Page 15
Chapter 15
L ila
The Shard burns against my palm, crimson light bleeding through my fingers like I’m holding liquid fire. Not dragon fire. Something older, primordial. My body hums with its power.
“Focus on the subject,” Creed instructs, voice flat with professional detachment. Like I’m not sitting here with ancient magic searing through my veins.
Across the chamber, a young dragon kneels, eyes glazed and unfocused. Test subject. Guinea pig. Some junior recruit who pissed off the wrong superior.
“I can’t just—” I start, but Creed cuts me off.
“You can. The connection is there. We’ve confirmed it.” His patience wears thin, the scales beneath his skin shimmer briefly before he controls himself. “Stop resisting.”
The Shard pulses against my skin, eager. Hungry. It wants the connection as much as they do. Magic recognizing magic across the void between us.
I close my eyes, letting the crystal’s heat spread up my arm. The sensation isn’t exactly painful—more like remembering a limb that fell asleep. Pins and needles of power prickling through nerves long dormant.
Focus, Lila. Find the path of least resistance.
The young dragon’s energy signature comes into focus—a swirling vortex of amber and gold, beautiful in its ferocity. So young. So unaware of what’s happening to him.
I’m sorry.
I extend my awareness through the Shard, letting its ancient power wind around the dragon’s essence like crimson threads. His body stiffens as the connection snaps into place.
“Command him,” Creed urges, leaning forward.
I hesitate, stomach churning. This is wrong. This violation of another being’s will. But if I don’t comply, they’ll just find a way to force me. And I don’t have much fight in me now.
“Stand,” I whisper, the word carrying weight beyond its single syllable.
The dragon rises smoothly to his feet, movements mechanical. His eyes remain unfocused, pupils dilated unnaturally wide.
“Excellent.” Emerson makes notes on her tablet, clinical satisfaction radiating from her. “Now something more complex. Make him shift, but only partially.”
My fingers tighten around the Shard, bile rising in my throat.
“Shift,” I command quietly. “Right arm only.”
The effect is immediate. Scales erupt from the young dragon’s skin, rippling from shoulder to fingertips in a wave of amber. The transformation stops precisely where I directed: human form on the left, dragon on the right. His face remains blank, unaware of the violation happening to his own body.
“Perfect control,” Emerson murmurs, although her excitement is unmistakable. “The legends were accurate.”
I say nothing, focusing on maintaining the tenuous connection while silently probing deeper. While they watch me manipulate the dragon, I follow the crystal’s energy back to its source, tracing pathways they don’t realize exist.
The Shard sings with memories—hundreds of years of history imprinted in it. Fragments flash through my mind: a massive chamber deep beneath the earth, walls inscribed with ancient dragon language; a crystal heart pulsing with living fire; a violent struggle, magic against magic; the crystal shattering, a single piece broken away.
There—a specific memory burns brighter than the others. A vault filled with artifacts, familiar somehow, though I’ve never seen it. A chamber sealed with magic.
The place where the Heartstone rests.
The connection slips as my concentration wavers, and the young dragon staggers, blinking in confusion as awareness returns to his eyes.
“What happened?” he asks, voice ragged. He stares in horror at his half-shifted arm.
“Session complete,” Creed announces before the dragon can process what’s happened. He gestures to the guards. “Return him to his unit. Memory suppression protocol.”
The guards drag the disoriented dragon away. He’ll remember nothing of this, just wake with strange nightmares and a sense of violation he can’t explain.
Just like me, after every extraction.
“Well done,” Creed says, approaching as I slump in exhaustion. “Your connection to the Shard is remarkable. Even after your… incident.”
I don’t respond, focused on keeping my breathing steady as the magic recedes. The aftershocks shake through my body; muscles spasming, nerves firing randomly, heart racing too fast. Side effects they don’t care about.
“Rest period granted,” Emerson tells me, not looking up from her notes. “Testing continues tomorrow at 0800.”
The guards come to escort me back to my quarters. I don’t resist, legs wobbling beneath me as I walk. The Shard’s energy lingers in my system, making the fluorescent lights too bright, the guards’ breathing too loud, the brush of fabric against my skin too intense.
But beneath the discomfort, satisfaction simmers. They have no idea what I’ve seen. What I’ve learned. The connection works both ways. Yes, I controlled the dragon, but I also accessed the Shard’s memories. Learned secrets about the Heartstone’s location. About the wards that protect it.
My quarters feel different when they deposit me inside, oppressive with the weight of new security measures. More cameras. Enhanced dampening fields that make my skin crawl. Two guards stationed permanently outside my door.
Hargen waits, medical case in hand. His eyes assess me as the door closes, cataloging symptoms efficiently.
“How bad?” he asks simply.
I sink onto the couch, the trembling intensifying now that I don’t care to hide it. “Bad enough.”
He kneels before me, checking my vitals without needing to be asked. The routine is familiar: my pulse beneath his fingers, pupils checked with a penlight, reflexes tested with gentle taps. His touch is clinical but not cold, the care beneath his professionalism as familiar as my own heartbeat.
“Blood pressure elevated,” he murmurs. “Neural activity spiking. Similar to post-extraction symptoms, but the pattern is different.”
“It feels different,” I admit. “More raw. Like being scraped out, then filled with something that doesn’t fit.”
He prepares a syringe, movements precise. “This will help with the tremors.”
I don’t flinch as the needle slides into my arm. The relief comes quickly, muscles unclenching as the medication takes effect.
“Did you see anything?” he asks, voice barely audible. His eyes flick to the camera in the corner.
“Yes.” I match his quiet tone. “The Heartstone’s location. It’s beneath Craven Industries. Heavily guarded.” It seems pointless to keep these things from him now that so many of my secrets have finally been exposed.
“Magic?”
I nod. “Some. And the Stone’s own protections. That’s why they need Elena.” The realization tightens my chest. “Her blood can unlock what’s been dormant for centuries.”
Hargen’s jaw clenches. “And once they have the Heartstone?”
“Game over. For all of us.” I close my eyes as another wave of tremors hits, weaker now but still uncomfortable. “Where’s Reeve? He’s normally around during these things.”
“Restricted access,” Hargen says grimly. “They’ve cut him off from this section. Creed’s orders.”
Alarm spikes through me. “Why?”
“No idea. You know Creed. He works to his own agenda.” Hargen packs away his medical supplies. “For now, rest. Recover your strength. You’ll need it.”
The unspoken hangs between us—the knowledge that whatever comes next will require every ounce of power I possess.
After he leaves, I curl on my side on the couch, too exhausted to move to the bed. The Shard’s energy continues to ripple through me, crimson echoes behind my closed eyelids. With it comes knowledge, impressions seeping into my consciousness even without physical contact.
The Heartstone wasn’t always a tool of control. Once, it was living fire—the crystallized heart of a being neither dragon nor human. When it shattered, the missing Shard took with it the ability to direct its power without corruption. The piece I touched today is drawn to its whole, yearning for reunification.
Just like me and Elena.
Take care, my love.
Sleep comes in fitful bursts, dreams bleeding into visions—Elena in the Craven building, getting closer to the hidden chamber with each passing day; scales erupting across Caleb’s skin as he shields her from unseen threats; danger watching from shadows.
I wake to darkness, disoriented. The clock reads 2:37 a.m. Something pulled me from sleep—a presence, a change in the air.
“Lila.”
The whisper comes from the shadows near my bathroom door. I sit up slowly, pulse quickening as a figure steps into the faint moonlight streaming through my window.
Allard.
He moves silently across the room, finger pressed to his lips. His eyes reflect light like a predator’s, the dragon beneath his skin closer to the surface than I’ve seen before.
“Security loop,” he murmurs, crouching beside the couch. “We have twelve minutes before it resets.”
“How did you get in?” My voice is hoarse.
“I have my methods. They may think they’ve closed all the holes, but I’ve figured out a few ways around them.” The ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Are you all right? I heard about the Shard test.”
“Define ‘all right.’” I try to sit up straighter, wincing as my body protests. “I’m functional, if that’s what you’re asking.”
His hand covers mine, warm and steadying. “That’s not what I’m asking.”
The contact sends sizzling sensation through nerves already hypersensitive from the Shard’s energy. I bite my lip against an embarrassing gasp, but his eyes sharpen, catching my reaction.
“The crystal,” he says. “It’s still affecting you.”
I nod. “Side effect. Heightened sensations. It’ll pass.”
His thumb traces circles on my wrist, and pleasure spirals from that simple touch, shocking in its intensity after years of nothing but clinical contact. I pull away, suddenly afraid of my body’s response.
“I saw things,” I tell him, forcing focus. “When connected to the Shard. The Heartstone’s location. What they plan to use Elena for. We’re running out of time.”
His expression darkens. “I know. They’re already getting things in order.”
“She won’t survive what they have planned for her,” I whisper, the truth of it crushing my chest. “Even if her body does, her mind won’t. I’ve seen what these bastards can do.”
“That’s not going to happen.” The intensity in his voice makes me look up. “I’ve made arrangements. Three days, Lila. I get you out in three days, then we go after Elena.”
Hope flutters in my chest, fragile and terrifying. “How? The security—”
“Let me worry about that.” His hand returns to mine, grip tightening. “Just be ready.”
The certainty in his voice, the determination in his eyes… I want to believe him. Want to trust that freedom exists beyond these walls. But captivity breeds caution.
“If they catch us…” I start.
“They won’t.” He moves closer, until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “Do you trust me, Lila?”
The question hangs between us, weighted with implications beyond escape plans.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I want to.”
Something flickers in his eyes—disappointment, perhaps. But understanding, too.
“Fair enough.” He starts to pull away.
I catch his hand before he can retreat, surprising us both. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”
I stare up at him, surrounded by his scent, his heat, the irresistible magnetism of him. And suddenly I realize… I want him.
Maybe it’s madness. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Or the promise of freedom. Maybe it’s simply animal attraction. But my God, I don’t remember when last I wanted someone this way. If ever.
His pupils dilate, nostrils flaring slightly, dragon senses picking up cues human ones might miss.
“Lila,” he says, my name a warning and a question.
“I haven’t been touched in twenty years,” I whisper before I can stop myself. I don’t know why I say it. Just that I need to. “Not like… not as a woman. Just as an asset. A witch. A test subject.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by something darker, hungrier. “What are you asking?”
“I don’t know.” I laugh shakily. “I’ve forgotten how to ask for anything.”
He shifts to sit beside me on the couch, his body a line of heat against mine. “You deserve more than stolen moments in a monitored room.”
“I deserve a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I’ll get them.” My voice hardens. “Freedom. My daughter. My life back.”
“No,” he agrees quietly. “And I can’t give you any of those things. Not yet.”
“But you’re here now,” I say softly. “And so am I. For once… just for once, I want to feel something I choose.”
I think of that moment when his lips met mine. How I’d felt truly alive for the first time in far too long.
I’d do anything to feel that again.
His hand lifts to my face, cupping my cheek with surprising gentleness. “If I kiss you right now, is it really choice? Or desperation?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” His thumb traces my lower lip, the touch sending shivers over my skin. “It matters to me.”
I turn my face into his palm, the gesture more vulnerable than I’ve allowed myself in years. “Then let’s call it both.”
Something in him breaks at that, control slipping, the carefully maintained facade cracking around the edges. His lips find mine in the darkness, tentative at first. But the careful restraint shatters moments later as years of isolation and longing surge through me.
I press closer, hands finding the solid warmth of his chest. He makes a sound low in his throat—part growl, part groan—and suddenly there’s nothing tentative about the way he kisses me.
“Lila,” he groans, low in his throat. His arms wrap around me, one hand threading into my hair, the other sliding to the small of my back. He tastes like smoke and secrets, like possibility in a world where I’ve had none. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open to him with a small sound that would embarrass me if I could think clearly.
My fingers dig into his shoulders, feeling the hardness of muscle beneath fabric. The Shard’s lingering magic heightens every sensation: the rasp of his stubble against my skin, the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his hand as it moves from my back to my hip, gripping tightly.
His mouth leaves mine to trace a burning path down my neck, teeth scraping gently against sensitive skin. A gasp hisses from me, raw and needy. His hand slides beneath the hem of my shirt, palm hot against my ribs, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through thin cotton.
“You feel like warm silk,” he whispers against my throat.
I moan, unable to find words, arching into his touch. His palm covers my breast, thumb circling the hardened peak, and pleasure jolts through me with shocking intensity, trembling for reasons that have nothing to do with extraction aftereffects.
His mouth finds mine again, hungry and demanding, as his hand continues its exploration. Every touch feels magnified, overwhelming after nothing but clinical contact. Heat pools low in my belly, a tightening coil of need I’d forgotten how to feel.
When his hand slides between my thighs, pressing against my mound through the thin fabric of my pants, my hips buck involuntarily. He swallows my moan with his kiss, his touch gentle but insistent against the nub of my clit, finding a rhythm that has me clinging to his shoulders, nails digging into muscle.
“Oh, my God,” I choke out, my thoughts reeling. The pleasure builds with alarming speed, my body remembering what my mind had forgotten—the climbing tension, the narrowing of the world to nothing but sensation. His fingers press harder, circle faster, and something inside me explodes.
I bury my face against his neck as release crashes through me, wave after wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. His free arm wraps around me, holding me steady as I shudder against him, muffling my cries against his skin.
As the tremors subside, embarrassment floods in. To come apart so easily, so quickly, from such minimal touch… What must he think of me?
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, mortified. “It’s been so long, and the Shard’s magic—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts, voice rough with restraint. “Don’t apologize. That was…” He trails off, pressing his forehead against mine.
I can feel his cock hard against my hip, his breath uneven, control clearly strained. But he makes no move to seek his own release, instead brushing my hair back from my face with gentle fingers.
“We’re out of time,” he says regretfully, glancing at his watch. “The loop resets in a minute.”
Reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water. Monitors will reactivate. Guards will check. The brief reprieve ends.
I straighten my clothes with shaking hands as he moves toward the bathroom doorway—his entry point, I realize.
“I’m coming for you,” he reminds me, voice low. “Be ready.”
“I will.”
He pauses, looking back. Something intense burns in his eyes, something beyond desire or even affection.
“For what it’s worth,” he says quietly, “that wasn’t part of any mission or cover.”
Then he’s gone, slipping through the darkness like he was never there. Only the lingering scent of smoke and spice, the pleasant heat between my thighs, and the ghost of his touch on my skin remain as evidence.
I curl up on the couch, pulling the blanket around my shoulders. Three days until freedom. Three days until we try to save Elena. Three days that will determine whether we live or die.
But for now, for just this moment, I allow myself to feel something I’d thought lost forever. The feeling of being a woman.
And for tonight, at least, it’s enough.