Page 69 of Bound in Blood

“Perhaps you no longer have a choice, Kameen.”

His jaw tics, but he does not refute my assertion. Instead, he glances at Nazeel—a paradox of a woman if ever I have known one. Despite everything, I am sure of her inherent desire to bring peace and balance, even if her attempts at doing so have been severely misguided. Still, I do not trust her, particularly where Ophelia is concerned.

“We are leaving,” Kameen snaps.

Nazeel places her hand on his cheek and lightly traces the lines of his scars with her fingertips. “Kameen, please. Just one more moment?”

I witness the precise moment the rigid, unfeeling commander of the Order acquiesces. His shoulders drop a fraction, and he tilts his head to the side, pressing his cheek into her palm. I am not sure I would have detected such a change in him only six months ago, before I met Ophelia. But I understand Kameen more now than I ever have. How difficult his love for Nazeel must make his position in the Order.

Seizing the opportunity, Nazeel steps forward and clasps my hand in hers. Anikêtos inches closer, a protective presence at my back. “You understand the true power of a name, Alexandros. Yes?” Her green eyes glisten with such hope that it is difficult to look away from her intense gaze.

So many underestimate the importance of a name, yet it shapes so much of who we are and what we become. Still, I have no idea how that relates to the situation at hand, so I remain quiet and allow Nazeel to fill the silence. “The forgotten verse, Alexandros. It was never forgotten, simply omitted.”

Even as I struggle to comprehend what she is alluding to, there is something in her words that feels so oddly familiar and true, it makes goosebumps prickle over my flesh. “Speak plainly, Nazeel, or do not speak at all.”

“Most people operate under the mistaken belief that our parents or the people who are present at our birth choose our names. And whilst that is true for most, you and I know that some of us are born with a name already etched into our soul.”

The memory of Lucian’s birth comes rushing back, threatening to overwhelm me. I remember the sweat, the screaming, the relief when he was born on a ragged wail that matched his mother’s. Most importantly, I remember how the name Elena and I chose for him became irrelevant the momenthe took his first breath. Lucian Drakos was the person he was meant to be from the second he was born.

“Nazeel.” Kameen’s gruff voice cuts through the tension. “We are leaving.”

“It was all predestined, Alexandros.” With that, she and Kameen disappear, leaving me to stare at the spot on the ground where they stood only a moment ago.

Prophecies.Anikêtos snorts.

Do you know of the Lost Prophecies of Fiere? Of the forgotten verse?

I do, he says, preening his scales.Although I have never paid them much heed. Dragonkind has no need for the ramblings of other creatures.

Of that I have no doubt.

But it perturbs you, Dragon Whisperer? Why?

Nazeel is of the belief that Ophelia is the Chosen One.

And you think she is not?

I do not answer him. I cannot bring myself to lie or to confirm the truth I already know.

Recount the forgotten verse to me, I have forgotten its detail, he commands.

I do as he asks, and he is quiet for a few moments.And Nazeel’s riddle about names makes you think…

He stops, and I finish the thought for him.That Lucian is the light that must be turned from the dark.

Thick smoke unfurls from his nostrils.That is not the only name Nazeel refers to though, is it?

My head is crammed with too many questions and memories, some real and some imagined, and I am filled with a sense of dread and déjà vu. I pinch the bridge of my nose, aware of Anikêtos’s analyzing gaze as he awaits my response.What are you talking about, Ani?I snap at him, unable to keep a lid on my frustration. I should take Ophelia and my boys and disappearwhere nobody will ever find us. Prophecies and Skotádi and the Order be damned.

Your name, Alexandros.

A current of lightning-laced fear shoots down my spine.No. I am named after my great-grandfather. My mother chose my name before I was even conceived.

Regardless, you are aware of its meaning, are you not?

Synapses fire in my brain, and I am transported to my childhood. I recall soft fingers brushing my cheeks, her dark hair falling over her shoulder, and her deep-blue eyes so full of love—my mother, one of the most powerful elementai who ever lived—and how frequently she would tell me the meaning of my name.

Alexandros—defender of men.

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