Page 47 of Tempest Blazing
"Isn't it?" Kane's blue-violet eyes held mine steadily. "You made a choice to interview Garanth alone. You calculated the risks, weighed your options, and decided the potential information was worth the danger. When it went wrong, you survived it." His voice softened slightly. "But now you're sitting here punishing yourself because survival didn't feel heroic enough."
The accuracy of it made my throat tight. Because that was exactly what I'd been doing—cataloguing every moment of helplessness, every second I'd needed rescue instead of providing it. Measuring myself against some impossible standard of strength and finding myself lacking.
"I couldn't even fight back properly," I whispered, the admission scraping against my pride. "The collar... it was like being nothing. Just human."
Kane's expression shifted, something almost like pain flickering across his features. "Just human," he repeated quietly. "You say that like it's a failure."
"In that moment, it was." The words came out bitter, raw. "Mason spent years in that ring because he's strong enough to survive it. You waltzed in there with enough power to bring down the ceiling. Even Draven and Ciaran could fight their way through. But me? I was useless the second they took my magic away."
Kane was quiet for a long moment, his gaze thoughtful. When he spoke again, his voice was careful, measured.
"You know what I saw in that arena?" he asked. "A human woman with broken ribs who refused to stay down. Who looked a seven-foot demon in the eye and kept fighting even when she knew she couldn't win. Who survived long enough for rescue not because she was magical, but because she was stubborn."
I blinked, caught off guard by the quiet conviction in his voice.
"The collar didn't make you weak, Tess. It revealed something else entirely. Something that has nothing to do with dragon bonds or magical power." His eyes met mine, steady and sure. "It revealed exactly why Thalon chose you in the first place."
Chapter 21
Tess
The sanctuary's careful quiet exploded the moment I felt Mason coming. Even through the protective wards, his magic slammed against the boundaries—wild, desperate, barely leashed. The bond between us, muted and wrong since the collar, suddenly roared back to life.
I gasped.
Kane's head snapped toward the door, his own magic bristling. "That's—"
"Mason," I whispered. My heart tried to punch through my ribs. The mate bond thrummed with his emotions—fury, panic, and a protectiveness so fierce it hollowed out my chest. I could feel him following our connection like a lifeline, pulled by something older than thought.
Through the walls, Ciaran's voice. Low. Measured. Speaking to someone just outside.
Then footsteps. Heavy, purposeful strides I'd know in my sleep.
Kane rose, positioning himself between me and the door. Fluid. Ready. Not defensive, exactly, but his magic hummed beneath his skin like a warning.
When Mason appeared in the doorway, all of Kane's careful positioning became irrelevant.
Mason filled the frame. Massive shoulders nearly brushing the sides. His dark eyes swept the room once before locking onto me with laser focus. The relief that crashed through the bond stole my breath, followed immediately by barely leashed rage that prickled across my skin.
His magic was everywhere—pressing against the walls, crackling in the air like a storm barely held in check. Stone dust drifted from his clenched fists. I could see the effort it was taking him not to tear the room apart.
"Mason," I breathed.
That single word broke him.
He crossed the room in three long strides, dropping to his knees beside the bed with a thud that shook the floor. His hands hovered over me, trembling, as if he was afraid I might disappear.
"Tess." My name came out broken. His dark eyes roamed over my face, cataloguing every bruise, every sign of exhaustion. When his gaze caught on the fading marks around my throat where the collar had been, his jaw clenched so hard I heard his teeth grind.
"I'm okay," I whispered, reaching for him. "I'm safe."
His hand closed around mine with desperate gentleness, callused fingers intertwining with mine like he was anchoring himself to reality. The contact sent warmth flooding through the bond—his relief, his love, his absolute determination to never let anything hurt me again.
"I felt it," he said quietly. Voice thick. "The bond went quiet, and then... pain. So much pain." His free hand moved to hover over my ribs, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel the heat of his palm. "I couldn't reach you."
The raw anguish in his voice made my throat tight. Through the bond, I could feel the echo of what he'd experienced—the sudden muting of our connection when the collar had locked around my neck, followed by the distant but unmistakable sensation of my terror and pain. He'd felt every moment of helplessness. Every second of not knowing if I was alive or dead.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, squeezing his hand. "I'm so sorry you had to feel that."
