Page 49 of Born in Fire
Dorian
I sprawl on my couch, a bottle of whiskey balanced on my chest, staring at the exposed beams of my warehouse ceiling. The golden liquid catches the light of a side lamp, casting golden patterns across the brick walls. It’s been over a day since I left Juno’s apartment, and yet her scent still clings to my skin—rosemary and fear.
The memory of her face when she saw my eyes haunts me. That split-second transition from desire to horror plays on repeat in my mind. I take another swig straight from the bottle, letting the burn distract me from the hollow ache in my chest.
What the hell happened to me? Why the fuck did I lose control like that?
I can only assume it was a combination of lust and the battle hormones raging in my system. When I’d seen that fucker put his hands on her, something had snapped inside me. It was allI could do to stop myself from shifting and incinerating him on the spot.
Madness. That’s all I can think it was. A moment of madness.
Except now she won’t talk to me, and it hurts in a way I can’t comprehend.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I ignore it. Another buzz. Then three more in quick succession.
“Fuck off,” I mutter to no one.
It buzzes again, more insistently. With a growl, I reach for it, nearly knocking over a half-empty glass in the process.
Lydia.
I consider ignoring her, too, but the clan elder isn’t someone even I can blow off without consequences. I swipe to answer.
“This better be important.”
“Check your social media.” Her voice is tight, controlled in that way that signals genuine alarm. “Now.”
“I’m a little busy at the moment.” I take another swig.
“Dorian.” The sharpness in her tone cuts through my haze. “Put down the bottle and check TikTok. Search #DragonConspiracy.”
Something in her voice sobers me instantly. I sit up, setting the whiskey aside, and open the app.
“What am I looking for, exactly?”
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
The hashtag is trending. Millions of views. I tap the top video, and my blood turns to ice.
Shaky night footage. Dark shapes against a moonlit sky that could be wings. A distorted voice narrating over images of Craven Industries’ headquarters.
Bullshit!
There’s no way they would have filmed a dragon anywhere near the Towers; it has to be some sort of image manipulation. But the idiots viewing this will never consider that.
“The dragons are among us,” the voice declares. “And they’re hiding in plain sight. Our source has not only seen them but been carried by one to its mountain lair.”
The username flashes in the corner: @MaraLives.
Mara. The blue-haired lunatic.
“Elena’s friend,” I breathe, suddenly stone-cold sober.
“This is a breach of the highest order,” Lydia says, her voice glacial. “Your brother needs to get this under control immediately.”
“I’ll handle it.” I end the call, already on my feet, scrolling through more videos.
Each one is worse than the last. Grainy security footage of what could be Caleb and me entering the building, with captions speculating about our “true forms.” Maps marking supposed dragon sightings across the Pacific Northwest. Theories about Craven Industries being a “front for the dragon elite.”
