Page 152 of The Bond That Burns

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll go easy on you.”

I suddenly remembered why I was there, how it had been my idea in the first place. I forced myself to recall the worst moment of my life—when my mother and I had been trapped in that carriage, helpless, weak, unable to do anything but cower as Theo was injured. I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I needed to be more like Medra. Strong. Practically invincible. Or at least, it sometimes seemed that way.

“I’m ready,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Show me how it’s done.”

CHAPTER 38 - BLAKE

A blizzard was brewing outside the House Drakharrow tower, but a warm fire crackled in the hearth inside my room. I barely noticed the weather or the fire. My focus was on the mirror. I adjusted the red velvet waistcoat I wore beneath a black jacket, wondering if it was too flashy. I didn’t want to look like a total jackass.

What wouldshebe wearing? Hopefully not Kage Tanaka’s damn moon pendant again.

But it didn’t matter, even if she was. Tonight would be different. It wouldn’t be like last year.

We weren’t going together. Not exactly. Pendragon had wanted to go with her friend, Florence. I understood the gesture. Florence had attended the ball with their friend Naveen last year. Later on that same year, Pendragon had been forced to kill him in the Consort Games. The night was probably full of unpleasant memories for her and Florence.

But I still had a plan. A way to make the night special. At least, in the few hours we had left before it would all go straight to hell. Because tonight was the night. The night that Tanaka and I would be helping Rodriguez with his insane plan–to turn a dragon back to stone.

As far as I was concerned, my role was the worst one. I had to convince Pendragon to bring Nyxaris to the Dragon Court. Then I’d have to deal with the aftermath as she realized what we’d done.

But for now, I was trying not to look that far ahead. This might be our last good night together for a while.

I reached for the small, black and red box that sat on my desk and sensation struck—sharp and sudden like a blade to the ribs.

“Fuck,” I gasped, clutching at my side.

The pain spread quickly, searing through my chest and down my arms. My knees buckled. I staggered, clutching onto the desk for support. Heat radiated from beneath my skin.

I looked down at my hands and groaned. Red scales covered them. And my fingers—something was happening to them, too. The nails were elongating, shifting into sharp, curved claws.

“No, no, no,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “Fuck no. Not now. Not tonight.”

But the changes racing through me were like a fire I couldn’t outrun. My back arched as searing pain tore through my shoulder blades. I let out a hoarse cry as the sound of fabric filled the air, waistcoat and jacket both splitting into shreds as if they were paper.

A new pressure was building in my back. I screamed as my skin tore and the feeling of something pushing outwards overwhelmed me.

Through the pain, I realized what it was.

Wings.

In the mirror, I could see they were only half-formed, grotesque and skeletal. But I could feel the raw power in them, the promise of what they might someday become.

Sweat dripped from my face as I crumpled to the floor, my breathing ragged. Firelight spilled over my body. I shone crimson. Scales covered my arms, my chest, my collarbone, hiding my tattoos. I touched a hand to my face, then looked up at the mirror again...and instantly wished I hadn’t.

I was unrecognizable. Red. Monstrous. Neither highblood or blightborn.

Dragon.

Then the rage crashed through my mind. Wiping aside every other thought.

Blood. Death. Destruction. The room was too small, too confining. Every sound was too grating, too loud for my senses. I wanted to destroy, to break, to rend anything in my path.

“Stop.” My voice came out as a hiss. I dug my hands into the floorboards, and my claws left deep gouges in the wood. “Get a...fucking grip...Drakharrow.”

Pendragon. The ball. My gift.

I tried to latch onto those thoughts. Picturing Pendragon’s face as if she was a lifeline and could bring me back, undo what was happening to me.

Slowly, the heat started to subside. But my body still ached. I lay on the floor, the remnants of my shredded clothes sticking to my sweat-soaked skin. The wings gradually retracted, leaving my back aching and raw. The scales on my hand were disappearing, but a few were still visible.

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