Page 26

Jules

The Second SoulTaker Invasion At The Eyrie

For a moment there, it was touch and go.

I mean, I’m just a bartender from New Jersey.

I know how to pour a mean drink, charm a bad tipper into leaving a twenty, and talk someone out of picking a bar fight with a pool cue.

That was my world.

How was I supposed to know I’d be kidnapped by a seven-foot Dragon Lord with wings, eyes like molten fire, and a voice that makes my spine melt?

Claimed as his mate.

Pulled into the middle of a war between two ancient factions of a magic-wielding race from a realm that shouldn’t even exist?

But it does exist.

And I’ve seen it now. I’ve lived it.

And the truth is, Nightfall means more to me now than I ever imagined.

More than I can explain without my voice breaking.

I’ve found something here.

Something that’s more than just danger and magic and monsters in the dark.

I found him.

I’m in love for the first time in my life.

Real, soul-deep, fated-mate fairytale kind of love.

The kind that buries itself in your bones and whispers in your blood and makes you believe in impossible things.

And more than that—I feel connected .

To a place. To a people. To a role I didn’t ask for but might have been born to fill.

Is that dumb? Naive? Hopeful?

Maybe.

But here’s what I do know.

I won’t be able to look myself in the eye if I don’t stand beside him now.

If I don’t fight for this place the way it’s already fought for me.

If I don’t give it everything I have—even if all I have is grit and a half-decent right hook.

I’m not just Jules from Jersey anymore.

I’m viyella to a motherfucking Dragon. To the Lord of Air himself.

He is my viyen . He is my heartbeat. He is Alaric of Nightfall.

And I am his, wholly and completely.

So no, I’m not going anywhere.

I’m not running away and ducking for cover.

The fight is not over.

My place is beside Alaric. So, I stand right there, shoulder brushing his, breath still ragged from the chaos of battle.

Around us, smoke rises in twisting gray plumes.

The marble of the Eyrie’s courtyard is scorched, smeared with ash and blood.

But we are not alone.

Alaric’s brothers—Kael with his soaked tunic clinging to him, Dagan with his runes still glowing, Thorne burning with quiet fury—form a solid wall beside the Eyrie’s remaining guards.

Together, we drive the last of the SoulTaker-corrupted soldiers into the open square at the heart of the Eyrie.

Our forces surround them.

Alaric’s brethren, the castle guard, even a few brave villagers still clutching farm tools and makeshift weapons.

United, bloodied, but unbowed.

The captured attackers stumble into a huddled group beneath the broken arches and scorched flags.

“Their eyes are vacant, unseeing,” Kael murmurs.

He’s right. They look like glassy like marbles reflecting a storm. Some snarl and spit like feral beasts, caught in a waking nightmare.

Others just weep. Silent tears streak down soot-smeared cheeks as they tremble, muttering words no one can understand.

“None of them seem aware of what they’ve done,” Thorne agrees.

And I nod because he’s right.

They don’t seem to understand the havoc they’ve unleashed on this sacred place. Or the cries of the wounded, the blood that darkens the flagstones beneath our feet.

Some stare at the bodies of their own kin lying among the fallen, and it’s like they can’t even see them.

But the others can. Even now, I can hear the weeping.

It cuts through the quiet aftermath like a blade—mothers calling for children, lovers wailing over still forms.

Families who sought refuge behind our walls now crawl through rubble and ash to find the ones they couldn’t protect.

Cloth is laid gently over lifeless bodies. Names whispered like prayers.

My heart cracks wide open.

I glance at Alaric, and even without meeting his eyes, I feel it—through our bond, pulsing low and steady in my chest.

This is wrecking him.

Every broken body. Every scream. Every reminder that the SoulTakers came here to wage war on the Eyrie. That Alaric’s strength, though mighty, is not omnipotent and he cannot protect everyone.

He bears it like he bears everything else. Head high, spine straight, expression unreadable.

But I know him now.

And I can feel the storm behind the silence.

He aches for them.

So I reach deep inside myself and send him what strength I have. I don’t know if it’s enough, but I push it into the thread of silver light that connects us.

My love. My steadiness. My presence.

And I feel him catch it.

He doesn’t falter, not even for a second, but I feel the way his breath hitches.

The way his soul curls around the gift like a man gripping a lifeline in a flood.

Thank you, the bond whispers back.

Emotion clutches my throat, and tears sting my eyes—not for me, but for him.

For all of us.

Because we are still standing.

And somehow, against impossible odds, we’re still together. He squeezes my hand before stepping away.

“We must bind them,” Alaric says to his brothers, his voice like thunder. “But do not harm them.”

His magic surges forward, silver and furious.

The others follow suit. And I stand there breathless, as I watch them.

Earth, flame, water, and wind weaving together as glowing chains rise from the stone itself to wrap around the captured enemy forces.

I watch, wide-eyed, as some of the bound begin to sway and fall to their knees, confusion breaking over their faces like morning light through fog.

“What is this?” one mutters, blinking slowly. “Where am I?”

“They’ve been bespelled,” Alaric says grimly. “This is SoulTaker magic. Twisted. Ancient. They’ve enslaved Demons to do their bidding. Not one of these is a true SoulTaker.”

“It’ll take time to free them all,” Dagan adds, his voice low and angry. “This kind of magic runs deep.”

“It will be a long night,” Thorne grunts, kicking some scattered stones that sit at his feet in frustration.

It’s weird, but I don’t feel scared around these men—these Lords.

In fact, I feel like I’m standing with friends. Or big brothers.

Big, terrifying, ridiculously good looking, big brothers with elemental magical powers, who could level cities, sure.

But still, these guys? They feel like family.

They start with nods, a few hands pressed to chests, that kind of thing.

And just when I think it’s all going to stay stoically respectful, Kael steps forward, all wet hair and ocean eyes, still bleeding calm and power from every pore.

“I just wanted to say thank you, my lady,” he says in that low, rolling-tide voice of his.

“You fought like a warrior born. And you stood beside our brother, Alaric, when lesser women would have pissed themselves and begged for a portal home. You have my respect.”

I blink. “That’s, um, unexpectedly flattering.”

Thorne— of course —snorts.

He’s soot-streaked and smirking, leaning on a blade that looks like it melted halfway through the battle.

“I didn’t think a mortal could hold her own against a SoulTaker horde,” he drawls. “But you made me eat my words.”

“You’re welcome,” I say sweetly, and he tips an imaginary hat.

Dagan’s next. The quiet one. Hulking and stone-faced, with a rumble like distant thunder in his chest and a literal rune-glow pulsing along his arms.

He eyes me for a second like he’s deciding whether to say something at all.

“We lost good people,” he says finally, voice like gravel and grief. “But more would’ve died if not for you. You kept the children safe. You protected the Eyrie.”

Then, shockingly, he bows low. “You have my oath.”

I just stare at him. “Um. Thank you. That’s— wow —that’s a lot of oath.”

“She’s overwhelmed,” Kael stage-whispers.

“She’s earned it,” Dagan counters.

Then one of the guards— a young woman with a messy braid and a bandaged arm —pops up, grinning sheepishly.

“My lady. You were terrifying. In a good way. Like a frenzy of weaponized energy. Also, you saved my brother, Thimble. He was one of the young you ushered inside.”

I press a hand to my heart. “He’s a sweet kid. But really, don’t thank me. I just did what I had to.”

“You also shattered a grown man’s nose with a child’s shield,” Thorne adds helpfully.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” I mutter.

“But you did ,” Kael points out, grinning now. “And really, that was one hell of a shield bash. I saw it from across the courtyard.”

“I thought I broke my hand at the time,” I admit, laughing a little.

Cue Alaric, spinning toward me like I just announced I had a terminal condition.

He grabs my hand, turning it gently over and inspecting every inch like it might crumble in his grasp.

“I’m fine,” I tell him.

He doesn’t believe me until he’s pressed his forehead to mine and exhaled slowly like I just saved his life.

“For fuck’s sake, Alaric,” Thorne grumbles, “let the woman breathe before she bashes your head in.”

“She’s got good form,” Dagan mutters.

Alaric growls under his breath, but I grin and kiss his nose before he can say anything dangerous.

He looks wrecked. And it’s honestly unfair how hot he is when he’s worried.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” he murmurs.

“I didn’t,” I confess. “I sort of blacked out and let instinct take the wheel.”

Thorne whistles.

“See? That’s the good stuff. That’s how most battles start. But not many end with the victor wearing Dragon-forged armor and swinging a kid’s shield like a goddess of wrath.”

“It was a regular shield,” I insist, but it’s drowned out by laughter.

Kael sobers just enough to bow his head. “Doesn’t matter what it was. You wielded it like you’d trained a thousand years.”

Then Alaric’s hand wraps around mine again— warm, calloused, grounding.

His thumb moves in a slow, reverent arc over my knuckles, and the simple touch steals the air from my lungs.

It’s not just the way he touches me— it’s the meaning in it.

The weight of everything he’s saying without words.

And once again, I’m struck hard by how impossible he feels to me.

A Dragon Lord who shifts the skies with his will, and yet holds my hand like it’s the most sacred thing in the world.

A man born of fire and legend, forged for war and leadership, yet here he is— reaching for me like I’m the miracle.

The ache in my chest blooms sharper.

Because somehow, in a realm where nothing makes sense, he does.

And that terrifies me more than any monster ever could.