Page 32 of Forged in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #5)
R iven
It’s mid-morning when I push through the reinforced doors to the Collective’s headquarters. The scent of gun oil and electronics hangs heavy—familiar territory. Different faction, same paranoia.
It’s been a hell of a morning already. It took forty minutes to get security to allow me clearance to enter the premises—even with my considerable powers of persuasion.
But that’s not the thing that’s bothered me most.
I had to leave Iris’s bed before dawn, her skin still warm against my ribs, to handle business with Veyra. Rebecca’s terrified face in the secluded park feels like a lifetime ago, though it was only hours. The name Malakai Steele burns in my head.
Tearing myself away from her was worth it, though. The Guild won’t be coming for Iris. I made sure of that.
Viktor’s people watch me as I pass. Dragon-touched means nothing here—I’m the assassin they supposedly left behind in Romania. The one who should be dead or captured, yet somehow walked out and reached Seattle in less than a day. Their suspicious looks follow me down the corridor.
Let them wonder. Some truths aren’t meant for sharing.
The war room sits deep in the facility’s gut, walls lined with displays and enough firepower to level a city block.
A tall, silver-haired man hunches over a table scattered with satellite photos and intelligence reports.
Viktor Parlance; I recognize him from reports I’ve read.
Beside him, the unmistakable Caleb Craven reviews what appears to be assault plans, his expression carved from granite.
Both men look up when I enter. Neither smiles.
“Riven Barlowe.” Viktor’s voice carries decades of command. “The Nightshade Guild’s most acclaimed assassin. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Really?” I say. “That’s disappointing. I’ve gone to great lengths to stay under the radar.”
“Information is a currency I’m skilled at trading in,” he says. “Not much escapes me.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” I change the subject, “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
“Not that you gave us much choice, but I’ll admit, I was curious.” He folds his arms across his chest. “You look remarkably healthy for a dead man.”
I settle into the chair across from them without invitation. “Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated.”
“How?” Caleb’s question cuts straight to the bone. “From what my mate said, you were basically done for. She was pretty sure you were captured.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. As you can see, I got away.”
Viktor’s good eye narrows, studying me with the intensity of a man who’s survived centuries by reading people correctly.
“You escaped a Guild facility?” There’s disbelief in his voice. “After torture?”
“They decided that dead operatives serve no purpose. Live ones, properly motivated, can still complete missions.” I shrug. “They released me with new orders. I chose not to follow them.”
“What kind of orders?” Caleb asks.
“Irrelevant. Point is, I’m here. And I have information about why Kieran was targeted in the first place.”
Viktor leans back, fingers steepled. “We’re listening.”
“Malakai Steele contracted the Guild for the elimination. Payment went through three weeks ago, full advance. Professional hit, no questions asked.” I pause, allowing the information to sink in.
Caleb’s expression darkens. “Malakai Steele?” he all but snarls.
“I’m guessing you know him.” The question is rhetorical. I know the men have history.
“I used to consider him a mentor, one of our clan elders,” he mutters. “Until he decided he didn’t like our politics and positioned himself as leader of the Circle of Fire.” His expression grows even darker… if that’s possible. “Took my mate and tried to tap into her power.”
I can’t imagine that won him Caleb’s approval.
“The Circle of Fire wants Kieran dead?” Viktor frowns. “That doesn’t align with their usual targets.”
“Do you have any idea of his motives?” asks Caleb.
“I don’t have access to that information,” I say. “The Guild doesn’t ask questions.”
“Then what’s your motive for bringing this to us?” Caleb’s eyes narrow on me.
“I figured you should know that this is a high-value target,” I say. “Not just another Syndicate prisoner.”
“So that we’d be more likely to risk an extraction?” says Caleb. “Like a certain redhead has been pushing for?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“As it turns out, we’d already determined this,” Viktor interjects. “We’re planning to get him out of there. It’s just a matter of when.”
“The sooner, the better,” I say firmly.
“Of course,” says Caleb, still eyeing me with suspicion.
Viktor stands, moving to study the displays.
Ancient maps overlay satellite imagery, showing cave systems and underground waterways.
“We’ve been surveilling the region since we pinpointed his location.
Not an easy rescue if he’s moving to the Sleeping King’s resting place.
The chamber would be hidden deep in the mountains.
Protected by four hundred years of magic and natural barriers. ”
“And guarded by whatever the Syndicate has stationed there,” Caleb adds.
“I’m aware of that,” I say. “But I’m convinced that this would be more than a rescue mission. The Syndicate has plans for him.”
“You’re right,” says Viktor, glancing at Caleb. “We’ve determined that the Asguard asset has power that they’re planning to use.”
“What kind of power?” I ask, though I’m beginning to develop a suspicion.
The door opens before anyone can respond. Footsteps in the corridor—two sets, one light and quick, the other measured and deliberate. I recognize the rhythm before I see her.
Iris.
Her presence fills the room before she even enters it. My senses tingle, alert to her movements.
She takes in the screens, the intelligence reports, the three of us gathered together.
Then she locks her eyes on me.
The temperature drops ten degrees. Not magic—just the weight of her displeasure hitting the air. Behind her, a younger woman stands, looking slightly apologetic.
“Gentlemen,” Iris says, voice honey over steel. “Having a strategy meeting?”
Viktor clears his throat. “Iris. We were gathering intelligence—”
“About my brother, I assume. Without me.” She steps into the room. “How thoughtful.”
I see the moment she clocks the scattered photos, the tactical assessments, the operational plans already taking shape on the display screens. Her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“Hello, Riven,” she says coolly, eyes fixed on mine. “I’m surprised to see you here… after you left so suddenly.”
The unspoken question hangs between us. How could I leave without a word after what we’d shared?
“I had business to attend to,” I say, aware of the curious looks from the others.
“At the crack of dawn?” Her voice is dangerously quiet.
“Yes,” I say, unaccustomed to having to answer to anyone other than Guild members. This is new territory for me.
“And then you came back… to meet with Viktor and Caleb. To have discussions about rescuing my own brother because…?”
The room holds its breath. Viktor and Caleb suddenly find their screens fascinating. Even Ember steps back, recognizing the minefield we’ve stumbled into.
“I wanted to have complete intelligence before involving you in planning,” I say, knowing it sounds like the excuse it is. “Wanted to present options instead of problems.”
“Options.” She moves closer to the table, studying the photos with professional assessment. “Like the option to plan an assault on a four-hundred-year-old chamber without consulting the person who knows Kieran best?”
“We weren’t planning anything,” Viktor interjects. “Just assessing—”
“Don’t.” Her attention swings to him like the barrel of a gun finding its target. “You were strategizing. Calculating acceptable losses. Determining whether my brother’s life is worth the risk to your people.”
She’s not wrong.
But she’s also not just talking about tactics.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I made a mistake.” This isn’t the time or the place to make excuses for my actions. Kieran Asguard means little to me aside from what he means to Iris. But I know she won’t be happy until she has her brother back.
Which means I will move heaven and earth to make that happen.
Her expression softens fractionally. Not forgiveness, but acknowledgment that I’m at least trying to be honest about my limitations.
“I’m sorry, Iris,” Viktor chips in. “I can assure you that you won’t be cut out of the loop.”
“Now… If we’re done with the bowing and scraping for forgiveness,” says Caleb, who’s completely unrepentant, “are you going to tell us why you’re here?”
“Ember has something to share with you,” Iris says. “About dreams she’s been having.”
“Dreams?” Viktor frowns.
“Prophetic dreams. Like the ones from before,” Iris says firmly, glancing at the younger woman beside her. “Dreams that have significant meaning. Especially considering Ember’s considerable powers.”
“Of course,” says Viktor. Caleb looks more dubious but doesn’t object. “Tell us about these dreams of yours, dear.”
Ember steps forward, clearing her throat. “Like I told everyone before, I’ve seen the chamber,” she says. “Where the Sleeping King rests.”
“Yes? What of it?” Viktor presses.
“Well, the dreams have been getting stronger. More detailed.”
“What kind of details?” Caleb asks, professional interest overriding interpersonal drama.
“I saw the chamber. Not just fragments—the whole structure. It’s not like anything I expected.” Ember moves to the table, hands hovering over the photographs. “The Sleeping King isn’t just a symbol. He’s… connected. To something vast.”
“Connected to what?” Viktor asks.
“Power. Ancient magic that’s been building for centuries, waiting for the right catalyst.” Ember’s eyes unfocus slightly, like she’s seeing something beyond the physical room. “The Syndicate thinks they can control it, channel it through Kieran’s abilities. But they’re wrong.”
“Wrong how?” I ask.