Another successful mission.

Successful. Right.

I’m so mad that I stay silent for the duration of the flight to the airport where the Craven jet is waiting. I’m still not speaking as we board and take off.

Elena tries to talk to me twice during the flight. I ignore her both times, focusing instead on the landscape rolling past below. Mountains give way to forests, forests to farmland, farmland to the sprawling suburbs that mark our approach to Seattle.

“Twenty minutes out,” Luke announces.

Elena keys her radio. “Viktor, we’re inbound. Iris is… she’s safe.”

Viktor responds, “And the other package?”

Elena hesitates. “Still at the monastery. We had to leave him.”

The silence that follows speaks volumes. And that suits me fine. I’m no longer fuming. Now I’m just numb. Grief, shock, an overwhelming sense of powerlessness.

The plane touches down at a private airstrip outside Seattle, and I watch through the window as a black SUV approaches across the tarmac. Aurora Collective. Of course they’re taking me straight to Viktor rather than letting me catch my breath.

“Iris.” Elena’s voice is careful as we prepare to disembark. “Viktor will want to debrief—”

“I don’t give a damn what Viktor wants.” I grab my phone and head for the exit. “But fine. Let’s get this over with.”

The drive to Aurora headquarters takes forty-five minutes through winding mountain roads that lead to what looks like an abandoned mining operation. It’s hard to believe I was here just days ago for Ember’s 21st. It feels like a lifetime.

The facility is far more sophisticated than it appears from the outside—hidden beneath rusted equipment and derelict structures is one of the most advanced supernatural operations centers on the West Coast.

Luke parks the SUV near the main entrance, and we’re immediately met by a team of Aurora operatives who escort us inside.

The contrast between the exterior and interior never fails to impress—gleaming corridors, state-of-the-art technology, the quiet efficiency of people who know their lives depend on getting things right.

We’re met by a dark-skinned woman with platinum hair and brilliant blue eyes. Definitely not human, though I can’t get a read on what she is.

“Viktor’s waiting in Conference Room Three,” she tells Elena.

“Thanks, Tabitha,” Elena replies. “Are you joining us?”

“I’m sitting this one out,” the woman responds. “Too…” she glances at me, “sensitive for my pay grade.”

Yeah. I’m sensitive, alright.

Conference Room Three sits at the heart of the facility, its reinforced walls lined with screens that can display intelligence from around the globe. Viktor stands with his back to us as we enter, studying a map of Eastern Europe. His features are grim in the bright office lighting.

“Iris.” He turns, assessing me with the kind of clinical detachment that makes my skin crawl. “You look tired.”

“Funny what happens when you have to abandon someone to save your own skin,” I reply, not bothering to hide the venom in my voice.

His expression doesn’t change. “Please, sit. We have much to discuss.”

I remain standing. “Do we? Because from where I’m sitting—or standing—it looks like you sent Elena on a retrieval mission and got exactly what you wanted.”

“What I wanted,” Viktor says carefully, “was to prevent a valuable asset from falling into the wrong hands.”

There it is. Valuable asset. Not person. Not ally. Asset.

“Let’s cut the shit, Viktor.” I cross my arms. “What do you really know about my brother? About what happened at that facility?”

Viktor exchanges a glance with Elena before responding. “When we analyzed the video footage you received, we discovered something unusual. The magical signature around Kieran wasn’t just Syndicate conditioning—it was something far older. Far rarer.”

My shadows stir restlessly around my feet. “What kind of signature?”

“Shadow magic. Not the kind some dragons can access, but something deeper. More primal.” Viktor moves to one of the screens, pulling up what looks like ancient text alongside magical analysis charts.

“The ability to manipulate shadows isn’t just about darkness, Iris.

In its purest form, it’s about accessing spaces between realities. Hidden realms.”

“And?”

“And according to our research, Kieran can do exactly that. Which makes him incredibly valuable to the Syndicate.” Viktor fixes his one good eye on me. “But here’s what’s interesting—our analysis of readings we’ve taken of your signature shows you have the same ability.”

The room seems to spin slightly. I grip the back of a chair to steady myself. “That’s impossible. I would know if I could—”

“Would you?” Viktor interrupts. “How many times have your shadows behaved in ways you couldn’t quite explain? Reached places they shouldn’t have been able to access? Connected with things beyond the physical realm?”

Too many times to count. But I’ve always assumed it was just advanced shadow manipulation, not something… more.

“What are you saying?” My voice comes out smaller than I intended.

“I’m saying that you and Kieran represent a bloodline we thought was extinct. Dragons who could access the shadow realm—if trained correctly. Who could walk between worlds… between the living and the dead.” Viktor leans forward. “And if the Syndicate has figured out how to weaponize that ability…”

He doesn’t need to finish. If they can use shadow dragons to access hidden realms, ancient powers, places that have been sealed away for good reason—the implications are staggering.

“So that’s why you want to keep me safe,” I say. “Not because you care about me, but because you can’t risk the Syndicate getting their hands on two shadow dragons.”

“The distinction is irrelevant,” Viktor replies. “What matters is—”

The conference room door slams open with enough force to rattle the walls. Caleb strides in, his eyes blazing with fury, and the temperature in the room seems to spike as his dragon nature presses against his human form.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He doesn’t even glance at Viktor or me. His attention is laser-focused on Elena. “Unauthorized mission? Foreign territory? Without backup?”

Elena straightens, meeting his fury with defiance. “Iris needed help. I knew you’d freak out if I told you I was going. But I wasn’t going to leave her there.”

“So instead you risked your own life—and Luke’s—on some half-assed rescue operation?” Caleb’s voice rises. “Do you have any idea what could have happened? What nearly did happen?”

“Nothing nearly happened,” she bites back. “We’re back safe.”

“Really? Because that’s not what I heard.” He’s radiating anger. Luke looks distinctly uncomfortable.

“I can take care of myself, Caleb,” Elena stands firm. “I’m a Rossewyn, remember?”

“You’re also my mate, goddammit!” he snaps. “How am I supposed to protect you if you don’t do as I tell you?”

“Do as you tell me?” she scoffs, setting her hand on her hip and waving a finger at him.

“First off, buddy, you don’t get to tell me what to do!

And secondly, I can damn well take care of myself!

” She jabs him in the chest. He looks down at it and, for a moment, I don’t know if he wants to shake her or kiss her.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I step between them, my patience finally snapping. “Are we seriously doing this right now? Having a lovers’ quarrel while Riven is bleeding out in some Romanian monastery?”

Both of them turn to stare at me, but I’m not done.

“You want to fight? Fine. Fight about something that matters. Like the fact that we left a man behind to save my ungrateful ass. Fight about the fact that my brother is apparently some kind of magical weapon to raise the dead, and instead of rescuing him, we’re sitting here having committee meetings. ”

Viktor tries to regain control. “If we could return to the matter at hand—”

“No!” Caleb rounds on him. “The matter at hand is that my mate could have been killed because no one thought to inform me of this operation!”

“It was time-sensitive,” Elena shoots back. “By the time we went through proper channels, Iris could have been dead or captured!”

“And now we have an international incident on our hands!”

“Enough!” My shadows explode outward, darkness filling every corner of the room. The arguing stops as everyone turns to stare at me. “This is exactly why I work alone. This is exactly why I can’t stand working with organizations.”

Viktor steps forward carefully. “Iris, we understand you’re frustrated, but if you’d just listen—”

“Listen to what? More half-truths? More strategic discussions about my life while the people I care about suffer?” I back toward the door, my shadows swirling around me like a living storm.

“I trusted you people to help me save Kieran. I trusted Elena to help me save Riven. And what do I have to show for it? One brother still missing, one good man probably dead, and a room full of politicians arguing about jurisdiction.”

“That’s not fair,” Elena says, hurt flashing in her gray eyes.

“Isn’t it?” I reach the doorway and turn back to face them all. “You want to know what I think? I think you’re all so caught up in your grand strategies and ancient bloodlines and fucking magic theories that you’ve forgotten we’re talking about actual people with actual lives.”

“Iris, wait—” Viktor starts.

“No. I’m done waiting. I’m done with committees and protocols and being treated like a chess piece.” My voice drops to something deadly calm. “Find me when you have real answers. Not theories. Not political maneuvering. Answers.”

I turn and walk out, leaving them to their arguments and their strategies and their grand plans that always seem to involve everyone except the people who actually need saving.

Behind me, I hear Caleb’s voice rise again: “This is what happens when we act without proper coordination—”

I don’t stay to hear the rest. I’ve heard enough.