Page 1

Chapter 1

L ila… 20 years ago

Blood. Smoke. Screams. Horror…

The nightmare hits like a freight train. No warning. No mercy.

I sit bolt upright, the sheets sticking to my sweat-drenched skin. The vision clings to me, refusing to dissolve like normal dreams.

Elena, my little girl, her body contorted in pain. Dragon fire melting flesh from bone as she screams and writhes. Her gray eyes wide with accusation: Why didn’t you stop this?

My teeth chatter as I try to cry out, but no sound comes. Third night this week. Same vision. More detailed each time. My power holds me prisoner to this moment, forcing me to witness every detail of my daughter’s death.

Again. Again. Again.

I stumble from bed, barely making it to the bathroom before my stomach empties itself. Gripping the sink’s edge, I splash cold water on my face, but it does nothing to wash away what I’ve seen. My hands won’t stop shaking. In all my days, I’ve never had a vision this vivid, this certain .

“Imagination,” I whisper to myself. “It’s just your imagination, Lila.” Yet it feels so real. That’s because it is real. Or it will be, if I don’t do something about it. Sometimes, the gift of foresight doesn’t feel like such a gift.

I wipe my mouth and head back to my bedroom. Through the thin apartment walls, someone’s TV murmurs—late-night infomercials promising better lives in three easy payments.

Pulling on my threadbare robe, I pad across the worn carpet to Elena’s doorway. She sleeps sprawled across mismatched sheets, one arm flung over her head, dark curls tangled against her pillow. Her math homework is still spread on the nightstand—she got every problem right.

My brilliant girl.

Eight years old and blissfully unaware of what hunts us.

What hunts me . The dragons don’t know about her yet. I’m certain of it. I’ve used every skill in my magical arsenal to make sure that doesn’t happen. But they’re close. I’ve felt their energy twice this week, probing at the edges of my wards. Hunting the last full-blooded Rossewyn witch.

Except I’m not the last.

I press my fingertips against the door frame, tracing the hidden sigils carved there. Protection spells weakening with each passing day.

Time’s running out.

In the kitchen, I flip on the dim light above the stove and fill a glass with tap water. My hands shake. The vision replays: Elena’s screams, the smell of charred flesh, the greedy flicker of dragon fire claiming her.

I empty the glass and fill it again. The options tick through my mind for the hundredth time:

Run again. A new city, new identities. How many times have we done that? Five cities in eight years. Elena deserves stability.

Fight. Against multiple dragon operatives? Suicide.

Hide. The wards are failing. They’ll find us within days.

Or—

My stomach twists at the thought that’s been growing since the visions started. The thought I’ve been avoiding.

Go to them. Offer my services. Make a deal.

I have something they want: the ancient Rossewyn knowledge of the Heartstone. My grandmother passed down certain secrets before she died. Information about the crystal heart of dragonkind that could shift the balance of their eternal power struggles. My trump card.

If they have me—the seer, the witch, the bloodline they’ve been hunting—maybe they’ll stop looking. Maybe Elena stays off their radar.

“Maybe I’m being a fool,” I mutter, setting down the glass sharply.

Not a fool. Pragmatic. It would be a business deal.

With dragons.

But why not? My kind existed with theirs for generations before things went downhill. Before we lost the protection of those who vowed to defend us.

Damn Cravens.

They were supposed to be our guardians. Fat lot of good they turned out to be. While they sat up in their ivory towers, living billionaire lifestyles, my family line has been living in hiding.

I move to the window, pulling back the thin curtain. Third-floor view of a parking lot and the brick wall of the next building. Hardly a fortress. Not even a proper home.

A mother should provide better.

You’re keeping her alive. That’s something.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. She deserves more than mere existence. More than the constant running.

What if they’re just dreams, though? Not every image in my head is a vision. The most powerful ones need specific circumstances to be brought out, and these dreams have simply popped into my head. Maybe it’s just the pressure. My mind playing tricks on me. A product of the constant pressure.

In the living room, I pry up the loose floorboard beneath the bookshelf and remove my mother’s divination cards, wrapped in silk that’s worn thin with age. My hands are steadier now as I shuffle, focusing my question: How immediate is the danger?

I lay three cards on the coffee table.

The Tower. The Moon. The Sacrifice.

A sob builds in my chest, but I swallow it down. There’s no time for that now.

The cards confirm what my visions have shown. Discovery. Danger. A price that must be paid.

My mind circles back to Elena screaming. The clock on the wall ticks forward. Each second brings the hunters closer.

Decision crystallizes like frost on glass.

There’s only one choice. And there’s no point in delaying the inevitable.

In my bedroom, I dress mechanically. Jeans. T-shirt. Boots made for running. I pack nothing—anything I take might give away Elena’s existence.

At my bedside drawer, I remove the silver locket—ancient Celtic knots housing equally ancient magic. The only true protection I can leave her.

Moving through the apartment, I pause in the tiny kitchenette and check the refrigerator. A macaroni and cheese dinner sits in the freezer. I made it yesterday, sensing what was coming. Some part of me already knew.

I scribble a note: Be good. Mac and cheese in the freezer.

Eight words for eight years of motherhood. Inadequate, but anything more might alarm her.

I press my lips to the paper, leaving the faintest trace of honey-scented lip balm, then tape it to the refrigerator door where she’ll see it when she gets up. Unless I’m back before then.

You will be. Of course you will.

But what if I don’t, and she’s left alone?

Mrs. Patel next door checks on Elena sometimes when I work nights. She’ll notice if I don’t return. She’ll call someone. It’s a thin hope, but the only safety net I can leave.

It won’t be necessary. This is going to work out.

I’ll go to them, make a deal that suits us all, and then I can get on with my life.

I creep back to Elena’s room. She hasn’t moved, still lost in peaceful dreams I can no longer provide. The locket slips over her head without waking her. I press my lips to her forehead, breathing in the scent of drugstore shampoo and childhood.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper against her skin, infusing the words with magic and will and desperate hope.

She shifts slightly, and I realize I’m gripping her shoulder too tightly. I release it quickly, but not before her eyes flutter slightly.

“Mama?” she mumbles, her words muffled by her pillow.

“Hush, baby,” I murmur back. “Mama’s going to work. Mrs. Patel will be next door to keep an eye on you.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she sighs groggily before sinking back into sleep.

I wait until her breathing evens out and then head for the door.

I take one final look at our apartment—the mismatched furniture we picked together, Elena’s drawings taped to the refrigerator, the bookshelf overflowing with stories we’ve read together. Home.

The door clicks shut behind me with terrible finality.

Outside, the night air carries the scent of imminent rain. Six blocks from our apartment, I stop in an empty parking lot. The buildings around me are dark—closed businesses and abandoned storefronts. No innocents to catch in the crossfire.

I take three deep breaths. Then I do the one thing I haven’t done in over eight years.

I drop my shields completely.

My magic flares out like a beacon, a flare shot into the night sky. Rossewyn energy, distinctive and potent, broadcasting to anyone with the senses to feel it.

Come and find me.

I don’t have to wait long.

They appear at the edges of the lot—three figures moving with inhuman grace. Two men in dark suits. One woman with copper hair that catches the streetlight.

Dragons in human skin.

I stand my ground as they approach, chin lifted, hands relaxed at my sides. Not a threat. Not yet.

“Lila Rossewyn,” the woman says, voice carrying easily through the humid night air. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“I know.” I keep my voice level. “That’s why I’m here.”

The taller man circles to my right. “Turning yourself in? How convenient.”

I notice how they position themselves—triangulating, cutting off escape routes. Professional. Practiced.

“Not turning myself in. Offering a deal.”

“We don’t make deals with witches,” the second man says, but I catch the flicker of interest in the woman’s eyes.

“You’ll want this one.” I meet her gaze directly. “I’m offering my services. Voluntarily.”

The woman tilts her head. “And why would you do that?”

“Because I’m tired of running. Because my visions are getting stronger. Because I know things about your precious Heartstone that would interest the Syndicate.”

The men exchange glances at the mention of the Heartstone. I suppress a flicker of guilt. My family earned its place in dragon lore because of how we honored the stone and the family that keeps it. Now I’m about to break with tradition to save my own skin.

Not mine. Elena’s.

Besides, none of this would have been necessary if the Cravens had done their damned duty.

“An interesting proposition,” the woman says, stepping closer. “But I sense there’s more you’re not sharing.”

Her eyes narrow, studying me with predatory intensity. Looking for the trap.

“I don’t trust her,” the tall man says suddenly.

My heart stutters. “You will when you see what I can do for you.”

“We haven’t made any deal yet.” His smile shows too many teeth.

I reach for my magic, preparing a defensive shield. “My services. My visions. That’s what I’m offering. In exchange, you back off and stay out of my world.”

“Or what?” the second man asks, amused.

Power builds between my palms—not offensive, just a warning. “Or I show you exactly why the Syndicate has hunted Rossewyn witches for centuries.”

The woman holds up a hand, silencing her companions. “You’ve been hiding for years. Why make a deal now?”

“My reasons are my own.”

She studies me for a long moment. “The Syndicate has questions that need answers. Prophecies that need interpretation.”

“I know.”

“It won’t be comfortable work.”

“I don’t expect comfort.”

Nor do I plan to give them all the answers they want. The Cravens may have forgotten us, but I still feel the bond we shared for so long. I’ll tell them just enough to keep them happy.

She nods once, decision made. “Good. Very good. This is just what we’ve been preparing for.”

I heave a deep breath, my guard slipping slightly. Maybe this will work after all. Maybe—

Her hand moves suddenly; a gesture too quick to follow. Before I can react, golden threads of magic wrap around my body, paralyzing my limbs.

“What—?” My protest cuts off as my lungs constrict. This shouldn’t be happening. Where would they get magic like this from?

Her smile turns predatory. “Did you really think we’d negotiate with a Rossewyn witch? We’ve been waiting for this moment. Getting everything in place. Gathering the power we knew we’d need to contain your kind.”

“No! Wait!” The magic tightens. My own power struggles against it, but she’s stronger than I anticipated… much stronger.

“Admirable attempt,” she says, stepping closer. “But the Syndicate doesn’t make deals with assets.”

The bonds bite into my skin, magical threads constricting until I can barely breathe. I struggle, but each movement only tightens their grip.

Footsteps echo across the empty parking lot. A tall figure materializes from the shadows like a wraith. The others straighten slightly, a subtle show of deference.

“Well done,” he says, voice smooth as oil. His eyes find mine, ice-blue and ancient. “Lila Rossewyn. At last.”

I spit at his feet. “Who the hell are you?”

“Alastair Creed. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He circles me slowly, assessing. “We’ve been closing in on you for months. Reading your energy. Gathering the right magic.” He glances down at where my wrists are bound. “It was only a matter of time, really. Though I must admit—your surrender speeds things up considerably.”

My blood runs cold at his name. Creed. I’ve heard of him. One of the leaders of the Syndicate that’s been hunting Rossewyn witches for generations.

“I’m not surrendering,” I growl. “I’m agreeing to help you. But maybe I won’t, if this is going to be how you do things.”

“You misunderstand.” Alastair’s fingers brush my cheek, cold as winter. “This isn’t a negotiation. Your cooperation is… optional.”

I twist my head and snap at his hand, my mind working frantically. God, I’m such an idiot. “I’ll fight you. Every step of the way. It won’t be worth your while.”

“Fight all you want. Sooner or later, you’ll give in… once you’ve settled. I’m taking you to what will be your new home.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Your talents are far too valuable to waste.”

I thrash against the bonds. “I won’t help you.”

He gives a shrug. “Eventually, everyone does.”

The other man approaches, producing metal cuffs that glow strangely. The moment they snap around my wrists, my magic dampens to embers.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

Panic spikes through me. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I miscalculated—badly.

“You should have kept running,” the second man says, gripping my arm.

My thoughts race to Elena. Alone in the apartment. No one coming for her. Mrs. Patel might not notice for days.

What have I done?

“Wait!” I manage, desperate. “I need to—”

“You need to come with us, that’s what you need to do,” the woman cuts in.

“Please,” I try again. “There’s something—”

The taller man covers my mouth with a cloth that reeks of magic. My consciousness immediately begins to blur.

“Prepare for transport,” the woman instructs as my legs buckle.

Through fading vision, I watch rain begin to fall—fat droplets hitting the pavement with quiet percussion.

I think of Elena waking to find me gone. The note on the refrigerator, insufficient and cryptic. The frozen dinner that might last a day. The locket that will keep her hidden but won’t feed her or comfort her.

My child, alone for who knows how long before anyone notices.

I attempt one last spell—a distress signal to Mrs. Patel’s dreams—but the cuffs absorb the effort.

The car door closes with a soft thud. Darkness engulfs me.

Please, I think, as consciousness slips away. Please let someone find her.

The vision of Elena burning fades, replaced by a new horror—Elena abandoned, frightened, wondering why her mother never came home.

Generations of Rossewyn blood means I know the price of our gift.

Today, Elena pays it too.