Page 116 of Born in Fire
“Predictable,” she says, voice layered with something that isn’t her. “The reckless brother, always rushing in.”
I shift partially, scales rippling across my skin, claws extending. “Where’s Elena?”
“Safe,” Serena smiles coldly. “For now.”
I assess my options. Five against one in a confined space. Not impossible, but not good.
“The Syndicate finally got to you,” I say, buying time. “I’m disappointed, Serena. I thought you had more spine.”
“The Syndicate offers freedom,” she replies. “Your brother offers only stagnation.”
“Spare me the revolutionary bullshit.” I tense, preparing to strike. “You’re nothing but a puppet now. A traitorous puppet.”
Hurt flashes across her face—the real Serena, briefly visible beneath whatever controls her. It’s the opening I need.
I lunge, dragon speed making me a blur. My claws catch the nearest enemy across the throat, drawing first blood. I spin, using momentum to slam another into the stone wall. Theconfined space works to my advantage—they can’t all reach me at once.
For a moment, savage joy fills me. This is what dragons were made for—combat, conquest, the perfect dance of predator unleashed. I duck a swinging claw, counter with a strike that cracks ribs, feel scales growing denser across my chest as partial transformation progresses.
Then something cold wraps around my wrist. Metal, but not ordinary steel—it burns against my scales. I recognize the distinctive weight instantly.
Dragon-forged chains.
I roar, yanking against the restraint, but a second chain catches my other wrist just as claws rake my torso, flaying flesh from bone and puncturing organs.
“Fuck!” I snarl, buckling against the pain. The metal disrupts my connection to my dragon form, forcing me back toward human shape. I fight it, muscles straining, but the chains were designed for exactly this purpose.
“Enough,” a new voice commands.
The attackers part as a figure enters from a side passage. Tall, dressed in tactical gear that doesn’t quite hide the expensive cut beneath. A face I’ve learned to despise over time.
“Creed.” I run hate-filled eyes over the form of the Syndicate’s second-in-command.
Alastair Creed smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Been too long, hasn’t it, Craven?”
I spit blood onto the floor. “Not long enough.”
He chuckles, circling me as I struggle feebly against the chains. The pain is making it hard to focus.
“Such loyalty to a brother who’s leading our kind to extinction. Caleb would have us hide forever, pretending to be human.”
“Better than whatever the fuck this is.” I glance toward Serena’s glowing eyes. “You’re not liberating dragons. You’re enslaving them.”
“A necessary transition.” Creed stops before me, studying my face. “The old ways are returning, Dorian. Dragons will rule again, as we were meant to.”
“Under your control.”
“Under proper leadership.” He reaches into his dark jacket, withdrawing something that glows with the same unnatural light as Serena’s eyes.
The Shard.
My body reacts instantly—knees buckling, remaining strength draining. The crystal pulses, its light intensifying as Luke brings it closer.
“How?” I manage, fighting to stay upright. “How do you control it? The Shard responds only to Rossewyn blood.”
Creed’s smile widens. “Let’s just say we’ve found a workaround.”
The Shard’s proximity forces me to my knees. Through the pain, I reach for Caleb through our twin bond—a desperate warning.
