Page 35 of Forged in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #5)

R iven

This feels like deja vu… except it’s different. I’ve infiltrated fortresses before—Guild training made sure of that. But decades of perfect mission records, and now I can’t stop checking her six instead of watching my own.

Iris moves beside me through the cave system Ember mapped for us, her shadow abilities making her damn near invisible even to my enhanced senses.

We’ve been descending for two hours, following natural passages that wind deeper into the mountain’s heart, away from the Syndicate compound where Viktor, Caleb, Dorian, and Luke are preparing their diversionary assault.

The air grows thicker with each step, heavy with old magic and something else—something that makes the dragon blood in my veins sing with warning.

The plan was simple: while the others hit the northern perimeter with enough firepower to draw Syndicate attention, Iris and I slip through the underground cave systems. Tight team, just the two of us, equipped with the specialized gear Viktor managed to put together in forty-eight hours.

“Movement ahead,” I whisper, raising my fist to signal a stop.

She freezes instantly, melting back against the cave wall until she’s little more than a darker patch among the shadows. Good instincts. Better execution. But instead of scanning the passage ahead like I should be, I find myself watching the way darkness bends around her, protecting her.

Dammit! Pay attention, Barlowe.

I edge forward, thermal perception cutting through stone and shadow to reveal three heat signatures clustered around what must be a checkpoint. Syndicate security, positioned exactly where they should be to guard the approach to the Sleeping King’s chamber.

I slip back to where Iris waits, the copper in her eyes catching what little light filters down from above.

“Three guards,” I mouth. “Standard positioning.”

She nods, understanding immediately. We’ve done this dance before—in the monastery under fire, in the safe house when Guild operatives found us.

But this feels different. Sharper. Like every choice we make here determines whether we walk out alive or become another cautionary tale about attachment making you stupid.

The first guard goes down clean—precision strike to the carotid, unconscious before he hits the floor. The second takes longer. He turns at the wrong moment, sees me coming, reaches for his weapon. I have him neutralized in three moves, but the extra seconds cost us.

The third guard triggers his comm device before I take him out.

“Shit,” Iris breathes, shadows coiling around her. “How long do we have before his reinforcements arrive?”

“Five minutes. Maybe less.” I’m already moving, checking the guards’ equipment, memorizing the passage layout. “We need to move deeper. Fast.”

We run.

The cave system branches and splits, passages diving deeper into the mountain’s belly.

I should be calculating angles, marking potential ambush points, maintaining situational awareness like Guild training hammered into my bones.

Instead, every few seconds, I catch myself glancing sideways to make sure she’s keeping pace, make sure she’s not falling behind.

She’s not. If anything, she moves through this underground maze like she was born to it, shadow-walking through the worst of the terrain while I navigate the hard way.

“There.” She points to a narrow opening I would have missed. “Natural chimney. Leads down toward the main chamber complex.”

“You sure?”

“Trust me.”

The words make me pause. Trust. Such a simple concept, but I’ve spent decades believing it was a luxury I couldn’t afford. People who trust get betrayed. Get used. Get dead.

But watching her slip through that opening, confident and competent and absolutely certain I’ll follow, something shifts in my chest. Maybe trust isn’t the worst thing in the world. An asset, not a liability.

The chimney drops us into a wider passage carved from living rock. Ancient work, older than the monasteries above, older than most of the supernatural settlements I’ve seen. Dragon work, from the look of it—walls that curve like they were shaped by massive claws rather than tools.

“This is it,” Iris whispers. “The outer approaches to the dragon king’s chamber.”

The air here thrums with power, making my teeth ache and my dragon heritage prickle under my skin. Whatever the first dragon king became when he left this earthly realm, the resonance of it still echoes through these stones.

More heat signatures ahead. Too many to handle quietly.

I motion for Iris to hold position while I assess, but she’s already moving, shadows flowing around her like armor. She reaches the edge of the passage before I can stop her, peering around the corner at what lies beyond.

“Iris.” My voice comes out too sharp.

She looks back, eyebrows raised at my tone.

“Let me scout first,” I say, hating how the words sound. Overprotective. Controlling. Like I think she can’t handle herself.

Of course she can fucking handle herself.

“I’ve got better concealment,” she points out reasonably. “And I’m faster.”

She’s right. Tactically, it makes perfect sense for her to take point. But every instinct screams against letting her walk into danger while I hang back.

“Riven.” Her voice drops to something softer. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong?

Everything, dammit.

She’s not a liability—I am. This attachment is making me sloppy, second-guessing decisions based on emotions instead of logic. Getting us both killed because I can’t separate professional judgment from whatever this thing is between us.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I lie.

Her eyes narrow, seeing right through me. “Try again.”

The distant sound of boots on stone echoes through the passage. Our five minutes are up.

“Move,” I say instead of answering.

We flow deeper into the mountain, but the dynamic between us has shifted. I can feel her watching me the way I’ve been watching her—assessing, worried, distracted by concern instead of focused on survival.

The next security checkpoint proves it.

Four guards this time, positioned at the junction where our passage meets the main approach to the chamber complex. I signal the plan with quick hand gestures—she takes the two on the left, I handle the right side; a synchronized strike to minimize noise.

Simple. Clean. Except when she moves to engage, I step sideways to cover her approach instead of moving to my assigned position.

The guard I should have been handling spots the movement.

“Contact!” he shouts before my blade finds his throat.

Alarms start blaring. Emergency lighting floods the passages with harsh white glare that murders our concealment advantage. In seconds, this place will be crawling with Syndicate operatives who know exactly where we are.

“What the hell was that?” Iris demands.

“I—” The explanation dies in my throat. How do I tell her I couldn’t stand to watch her take risks?

And now, I’ve practically thrown her in danger.

“You moved out of position,” she continues, anger heating her voice. “You were supposed to handle the right flank.”

“I saw an opening—”

“Bullshit.” She steps closer, and I can see fire beginning to dance in her eyes. Literally. Dragon heritage responding to emotion. “You were trying to protect me instead of trusting the plan.”

More voices echo from the passage behind us. Multiple teams converging on our position.

My earpiece crackles: “Riven, we’re seeing movement shifting back toward the interior,” Luke’s voice, tight with concern. “Looks like some of their forces are disengaging from us. I’m going to try something else.”

Shit. The diversion drew them away initially, but now they’re realizing the real threat isn’t coming from above.

“We don’t have time for this,” I say.

“No, we don’t. But we’re going to have time to be dead if you keep trying to fight my battles for me.” Her voice drops to something deadly. “We’re supposed to be partners, Riven.”

Partners. Right. I’ve never had to worry about anyone else surviving the mission before.

“We are,” I say feebly, because I haven’t done much to prove it.

“Then don’t worry about me,” she says, reading my expression. “Trust me.”

Trust her. Let her take the risks that come with the job, the same risks I’ve been taking my entire adult life. Easy concept. Impossible execution when the thought of her getting hurt makes something raw and protective roar to life in my chest.

But we’re out of time and options. The sound of approaching footsteps grows louder.

“There.” I point to a narrow opening that leads deeper into the complex. “Emergency route. Should take us around the main security perimeter.”

She’s already moving, but pauses at the entrance to look back at me.

“Ready?” she asks.

This time, when I nod, I mean it.

The emergency passage winds through the mountain like the spine of some massive creature, carved from living stone by whatever power shaped this place. Natural phosphorescence provides dim illumination, just enough to navigate without giving away our position.

My earpiece crackles with Viktor’s voice: “Northern perimeter engaged. Syndicate forces responding as expected. You should have a clear approach to the chamber complex.”

“Copy that,” I whisper back, then switch to local comm. “Caleb, status?”

“Heavy resistance up here,” comes Caleb’s clipped response, punctuated by what sounds like controlled explosions in the background. “They’re pulling everything from the interior to deal with us. Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast.”

“Luke’s new diversions are working,” Viktor adds. “Their defenses are focused on our position. Chamber approaches should be lighter than anticipated.”

Perfect. The distraction is doing exactly what we hoped—drawing the Syndicate’s attention and resources away from the ancient passages that lead to Kieran.

Iris takes point, shadows extending ahead of her like creeping fingers, mapping dangers I can’t see. I follow at an appropriate distance—close enough to provide support, far enough to avoid crowding her.

It works. For the first time since we entered this mountain, we’re operating like a real team instead of two people trying to protect each other.

She signals a stop, her shadows drawing back with her. I move up carefully, letting my thermal perception paint the scene ahead.

Two guards. Alert but clearly expecting trouble from above, not from the forgotten passages below. Their positioning shows they’re focused on defending against the northern assault, not watching for infiltration through the ancient routes. Just as Viktor had hoped.

Iris looks back, eyebrows raised in question. I consider the angles, the sight lines, the timing required.

Then I make the call.

I gesture for her to stay in position and move carefully to the left wall, where the passage curves enough to provide concealment. She nods in understanding and begins gathering shadows around herself, preparing for coordinated action.

This time, when she disappears into darkness, I trust her to handle her part of the operation.

The guards die quietly—her blade from shadow, my fire from concealment, perfectly timed to prevent any alarm. Clean. Professional. Effective.

“Better,” she murmurs as we move past the bodies.

Much better. We’re finding our rhythm now, learning how our abilities complement each other instead of fighting for operational control.

The passage opens into a wider chamber, and suddenly we’re standing at the threshold of something ancient and impossible.

The walls here pulse with their own light, veins of power that run through stone like blood through arteries.

The air itself seems alive, thick with magic so old and deep it makes my dragon heritage sing.

“The chamber complex,” Iris breathes. “We’re close.”

Very close. I can feel it now—that massive presence Ember described, simmering in the depths below. Power beyond imagination, probably beyond control.

And somewhere in that maze of ancient passages and sacred spaces, the Syndicate is trying to wake it up using her brother as the key.

Voices echo from ahead, but different now. Not guards shouting orders, but something else. Something rhythmic and ceremonial.

Chanting.

Fuck!

“They’ve started,” I realize.

Iris’s face goes pale. “How long do these rituals usually take?”

“Depends on the complexity. Could be minutes, could be hours.” I study the chamber layout, marking passages and defensive positions out of habit. “But once it reaches critical mass…”

I don’t finish the sentence. We both understand the implications.

She’s already moving toward the sound of voices. I match her pace. Move with her instead of ahead of her.

Trust her abilities instead of trying to compensate for imagined weaknesses.

The chanting grows louder, more urgent. Time’s running out.

“Viktor,” I whisper into my comm. “How long can you maintain the diversion?”

“As long as you need,” comes the immediate response. “But Caleb’s right—move fast. We can’t hold their attention indefinitely.”

“Copy that,” I respond.

I glance at Iris and realize that not only are we on the same team, but overhead, there are others. The distant sound of Viktor’s team engaging Syndicate forces echoes down from above. We’re not alone in this. Even on this impossible mission, we have allies willing to put themselves at risk.

I’ve never been part of a team before.

I think I like it.