Page 19 of Hex and the Dragon
The real battle was about to begin.
EIGHT
DORIAN
The fighting retreat through Mistwhisper Falls' shadow-infested streets had been a nightmare of coordinated supernatural assault and desperate magical defense. Dorian's dragon fire had carved a path through the Chronicle's manifestations while Ivy's bibliomancy wove protective barriers around their group, but the cost had been significant. Three of their party had been separated in the chaos—Leo, Cade, and Aerin lost to the writhing darkness that seemed to move with predatory intelligence.
Now Ivy and Dorian stood alone in the library, the building's ancient protective wards barely holding against the shadow-figures that prowled the streets outside. Through the tall windows, they could see dozens of the Chronicle's manifestations circling the library like wolves around a wounded deer, their forms shifting between seductive familiarity and alien menace.
"The others?" Ivy asked quietly, though she already knew the answer from Dorian's grim expression.
"Alive," he said with the certainty that came from supernatural senses attuned to life force. "I can smell their scenttrails leading toward the town hall. Leo was coordinating a fallback position there before we got separated."
Ivy felt a mixture of relief and isolation wash over her. Their friends were safe, but she and Dorian were trapped in the very heart of the Chronicle's influence, surrounded by an entity that grew stronger with each passing hour.
"How long do you think the wards will hold?" she asked, settling onto the floor beside her desk where the Chronicle waited with patient malevolence.
"A few hours, maybe less," Dorian replied, wincing as he moved to join her. The retreat had taken its toll on him—his shirt was torn from a shadow-figure's claws, and golden fire flickered erratically around cuts that should have healed by now. "The Chronicle's influence is interfering with my dragon's natural healing abilities."
Ivy felt a surge of concern as she noticed the way he favored his left shoulder and the fine tremor in his hands that suggested magical exhaustion. "Let me help," she said, moving closer to examine his injuries.
"It's nothing serious," Dorian protested, though he didn't resist when she began carefully peeling away the torn fabric of his shirt.
"Dragon physiology might be different from human," Ivy said with academic precision that helped her ignore the way her pulse quickened at the sight of his bare chest, "but these claw marks are deep enough to scar if they're not properly treated."
She retrieved her emergency medical kit from the archive room's supply cabinet, grateful for the practical task that gave her something to focus on besides the Chronicle's whispers and the growing awareness of Dorian's proximity. The wounds were indeed deep, scoring lines across his ribs and shoulder that spoke to the supernatural strength of their attackers.
"This might sting," Ivy warned, dabbing antiseptic onto the cuts with careful precision.
Dorian's sharp intake of breath had nothing to do with the antiseptic and everything to do with the gentle touch of her fingers against his skin. "Ivy," he said quietly, his voice carrying a vulnerability that made her meet his amber eyes.
"What?" she asked softly, her hands stilling on his shoulder as she recognized the intensity in his gaze.
"I need you to know," Dorian said, his words careful and deliberate, "that what I'm feeling for you—this isn't just the Chronicle's manipulation. It isn't just proximity or shared danger or magical bonding."
"How can you be sure?" Ivy asked, though her heart was racing with hope and fear in equal measure.
"Because I've never felt anything like this before," Dorian admitted, his hand rising to cover hers where it rested against his shoulder. "Dragons don't form casual attachments. When we connect with someone, it's... comprehensive. And you—being near you doesn't just calm my human side. It soothes the dragon too. Makes the fire feel purposeful instead of destructive."
Ivy felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she recognized the enormity of what he was sharing with her. "That's not possible," she whispered. "You barely know me."
"I know enough," Dorian said with quiet certainty. "I know you're brave enough to face impossible odds for people you care about. I know you're brilliant enough to find connections that others miss. I know you're kind enough to heal someone who's been taught that his very nature is destructive."
"Dorian," Ivy said, her voice breaking slightly on his name.
"I know you're beautiful," he continued, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her hand, "not just physically, though you are. But beautiful in the way you think, the way you approachproblems, the way you refuse to give up even when the Chronicle is offering you everything you've ever wanted."
"I've been trying so hard not to feel this," Ivy confessed, her resistance crumbling under the weight of his honesty. "Trying to stay professional, stay distant, because I thought what I was feeling was just proximity and shared crisis and..."
"And?" Dorian prompted gently.
"And because I'm falling for you too," Ivy admitted in a rush. "Despite every rational thought telling me it's too fast, too complicated, too dangerous—I'm falling for you, and it terrifies me."
The confession hung between them like a bridge across dangerous waters, and Ivy felt the Chronicle's attention sharpen with predatory interest. The fragment was pleased with their growing emotional connection, pleased with the vulnerability they were sharing.
But in that moment, she found she didn't care what the Chronicle wanted. The need for connection, for human warmth in the face of cosmic horror, was stronger than her fear of being manipulated.
"We're probably going to die here," Dorian said with dark humor, his amber eyes never leaving her face. "The Chronicle has us exactly where it wants us, and the equinox is still two days away."
