Page 25 of Flashover

I swallow hard, eyes locked on his, trying to believe this new impossible world hasn’t completely broken the old one.

"The Blackstrike Unit?"

He nods. "Our secret..."

"Is safe with me," I say, forcing bravado past the throb of terror. “It missed me.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, gaze sweeping my body for blood. “Not funny.”

“No hole, no harm.” I try to grin, but a small tremor betrays me—the tiniest quake in my fingers that I hope he doesn’t see.

I glance at him—at all of him—and can’t stop the stunned words from escaping. “You’re naked.”

“Shifter hazard,” Kade says with a shrug, his voice rough but amused. “Clothes don’t make it through the fire.”

I blink, trying to process dragon physics and nudity in the same breath. “So that really happened. I didn’t hallucinate the wings, the fire...”

“Nope. All real. You just met the other half of me.”

I drag a hand through my hair, nerves buzzing. “Right. Of course. Dragon saves girl from sniper with a quartz shield. Just a normal day in the mountains.”

He jerks his chin toward the cave behind him. “There’s a go-bag stashed in the cave. Uniform, boots. I’ll be decent in sixty seconds.”

I nod and pivot away, heat creeping up my neck. “Fine. I’ll give you some privacy—though honestly, after the week I’ve had, there are worse things I could see.”

Behind me, I hear the soft scuff of his bare feet on stone, a quiet rhythm that tugs at something deep in my gut. I keep my eyes fixed on the trees beyond the cave, determined to ignore the memory scorched behind my eyelids—Kade, naked and forged in fire, skin glowing with heat, a blade fresh from the forge. Every muscle had gleamed in the light, each line of his body etched into my mind with the unmistakable certainty of something elemental and irreversible.

He reappears a moment later, dressed in black tactical gear, hair damp and eyes stormy. “Sniper was using thermal-invisible rounds. They’ll try again.”

“Then we move.” I tug the collar of my jacket, the pendant thudding against my chest, a warning bell in motion. “I’m not bait. But someone just tried to take me out, and I don’t believe in coincidences. Did they use this thing to mark me?”

Kade shakes his head. "No, they're human as far as we can tell. That pendant's keyed to dragon forge—heat-sensitive metal laced with sigils. They wouldn't even see it unless they were one of us or tuned into our kind of magic. It's cloaked to human tech, completely off their radar."

Well, that's a relief.I march past him, downhill toward the abandoned mine. He growls my name—half warning, half plea—but follows, collecting what’s left of his clothes. A minute later we duck into the shaft, oil-lamp glow licking damp rock.

The crate he indicates he hid earlier is gone—warded behind sigils that still shimmer faint gold. In the alcove, fresh chains lie across an anvil: metal the color of banked embers; links thicker than my thumb, patterns swirling like dragon scales.

“You forging manacles?” I demand. "Kinky."

“Restraints,” he corrects with a chuckle. “For those in the Ignis Syndicate, not you.”

“Looks like overkill… feels like overkill too—until a bullet nearly proved me wrong.”

Heat flares behind his eyes. He steps into my space, bare chest gleaming with sweat. “It kept you alive.”

“I'm not convinced it didn't make me a target.” My pulse hammers, anger and relief tangling. “You don't get to keep deciding for me.”

He braces a hand against the wall beside my head. It radiates the leftover warmth of his earlier fire; sparks still dance in dark seams. “You want the whole truth?” His voice drops to gravel. “Dragon truth?"

He draws a slow, tight breath, jaw clenched like he's fighting instinct. For a moment, I think he might back down.

“Give. Me. Something.” My voice shakes—hurt, craving, fury all welded together.

He exhales, the warm draft brushing over my skin like smoke from a banked fire, the scent of ember clinging to every syllable. "I’m made to protect what’s mine," he says, voice rough with restraint. His eyes burn into me, not with fire, but with the weight of something far older, far deeper. "You’re mine, Liv Monroe. Pendant or not. Chosen. And if I have to burn the worlddown to keep you safe, I will. My kind only mates once, and I've been waiting centuries for you."

Something inside me snaps—fear, maybe, or common sense. I shove him; he doesn’t budge. Instead he captures my wrists, guiding them above my head against the stone. Heat from his palms pours through me, igniting nerves. The forge’s coals glow brighter, painting shadows in molten strokes.

“I don’t need chains,” I whisper, eyes locked on his. “If I stay, it’s because I choose.”

---