Page 74 of Born in Fire
“Elena,” I correct automatically. “Her name’s Elena.”
His mate.
At least he gets to have one.
I brush past her into the reception area, where clusters of clan members whisper in corners. They fall silent as I pass, eyes tracking me like I’m a bomb with a visible timer.
Let them stare. Let them wonder how the infamous playboy looks when he’s been gutted.
Daniel intercepts me, his young face etched with guilt. “Dorian, I heard about—”
“Did you know?” I ask, my voice deadly quiet. “About the attack? Did the Circle tell you it was coming?”
He blanches. “No, I swear. I would have warned—”
“Don’t lie to me, Blair.” I step closer, feeling my eyes shift to slits. “Not today.”
“I’m not lying.” He holds his ground, though fear rolls off him in waves. “I was Circle, yes. But this? This level of action from the Syndicate? This is new. This is… wrong.”
I study him, searching for deceit, finding only youthful disillusionment. “What have you heard?”
“Only rumors.” He glances around nervously. “The Circle and the Syndicate have always been enemies. But something’s changed. There’s talk of a… an alliance.”
“Between Malakai and the Syndicate?” The concept is so absurd I almost laugh. Almost. “That’d be like oil and water.”
“Or fire and gasoline,” Daniel mutters. “Explosive.”
I absorb this, mind racing through implications. “Who would broker such a thing? What common ground could they possibly have?”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “But whatever it is, it was worth exposing us to the human world. Worth breaking centuries of secrecy.”
Worth Juno’s life.
Luke approaches, his massive frame blocking the light. “Council’s starting,” he says, then pauses, taking in my appearance. “You look like shit.”
“Fuck off, Kenan.”
His eyebrows rise at my tone, but he just grunts and jerks his head toward the meeting room. “Suit yourself. But you might want to head in.”
The meeting room drips with old wealth—gold wallpaper, ancestral portraits, chandelier throwing fractured light across faces. I slip in silently, claiming a shadowed corner, watching.
Lydia sits at the head of the table, her hair coiled on her head in a silver braid. Luke takes a seat beside her, folding his armsacross his chest like he’s holding back the apocalypse. Farrel and Serena flank them, with various elders filling the remaining seats.
I track without interest as Caleb and Elena enter, her small frame tucked against his side. The mate mark is fresh on his neck—a spiral scar that mirrors one on her collarbone. I should feel something about this. Happiness for my brother, perhaps. Concern for what it means.
I feel nothing but the hollow space where my heart used to be.
Their conversation washes over me in waves. Luke’s antagonism. Lydia’s calm authority. Caleb’s protective stance. Words like “loyalty” and “bond” and “clan.”
“So the human thinks she’s one of us,” says Luke.
Caleb snarls a warning, but Lydia lifts her hand. “The Stone has spoken. Caleb has chosen. Show us your mark, girl.”
She shifts her sweater to show the mark on her throat more clearly, and our elders lean forward to examine it.
“The mate mark,” Lydia says softly. “Craven and Rossewyn. The circle is complete.”
“So, what—I get a membership card now?” Elena is all cocky self-confidence; pretty impressive for a human facing a room full of dragons. My brother chose well.
