Page 65 of Born in Fire

“No. Let’s meet at your place. I don’t want to draw more heat to Craven Towers while this shitshow is going on.”

“Good thinking. I’ll head there now.”

The line goes dead.

“Shit.Shit.” I slam the wheel, then whip the car around, cutting off a delivery truck. The driver lays on his horn. I flip him off without looking.

Just like that—fantasy obliterated, real world back with a vengeance. Part of me wants to call Juno, tell her to get somewhere safe. But what would I say?Hey, rememberthat dragon thing? Well, there’s a psychotic one out there kidnapping people. Stay indoors?

I get back to my apartment and start making calls. By the time Caleb’s voice rings through the apartment block intercom, I’ve already summoned a few trusted clan members. It’s instinct, hundreds of years of training kicking in. Threat assessment. Resource allocation. The soldier in me never really died; just took a century-long nap while I played at being human.

Luke was the first to arrive, scowling like he’s been sucking lemons. Then Serena, pacing my hardwood floors like a caged cat. Farrel Ludlow showed up despite being stationed with our outlying circles. Lydia slipped in last, her sleek hair immaculate despite the rain. Old guard and new—a cross-section of the clan’s fractured loyalties.

I’m pouring whiskey when Caleb walks in, his presence changing the air pressure in the room. My warehouse always feels bigger until he’s in it—then it shrinks to fit his gravity.

“You’re here,” I say unnecessarily, striding over. “We’re ready.”

His eyes scan the room, cataloging faces, measuring commitment. Then they snag on something out of place—Juno’s scarf draped over my chair. Deep blue silk with stars and moons. She’d worn it when she came by, then forgotten it when she left in a rush. Or maybe subconsciously left it behind. A breadcrumb trail back to my door.

Caleb doesn’t miss a thing.

“I’m guessing that Dorian has filled you in?” he asks the room, mercifully changing the subject.

There are murmurs of assent around us.

“For those who are missing any details,” he continues, “Malakai has taken control of a woman we have identified as a descendant of Lyria Rossewyn.”

Someone gasps. My own surprise is muted—I’ve been expecting some kind of penny to drop ever since Elena walked into our lives.

A fucking Rossewyn.

The witch line that’s been tied to our bloodline since the time of the last dragon king.

“We thought they’d died out,” says Farrel, his voice gravelly.

“No,” Caleb turns to face him. “We simply took our eye off the ball. That won’t happen again.”

“It can’t,” I add, feeling the weight of centuries of obligation. Part of the Craven code is to protect the Rossewyns. “While we were getting on with business, the Syndicate located her with the intention of using her against us.” It’s the only explanation.

It’s a bitter pill, but we’ve been sloppy. Complacent. Too busy building empires to remember why we built them in the first place.

“They turned a Rossewyn against the Craven line?” someone asks, horror edging their voice.

“That’s not what we said,” Caleb answers quickly. “She’s unwilling in all of this. A pawn.”

I watch my brother’s face carefully.Pawndoesn’t begin to cover what Elena is to him now. If he’s formed a mate bond, and now she’s in Malakai’s clutches…

Poor bastard.

“So what next?” asks Serena, cutting through the tension. “I’m sure we’re not going to take a ‘guns blazing’ approach. This entire mess has already brought us far too much attention.”

“You’re right,” I agree, catching Caleb’s eye. “We’ll have to be cautious about how we handle this.”

Caleb nods, his jaw tight. “We need to figure out where Malakai has taken Elena.”

A shadow moves at the edge of the group. Daniel Blair steps forward, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with something thatlooks suspiciously like guilt. The kid’s young by our standards—barely a century old—with auburn hair and that typical redhead’s temper.

“Caleb,” Daniel begins, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. “There’s something you need to know.”

---