Page 70 of Fated By Fire
“Elena, wait.” He reaches out, his hand closing around my arm. The contact sends a jolt through me, that increasingly familiar feeling flaring to life. Shaking it off, I wrench myself free.
“Don’t,” I warn, my voice cold. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“Where will you go? It’s not safe—”
“I’ll take my chances.” I sling the bag over my shoulder and head for the door.
He blocks my path, frustration flickering in his eyes. “Please. At least let me help you.”
I shake my head. “I can’t trust you. Not anymore.” I give a humorless laugh. “What am I saying? I never could. You warned me yourself.”
The hurt in his expression almost makes me hesitate, but I harden my resolve. Pushing past him, I fling the door open and step out into the crisp night air.
Behind me, Caleb doesn’t follow. He just stands there in the doorway, a solitary figure against the warm glow of the cabin’s interior.
“Elena! Goddammit!” he calls out one last time, his voice carrying a note of finality.
I pause but don’t turn around. “Goodbye, Caleb.”
Without another word, I stride to my Jeep, each step fueled by anger and a painful sense of betrayal. The cool air wraps around me, the scent of pine and earth filling my lungs.
I sink into the driver’s seat, firing up the engine and gunning it as I reverse at speed, then swing onto the small road that leads away from the cabin. Gravel flies as I accelerate away.
For a minute or two, I navigate through the darkness. Part of me knows this is reckless—that heading out alone makes me an easy target. But I’ll take my chances. I can’t stay there, trapped by his choices and suffocated by some bizarre connection I never asked for in the first place. I feel it, though. I feel it like a living thing as I put more and more miles between us.
“You’ll get over it,” I mutter into the silence of the dark vehicle. “It barely meant anything, anyway.” I press my foot down harder, feeling the car leap forward.
I don’t know where I’m going. Just away.
Chapter 26
Caleb
The boardroom is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides. I stand at the head of the long mahogany table, fingers splayed out on the cool surface, trying to ground myself.
I glance down at the reports Sloane has meticulously prepared—security updates, clan movements, details of the Circle of Fire’s likely members. As my most trusted employee, she’s probably the only human on the planet with access to this information. And I’m struggling to focus on it. The words blur together, letters twisting into incoherent shapes.
I blink hard, trying to pay attention, but it’s useless. Every time I attempt to read a sentence, a sharp pang shoots through my chest, followed by a surge of emotions that aren’t entirely mine.
Grief. Betrayal. Anger.
Elena’s emotions crash into me like waves against a rocky shore, relentless and consuming. The bond between us is strained, a taut wire pulling tighter with each passing moment. I clench my jaw, muscles tensing as I fight to maintain control.
“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, pushing the reports away. Heat flares under my palms, and I realize the tabletop beneath my hands has grown warm to the touch. I inhale slowly, drawing in cool air to temper the fire threatening to break loose inside me.
This can’t go on.
I prowl to the window, staring out at the glittering expanse of Seattle. Traffic snakes through the streets below, oblivious to the dragons overlooking them from these towers. Oblivious to the war brewing beneath their feet.
My reflection stares back at me from the glass—sharp features etched with tension, dark hair disheveled from restless fingers. The amber of my eyes catches the city light, a reminder of the dragon lurking beneath my skin.
Another flash of emotion hits me—Elena’s defiance, tinged with hurt. I grip the edge of the windowsill, the metal warping slightly under my grasp.
“Get out of my head,” I whisper, knowing she can’t hear me. Knowing it’s not her fault. The bond is growing stronger, more insistent, despite my attempts to sever it.
The sound of the door opening pulls me from my thoughts. I turn to see Dorian strolling in, though his usual easy grace is missing. His shirt is untucked, tie loosened carelessly around his neck. There’s a shadow of stubble on his jaw, and his hair looks like he’s run his hands through it one too many times.
“You’re early,” I remark.
