Page 67 of Fired Up Love

Now he paid the same price, feeling strength ebbing with each pulse of the unnatural flame. His internal reserves drained rapidly, centuries of accumulated power channeled into moments of devastation. A strategic mistake born from emotional response—exactly the kind of error he knew he should have prevented.

Severin watched, genuine shock widening his eyes before calculation returned. “So the dragon has teeth after all. Good. This ritual requires power worthy of the transformation.”

The surviving twin recovered quickly, drawing water from hidden reservoirs beneath the floor. The liquid rose in spiraling columns that twisted into binding spells specifically designed to neutralize dragon fire. The cold magic wrapped around Xai’s flames, extinguishing them in clouds of steam that obscured the chamber.

The mist created a momentary battlefield advantage—concealment for both sides. Xai used the cover to assess his diminished resources. Starfire had depleted his energy faster than anticipated. The stone fragments embedded in his back limited mobility. Most concerning, the scale connection to Zina flickered weakly, suggesting either distance or magical interference.

Footsteps approached from multiple angles—the surviving twin circling left, the orc moving with surprising stealth to the right. Severin remained stationary, apparently content to let his mercenaries handle the dirty work.

Xai lunged toward Severin but found his path blocked by water magic solidified into ice barriers. Without starfire, and with regular flames neutralized by water magic, he found himself driven back. The surviving twin had clearly studied dragon physiology—each spell targeted joints or pressure points rather than attempting to overcome draconic durability directly.

Cold magic wrapped around his ankles, freezing him temporarily in place. Before he could break free, metallic whistling cut through the air—mithril chains launched from hidden mechanisms in the walls. The metal burned cold where it touched him, sapping heat energy with every contact.

Mithril—impossibly rare and devastating against dragons. The alloy absorbed thermal energy, transforming heat into binding power. The hotter the dragon, the stronger the chains became. A perfect countermeasure against creatures of fire.

More chains followed, wrapping his torso and legs until he knelt immobilized on the cold stone. Each movement strengthened the binding, his own body heat working against him. The energy drain left him lightheaded, strength seeping away as his internal flame dimmed to embers.

Despite his predicament, thoughts turned immediately to Zina. The scale connection pulsed with reassurance—she remained unharmed, moving with purpose.

Pride flickered through him, quiet but definite. His lioness had proven herself yet again. Her competence and determination had become a touchstone for him—something to rely upon amid the chaos of recent weeks.

Severin approached, stopping just beyond arm’s reach despite Xai’s restraints. His caution suggested he understood that even a bound dragon remained dangerous. “Mithril chains forged specifically for dragon binding. Quite rare these days. My family has collected them for generations, waiting for the right moment.”

SIXTY-FIVE

Xai maintained an impassive expression despite the discomfort. “Every restraint can be broken.”

“But not quickly enough to prevent what comes next.” Severin circled him with measured steps, inspecting the chains with obvious satisfaction. “You should be honored. Few dragons have witnessed this ritual—fewer still have participated.

“For centuries, my family has watched from the sidelines while families like yours and Parker’s controlled the town’s magical heart,” he continued, gesturing toward the ceiling where blood moonlight intensified. “Tonight that changes. Tonight, balance restores itself.

“The original pact was never meant to be permanent,” he continued, circling back to stand before Xai. “My ancestor Silas Gravemont was promised equal guardianship once the town secured itself. The others betrayed him, using their combined power to lock him out of the triumvirate.”

Xai recognized the half-truth in these words. Historical accounts Kalyna found showed debate among the founding families, not the clear conspiracy Severin claimed. Records from the period described Silas Gravemont as volatile and power-hungry—talented but untrustworthy with the immense responsibility of guardianship.

“Even if your interpretation of history is correct,” Xai challenged, “you lack the strength to control what you’ll unleash.”

“That’s what dragon blood is for,” Severin replied, a predatory smile revealing elongated canines. “Your fire will fuel the transition.”

The surviving twin began arranging crystals around the chamber, placing them at precise intervals along the carved floor symbols. Each placement activated dormant magic within the stone, causing sections of the ritual circle to glow with increasing intensity.

Blood moonlight intensified, streaming through the skylight to illuminate three distinct circles on the floor—one beneath Luciana, one where Xai knelt, and a third still empty. The pattern became clear—a triangle connecting three points of power with the central altar serving as a focus for the transformation Severin sought.

“Three bloodlines required,” Severin explained. “Now we wait for your little mate. I’m sure she’ll be along any second.”

The mention of Zina triggered another surge of protectiveness in Xai. Despite the chains, his temperature spiked again, causing the metal to groan as it expanded against sudden heat. The mithril absorbed the energy, growing colder and tighter in response, but the momentary flare revealed that his power had not been completely neutralized.

“Fascinating,” Severin observed. “Your control slips every time I mention her. Such a weakness for a creature of your age and power.” He stepped closer, examining Xai with clinical interest. “What would you give to keep her safe, I wonder? Your power? Your position on the council?”

Xai glared, refusing to answer the taunt. The offer confused him momentarily until understanding dawned—Severin genuinely believed his interest in Zina was political rather than personal. The lion shifter calculated every relationship as a potential transaction or leverage point. He couldn’t conceive of attachment without advantage.

“Nothing to say?” Severin shrugged. “No matter. After tonight, she’ll understand her place in the new order. Perhaps I’ll keep the spa open as a quaint reminder of how things used to be. A tourist attraction with its former owner as a living exhibit.”

The ritual preparations continued around him. The twin completed the crystal arrangement while the orc prepared the central altar with ritual implements—an obsidian knife, a silver bowl, various herbs, and powders arranged in specific patterns.

Severin began chanting in an ancient language—older than Latin, older perhaps than written history itself. The words resonated against the chamber walls, creating harmonic overtones that seemed to bend reality slightly. The air thickened further, pressure building against eardrums and skin.

His eyes snapped wide as a hidden passage behind Severin slid open in the chamber’s far wall. Through the opening stepped Zina.

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