Shadowtide

Jada

THE MOMENT I SMELLED BLOOD, I KNEW.

Not the iron tang of sparring wounds.

Not the sweet-rot of wine spilled on stone.

His.

Melchior’s blood.

Sharp. Hot. Wrong.

The scent slammed into me like a fist to the ribs, and my body moved before thought could catch up—boots tearing through gravel paths, scattering stones in my wake. The moon hung fat and silver overhead, casting skeletal shadows through the garden trees. Branches clawed at the sky like twisted fingers.

I didn’t need light.

I needed him alive.

I found him near the eastern fountain.

Crushed against a tree trunk. Blade discarded in the grass. Blood trailing down his arm in dark rivulets that gleamed black in the moonlight, pooling where his hand dangled limp.

“Melchior.”

His name ripped from my throat—half-snarl, half-something I refused to name.

I dropped beside him, knees slamming into stone hard enough to crack bone. My hands found his throat, fingers pressing against his pulse point with more force than I intended.

Weak.

But present.

Someone had hit him hard. Hard enough to drop a shadowblade, which meant whoever did this wasn’t playing games. Wasn’t ordinary prey. Wasn’t stupid.

My jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.

I scanned the clearing with predatory precision—every detail burning into memory. The disturbed earth. The scattered leaves. The broken branch where someone had crashed through too fast, too reckless, too desperate.

And then I saw it.

Footprints.

Three sets.

Two leading away into the darkness, deeper into the gardens where moonlight couldn’t reach.

One dragged between them. Toes scraping through dirt. Heels leaving furrows.

One dragged.

My blood turned to ice.

Then fire.

No.

No.

I stood slowly—fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms hard enough to draw blood. The air around me thickened, shadows gathering at the edges of my vision like they could sense the rage building in my chest.

Like they were waiting for it.

“Navee.”

The word came out low. Lethal.

A promise wrapped in a threat.

“Jada.”

Xerxes’s voice cut through the red haze clouding my thoughts. I didn’t turn. Didn’t need to. I heard him land behind me—boots hitting earth with barely a whisper, his cloak snapping in the wind like wings furling.

Always so damned quiet.

“What happened?”

His tone was careful. Controlled.

I wasn’t.

“She’s gone,” I bit out, the words tasting like ash. Like failure. Like blood.

Silence.

Then the soft rustle of fabric as Xerxes moved closer, his golden eyes sweeping over the scene. Over Melchior’s unconscious form. Over the blood. Over the footprints leading away into shadow.

His jaw tightened.

Good.

He should be angry too.

“Khashayar and Ephah?”

“Yes.” The word came out as a growl, something feral and barely something the gods should’ve let exist scraping up from my chest. “They took her. She traded herself for him.”

Xerxes said nothing. Just stared at those footprints, at the drag marks between them, his expression unreadable but for the way his hands curled into fists.

The way his wings twitched. Once. Like he was restraining himself from launching into the sky and tearing after them.

I didn’t have his restraint.

“She should’ve screamed,” I hissed, pacing now—unable to stay still. My body vibrated with the need to move, to hunt, to find her and drag her back by force if necessary. “She should’ve let him bleed out. I would’ve come. I would’ve—”

I stopped.

Turned away.

Pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes until I saw stars.

I’d failed her.

Again.

The thought settled in my chest like a stone—cold and heavy and unforgiving.

She’d been alone. Vulnerable. And instead of calling for me, instead of trusting I’d find her, she’d given herself up. Walked into their hands like a lamb to slaughter.

Like she thought she was expendable.

Like she thought I wouldn’t come for her.

My hands dropped.

My eyes opened.

And when I looked at Xerxes, I knew he saw it—the predator behind my gaze. The thing I usually kept leashed and hidden. The serpent coiled tight, ready to strike.

“You know what this means,” I said quietly. Too quietly.

Xerxes held my stare. “We find them.”

“We tear their wings from their backs,” I continued, my voice dropping lower, colder. “We make them wish they’d never touched her. We make them beg for death before we grant it.”

“You think Raihn will allow it?”

His question was careful. Calculated.

Testing me.

I bared my teeth.

“I don’t care what Raihn allows.” The words came out sharp as broken glass. “She’s mine. She is ours. Family. And no one—no one—takes what’s mine and lives to brag about it.”

Behind us, Melchior groaned.

The sound pulled me back from the edge of something dark and violent—something that tasted like blood and felt like freedom. I turned, watching as his eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glazed with pain.

Good.

He was waking.

Because I needed answers.

Because tonight wasn’t over.

Not even close.

I crossed to him in three strides, crouching down so we were eye-to-eye. My hand shot out, gripping his collar, hauling him halfway upright even though he swayed like a drunk.

“What happened?” I demanded.

Melchior blinked. Swayed harder. “Jada—”

“What. Happened."

He flinched at the venom in my voice, but I didn’t soften. Didn’t have time for softness. Didn’t have time for anything except finding her before they did something I couldn’t undo.

“They came out of nowhere,” he rasped, one hand going to his head where black blood still matted his hair. “Khashayar and Ephah. They wanted her. She—she told them she’d go quietly. If they spared me.”

“And you let her?”

His eyes flashed with something—shame, maybe. Anger. Pain. “Ephah knocked me out before I could stop her. By the time I could move again...”

He trailed off.

Didn’t need to finish.

By the time he could move again, she was gone.

I released him. Stood. Turned my back before I did something I’d regret—like putting my fist through his face for being weak, for being slow, for not protecting what mattered most.

My hands were shaking.

From rage.

From fear.

From something I didn’t have a name for.

Xerxes spoke quietly behind me. “We need a plan.”

“The plan is simple,” I said, my voice deadly calm now. The kind of calm that came before a storm. Before bloodshed. Before the world learned what happened when you took something from me. “We track them. We find her. And we bring her home.”

I looked at him over my shoulder, and I knew he saw it—the promise in my eyes.

The vow.

“And if anyone tries to stop us?” Xerxes asked.

My smile was all teeth.

All threat.

All serpent.

“Then they’ll learn what happens when you stand between a predator and his prey.”

Behind me, Melchior tried to climb to his feet—unsteady, swaying, blood still dripping down his arm. He straightened his spine. Squared his shoulders like he could force himself upright through sheer will.

For a moment, I thought he’d make it.

Then his eyes rolled back.

His knees buckled.

And he collapsed—hitting the ground hard, unconscious before his body even finished falling.

I glanced at him. Then at Xerxes.

“Leave him,” I said coldly. “Someone will find him.”

Xerxes hesitated. “Jada—”

“Leave him," I repeated, my voice sharp enough to cut. “He chose to let her fight alone. He can lie in the dirt alone too.”

I turned away from Melchior’s crumpled form and faced the darkness where the footprints led.

Where she was.

Somewhere out there in the night, Navee was alone with monsters.

And I was done playing shadowblade. Done lurking in corners and following orders and pretending I was anything other than what I truly was.

A weapon.

A storm.

A reckoning.

Tonight, the shadows wouldn’t just whisper.

Tonight, they would scream.

Raihn

THE BLOOD HIT ME FIRST.

Copper-thick.

Fresh.

His.

I stepped into the garden, and the scent wrapped around my throat like a noose. My boots crushed night-blooming jasmine, the petals bruising beneath my weight as I followed the trail. Each breath pulled the blood-scent deeper into my lungs until I could taste it on my tongue.

And then I saw him.

Melchior.

Unconscious. Blood pooling beneath his arm, spreading across pale stone in a dark, glistening puddle. His sword lay discarded in the grass. His body crumpled like something broken. Something used.

My chest tightened.

Xerxes knelt beside him, one hand pressed to Melchior’s throat, checking for a pulse. His face was carved from stone. Unreadable. But I knew that look.

I’d worn it myself when I killed my father.

Cold. Controlled.

Murderous.

“Where is she?”

My voice came out quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that preceded bloodshed.

Xerxes’s golden eyes lifted to mine, and something in his expression made my blood run cold.

“She’s gone,” he said, the words clipped. Precise. “Taken.”

No.

The word detonated in my skull.

Not a thought. A rejection. A refusal of reality itself.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My body had gone rigid, every muscle locked in place as my mind raced through possibilities, through scenarios, through every conceivable way this could be a mistake.

“Khashayar and Ephah,” Xerxes continued, his voice tight as a drawn bowstring. “They ambushed her here. Melchior tried to fight—”

He stopped.

Swallowed.

“She surrendered herself to save him.”

The words landed like stones.

She gave herself up.

I stared at Xerxes, waiting for him to take it back. To tell me he was wrong. That she was hiding somewhere in the gardens, that this was all some terrible misunderstanding.

He didn’t.

His jaw clenched. “To save your blade.”

Something in my chest cracked.

Then shattered.

She’d traded herself. For Melchior. For mine. She’d walked into their hands, let them take her, let them put their filthy fucking fingers on her skin—

My vision tunneled.

The world narrowed to a single point of burning, incandescent rage.

I looked down at Melchior, unconscious and bleeding at my feet. The male I’d sworn to protect. The warrior who’d failed to keep her safe.

Who’d let her sacrifice herself.

My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms.

Breathe.

Control.

But I couldn’t.

The pressure in my chest built and built until I thought my ribs would crack from the force of it. Until I felt it in my teeth, my spine, my breath. Until the rage became a living thing, clawing its way up my throat.

And then it broke.

A roar tore from my chest—primal, feral, more beast than breath. The sound ripped through the garden like a death knell, shaking the trees, rattling the fountain. Crows exploded from the branches in a storm of black wings. The flowers around me withered, petals browning and curling as if the very air had turned poisonous.

The echo carried across the castle grounds.

A promise.

A threat.

A declaration of war.

Melchior stirred at my feet, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glazed with pain.

I didn’t look at him.

I looked at Jada.

He stood at the edge of the clearing, his blood-red eyes locked on mine. Unblinking. Unflinching.

We didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

He knew.

I saw it in the set of his shoulders. The curl of his lip. The way his hands flexed at his sides, already reaching for weapons that weren’t there.

Family.

The word hung between us, unspoken but absolute.

She was ours.

And no one took what was ours and lived.

I rolled my shoulders once, feeling the familiar tension gather between my shoulder blades. The pressure. The need.

And then I let go.

Wings burst from my back in an explosion of shadow and membrane. Massive. Dark as the storm gathering in my chest. They spread wide, blotting out the moon, casting the garden into deeper darkness. The leathery skin caught the pale light, reflecting it in veins of silver.

The air shifted.

Power rippled outward from my body in waves.

Jada stepped forward, his expression deadly calm. His jaw set. His eyes burning.

And then his wings erupted.

Dark brown and leathery, snapping outward with the same controlled fury. They stretched wide, matching mine span for span, the membrane taut and gleaming.

Twin shadows.

Bound by blood and vengeance.

Behind us, the air began to hum.

I felt it before I saw it—the buildup of our spirit blessings, raw and ancient, thrumming through the earth like a heartbeat. The temperature spiked. The grass beneath our feet began to glow.

Xerxes’s body arched, his back bowing as light swallowed him whole.

Golden.

Blinding.

Divine.

His limbs twisted, bones expanding, muscles rippling as his form shifted. Scales erupted across his skin, gleaming like molten metal. His body grew, lengthened, expanded until he towered above us—massive wings unfurling, claws digging into stone, serpentine neck stretching toward the sky.

A dragon.

Golden and radiant and furious.

His eyes—still recognizably Xerxes, still burning with that same controlled rage—locked with mine.

I nodded once.

Sharp.

Final.

Then we launched.

Three bodies. Three shadows.

We tore into the sky with enough force to shake the trees below, the wind screaming around us as we climbed higher, faster, our wings beating in perfect synchronization.

Fury and fire and death.

The night stretched before us, vast and dark and full of prey.

Somewhere out there, she was alone.

Afraid.

Mine.

And I was going to find her.

I was going to tear through every bastard who’d dared to touch her. I was going to paint the northern sky red with their blood. I was going to make them scream.

And if they’d hurt her—if they’d so much as bruised her skin—I was going to burn the entire fucking North to ash.

The wind roared in my ears.

My wings beat harder.

Faster.

We carved through the darkness like blades.

Three predators.

One prey.

And the night—the beautiful, blood-soaked night—was ours.

Jada

THE WIND SCREAMED PAST MY EARS.

But I barely heard it.

Not over the pounding in my skull.

Not over the barbed coil wrapping tighter and tighter around my chest with every beat of my wings.

Navee was gone.

And I hadn’t been there.

The thought circled like a vulture, clawing at the edges of my mind, tearing chunks from my sanity with every pass.

I hadn’t been there.

The sky stretched around us—black and endless, a void that matched the hollow feeling spreading through my chest. Stars glittered overhead like shards of broken glass, cold and distant and useless.

Ahead of me, Raihn flew like a dark god carved from shadow and fury. His wings cut through the night with brutal precision, each beat powerful enough to send ripples through the air. He moved like the sky was his birthright. Like he owned the darkness itself.

Below, Xerxes’s dragon form gleamed gold against the black—a living blade drawn for war, scales catching moonlight as he banked and turned, keeping pace effortlessly.

And me?

I flew like a male possessed.

Because I was possessed.

By rage.

By guilt.

By the gnawing, suffocating certainty that I had failed her.

You should’ve been with her.

The words repeated in my head like a curse. Like a prayer. Like both.

I’d trained with her that morning. Corrected her stance. Watched her improve with every strike. She’d been beautiful—fierce and focused and so damned alive that it hurt to look at her directly.

I’d sat beside her at lunch. Listened to her laugh at something Xerxes said. Watched the way the light caught in her eyes when she smiled.

I’d walked her to her rooms.

And then I’d left.

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.

What good was all my strength? My venom? My fucking vow—if I wasn’t there when it counted?

What good was any of it if she was alone when they came for her?

The wind bit at my face, cold and sharp.

I barely felt it.

All I felt was the memory of her.

Her scent—something sweet and sharp, like honeysuckle and steel.

The brush of her fingers against my scales when I shifted, her touch light and careful and trusting.

The sound of her laugh, soft and genuine, the kind she only gave when she thought no one was listening.

The last time I’d seen her, she’d been heading to the garden. Had smiled at me over her shoulder. Had told me to get some rest.

Gods.

The garden.

Where Melchior had fought.

Where she’d been ambushed.

Where she’d surrendered herself.

My wings beat harder, faster, carrying me through the sky with reckless speed.

Melchior had fought. I didn’t doubt that. He was a warrior, trained and deadly. He wouldn’t have gone down easy.

But it had been Navee who’d made the choice.

Navee who’d offered herself.

Again.

Just like the first time, when she’d walked into that dungeon cell rather than let her aunt be hurt.

Just like always.

She put herself on the altar—and we were always too slow to stop her.

A low growl built in my throat.

Not this time.

This time, I’d rip the fucking sky apart before I let her be taken.

This time, I’d tear through armies.

This time, I’d be fast enough.

Raihn surged forward, his massive wings carving through clouds like they were nothing. Even from here, I could feel it—the rage bleeding off him in waves. Cold. Ancient. Absolute.

The rage of a king.

Controlled. Calculated. Lethal.

But mine was different.

Mine wasn’t cold.

Mine burned.

Hot and visceral and personal in a way that had nothing to do with crowns or kingdoms or politics.

Raihn would wage war for his queen.

I would destroy kingdoms for my family.

Because that’s what she was now.

Not just a bond forged in blood and bite.

Not just a charge I was sworn to protect.

Navee was mine.

Mine to guard.

Mine to protect.

Mine to avenge.

And the bastards who’d stolen her—who’d dared to put their hands on her, to threaten her, to take her from us—were going to find out exactly what it meant to touch something I’d claimed.

They thought they were clever.

Thought they could ambush her in the dark, knock Melchior unconscious, and just take her.

Thought they could run far enough. Fast enough.

They were wrong.

I could already picture it.

The look on their faces when we found them.

The moment they realized their mistake.

The split second before I tore into them with everything I had—fangs and venom and fury.

They wouldn’t find mercy.

They wouldn’t find quarter.

They would find only teeth.

Only blood.

Only me.

My hands flexed, claws sharp and ready. My jaw ached from clenching. Every muscle in my body was coiled tight, ready to spring, ready to strike.

I wanted to fly faster.

Wanted to tear through the sky until I reached her.

Wanted to feel their bones break beneath my hands.

The wind whipped past, colder now as we climbed higher, heading north. Toward the mountains. Toward wherever those bastards had dragged her.

I could feel Raihn’s focus ahead—single-minded, deadly.

Could sense Xerxes’s golden presence below—steady, burning, ready.

And between them, I flew.

A shadow with red eyes and blood on his mind.

A weapon unleashed.

A storm given form.

Hold on, Navee.

The thought cut through the rage, sharp and clear.

Just hold on a little longer.

Because I was coming.

We all were.

And when we found her—when I saw her face, heard her voice, knew she was safe—

I was never letting her out of my sight again.

Not for training.

Not for rest.

Not for anything.

She was mine to protect.

And I’d failed once.

Never again.

My wings beat harder.

The night stretched before us, dark and full of prey.

And somewhere out there, in that endless black, she was waiting.

Afraid.

Alone.

Mine.

I bared my teeth to the wind.

Let the rage fuel me.

Let it carry me faster, higher, deadlier.

Because tonight, the North was going to learn something.

They were going to learn what happened when you stole from a shadowblade.

When you took what belonged to a predator.

When you made the mistake—the fatal mistake—of thinking you could keep her.

Tonight, they would learn.

And they would die screaming.

Navee

THE SKY WAS STILL BLACK WHEN I SAW THEM.

Stars scattered overhead like broken glass, beginning to thin as the first pale hints of morning tried to crawl over the horizon. Dawn was coming. Slow. Reluctant.

Not fast enough.

I sat stiffly atop Khashayar’s back, my thighs aching from gripping his sides, my fingers numb from clutching the leather strap across his shoulders. His black bat-like wings stretched wide beneath me, the membrane catching moonlight as they beat in steady, practiced rhythm.

Too smooth.

Too quiet.

Too calm for what he deserved.

He and Ephah hadn’t spoken much since we’d left the castle grounds. Just terse commands. Sharp glances. The kind of silence that came from people who knew they were running on borrowed time.

Good.

Let them be afraid.

Not that I needed them to talk. The silence was loud enough—heavy with the weight of my own stupid decisions, pressing down on my chest like a stone.

I hadn’t fought them.

I’d gone willingly.

Traded myself for Melchior like some noble fool in a tragic ballad. Like I was worth less than a single warrior’s life.

My jaw clenched.

But that didn’t mean I wasn’t watching.

Waiting.

Hoping.

And then—I saw them.

Three silhouettes, distant shadows against the thinning night. One low and fast, skimming the clouds. One dark and enormous, wings spread like an omen. One gleaming gold, catching the first light of dawn like the gods themselves had carved him from sunfire.

My heart stopped.

Then slammed against my ribs hard enough to bruise.

I blinked, leaning forward without thinking. Khashayar shifted beneath me, his wings stuttering slightly as he sensed my movement. Ahead, Ephah’s head turned, his pale eyes following my gaze over his shoulder.

Tracking what I’d seen.

What I knew.

My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the wind.

There.

Closer now.

I could see them clearly.

Xerxes—unmistakable in his dragon form, massive and golden and glorious. His wings sliced through the sky like blades forged from sunlight itself, each beat powerful enough to shake the air. And on his back, rigid as stone, sat Jada. His long red braid whipped in the wind behind him, his blood-red eyes locked on me with predatory focus.

And Raihn—

Gods.

Raihn was a blur of darkness and vengeance incarnate. His wings spread wide, black membrane stretched taut, cutting through the night like he owned it. He flew faster than anything should be able to fly, faster than anything reality should permit or reason or sense.

He flew like death itself was chasing him.

No.

He flew like death was in him.

And he was coming for blood.

My breath caught in my throat.

And then—I laughed.

The sound burst out of me, sharp and wild and tinged with something that might’ve been hysteria if I’d been a weaker female. It cracked the brittle silence between my captors and me like breaking ice.

“You’re dead,” I said, twisting to look back at Khashayar. My grin felt feral. Unhinged. “You’re both so dead.”

Khashayar’s shoulders tensed beneath me. A low growl rumbled from his chest, vibrating through my legs. “Careful, VenomBird.”

“Careful?” I laughed again, louder this time. “Me? I’m not the one who kidnapped the King of Shadows’ mate.”

His wings faltered for half a beat.

Good.

“You pissed off my shadowblade,” I continued, my voice rising with dark satisfaction. “You stole from a dragon.” I tilted my head toward the golden gleam behind us, growing larger with every passing second. “You better pray to whatever gods still listen that they’re feeling merciful today.”

Ahead, Ephah’s voice cut through the wind, sharp and panicked. “Faster!”

That made me laugh so hard I nearly choked.

“Yeah, I’d run too,” I called out, my words half-lost to the screaming wind. “Except you won’t make it. Not before they catch you. You’ll be ash before your wings even cross the border.”

Khashayar snarled—a deep, vicious sound that would’ve terrified me if I wasn’t too busy imagining what Raihn was going to do to him.

His wings tucked slightly, sleek and aerodynamic, and he dove.

The wind slammed into me like a fist.

My breath tore from my lungs. My fingers scrambled for purchase, digging into the leather strap so hard my knuckles went white. The world tilted sickeningly as we dropped, picking up speed, the air screaming past my ears.

My own wings flared instinctively, stretching out for balance, the thin membrane catching air and threatening to rip me right off Khashayar’s back. Every muscle in my body screamed to fly, to lift myself off this bastard’s spine and take myself anywhere but here.

But I didn’t.

I’d agreed to this.

For Melchior.

For peace.

For the slim chance that I could buy them time.

My teeth clenched so hard they ached.

But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy watching these two die screaming.

I clung tighter as the air grew colder, thinner. We were climbing now, angling upward toward the mountain peaks in the distance. The North. Territory I didn’t know. Didn’t trust.

Behind us, the three shapes grew sharper.

Closer.

I could see details now—the gold scales along Xerxes’s neck, catching light like armor. The dark leather of Jada’s coat, flapping in the wind. The way Raihn’s jaw was set, his expression carved from stone and fury.

They were gaining.

Fast.

Come on, I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs. Just a little faster.

Catch me before the North does.

Because I didn’t know what waited for me at the end of this flight.

Didn’t know what Khashayar and Ephah planned to do with me once we crossed into their territory.

But I knew what would happen if Raihn caught them first.

And part of me—the dark, vicious part that had learned to survive in dungeons and throne rooms—wanted to see it.

Wanted to watch Raihn tear them apart.

Wanted to hear Jada’s venom hiss as it ate through flesh.

Wanted to see Xerxes burn them to nothing but ash and memory.

The wind bit at my face, cold and sharp.

I smiled into it.

“They’re right behind you,” I said conversationally, loud enough for Khashayar to hear. “Can you feel it? The way the air’s getting hotter?”

He didn’t answer.

Just flew faster.

Desperate now.

Good.

Let him be desperate.

Let him feel what I’d felt when they’d cornered me in the garden. When they’d threatened Melchior. When they’d forced my hand and made me choose.

“It won’t matter,” I continued, my voice almost cheerful despite the wind tearing at my words. “You could fly to the edge of the world and it wouldn’t be far enough.”

Ephah glanced back, his pale face tight with fear.

I met his eyes.

And smiled.

“He’s going to kill you,” I said simply. “Both of you. And I’m going to watch.”

He looked away.

Behind us, a roar split the sky.

Not something that should exist.

Not entirely.

Raihn.

The sound rolled across the darkness like thunder, like a promise, like the end of all things.

I felt it in my bones.

In my blood.

In the place deep inside me that recognized him—that knew him—even when he was nothing but rage and shadow and wings.

My chest tightened.

Not with fear.

With something else.

Something fierce and warm and terrifying.

He was coming.

They were all coming.

And when they reached me—when I felt Raihn’s hands on me again, heard Jada’s voice, saw Xerxes’s golden eyes—

I was never letting them leave my sight again.

Never.

The wind screamed.

The sky lightened.

And behind us, death flew closer.

I couldn’t wait.

Jada

THE SKY BURNED COLD AROUND ME.

Wind slashed at my face, cutting like razors, but I didn’t feel it.

Couldn’t feel anything except the pounding in my chest.

The rage.

The fear.

All I saw was her.

Navee.

Small but defiant, silhouetted against the dying darkness as she clung to Khashayar’s back. Her wings were folded tight against the wind, her spine straight despite everything.

Still fighting.

Still alive.

They were ahead of us.

Barely.

But the distance between us was closing. Shrinking with every beat of Xerxes’s massive wings, every surge of speed Raihn tore from the wind.

I could taste her venom in the air—sharp and distinct, cutting through the cold like a thread of steel. Could feel the pull of her in my chest, humming like bowstring stretched too tight, vibrating with tension.

She was alive.

I’d know if she wasn’t.

The bond between us would snap. Would break. Would leave a hole in my chest where she used to be.

But for how long?

How long before Khashayar decided she was more trouble than she was worth? Before Ephah put a blade through her ribs? Before they crossed into the North and I lost her to territory I couldn’t follow?

My jaw clenched so hard I felt my teeth grind.

Not happening.

Ahead of me, Raihn flew like vengeance given form. His wings stretched wide—twin blades of obsidian membrane, black as pitch, darker than the night itself. Every beat of them screamed retribution. Promised blood. Swore death.

He was a storm given shape.

A king unleashed.

And he was furious.

Below us, Xerxes soared in his dragon form, golden scales catching the last threads of moonlight. His wings were massive—brutal and beautiful, each beat powerful enough to kick up wind currents that made the trees below shudder and sway like they knew what was coming.

Like they could sense the violence approaching.

And I rode him straight into hell.

My thighs gripped his scaled neck, my hands braced against the ridges of muscle along his spine. The wind tore at my braid, whipping it behind me. My coat snapped and billowed. My eyes burned from the cold.

I didn’t care.

All that mattered was her.

“There!” I snarled, pointing as the shadowblades banked hard east—toward the border. Toward the mountains. Toward safety they’d never reach. “They’re trying to cut wide!”

“They won’t make it,” Raihn growled, his voice carried on the wind, cold and absolute. “We’ll clip them before they pass the ridge.”

Xerxes roared in response—a sound that shook the sky itself, deep and primal and furious. I felt it rumble through my bones, through my chest, through the rage coiled tight in my gut.

We closed the distance in seconds.

Khashayar looked back over his shoulder.

I saw the exact moment he spotted us.

The way his eyes widened.

The way his wings faltered.

The way his body tensed with the realization that he was about to die.

And then—Navee laughed.

The sound of it punched straight through my ribs, sharp and wild and alive.

She twisted on Khashayar’s back, looking right at us, and shouted something I couldn’t hear over the screaming wind. But I didn’t need the words.

I could see it in her face.

In the fierce, feral grin splitting her lips.

In the way she held herself—defiant even in captivity.

She wasn’t afraid.

She knew we were coming.

Something in my chest loosened.

Just slightly.

Just enough to let me breathe.

“NOW!” Raihn barked.

Xerxes tucked his wings—and dove.

The world tilted.

My stomach dropped as we plummeted, falling like a stone, like a blade, like divine judgment. The air screamed past my ears. The ground rushed up to meet us. My hands gripped tighter, claws digging into scales.

And then—just before impact—Xerxes flared his wings wide.

The sudden stop nearly tore me from his back.

But I was already moving.

Already leaping.

I launched myself from Xerxes’s spine, my body twisting mid-air, wings snapping open to catch the wind. For one breathless second, I was weightless—suspended between sky and earth, between safety and violence.

And then I landed.

Right on Khashayar’s back.

Right behind Navee.

Steel met steel in a flash of moonlight.

Ephah spun to intercept me, his blade already moving, already cutting through the air toward my throat. I blocked it—barely—the impact jarring up my arm, sending vibrations through bone. Sparks flew where our weapons met, bright and brief.

We clashed mid-air, weightless and savage.

His strikes were fast. Desperate. Sloppy.

Mine were lethal.

I countered, twisted, drove my blade toward his ribs. He parried, wings flaring for balance. We circled each other on Khashayar’s broad back, two predators fighting for dominance while the wind howled around us.

Behind us, I heard the impact—felt it in the air, in the sudden lurch of Khashayar’s flight.

Raihn had struck.

He slammed into Khashayar mid-flight with enough force to crack bone. The shadowblade bellowed, his wings faltering, his body jerking sideways from the blow.

And Navee—

Gods.

Navee was thrown from her perch.

One second she was there, clinging to Khashayar’s shoulder.

The next, she was falling.

Twisting through empty air, wings still folded, gravity pulling her down toward the trees below.

My heart stopped.

“NAVEE!”

Her name tore from my throat, raw and desperate.

Our eyes met.

I saw her grin.

She was okay.

That was all I needed.

Relief flooded through me, hot and fierce.

And then Ephah came at me again.

Faster this time.

More desperate.

His blade aimed for my throat, his movements sharp with panic. I ducked low, felt the steel whisper past my ear. Countered with my own strike—blade hilt slamming into his gut with brutal precision.

He gasped.

Choked.

Faltered in the air, wings stuttering.

Below us, Xerxes climbed once more, circling like a hunting hawk. His golden form gleamed as he banked, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.

I could see Raihn driving Khashayar downward, forcing him lower and lower with every blow. The king’s fists were merciless, his wings beating with enough force to create shockwaves. Khashayar was bleeding now—I could smell it on the wind, copper-sharp and thick.

The trees were rising to meet them.

Closer.

Closer.

And then Ephah hissed—a wet, angry sound—and dove.

Straight toward Raihn.

Trying to help his partner.

Trying to save himself.

“No.”

The word came out as a growl.

I launched after him, my wings tucking tight, my body an arrow. The wind screamed in my ears as I dove, faster than thought, faster than mercy.

My blade gleamed in my hand.

My breath came ragged.

My vision tunneled.

I was done chasing.

Done watching her be threatened.

Done letting these bastards think they could take what was mine.

Time to end this.

Time to show them what happened when you touched my family.

Ephah was just ahead—close enough to reach, close enough to kill.

I surged forward.

Grabbed the back of his collar.

Yanked him backward mid-flight.

He twisted, blade flashing toward my face.

I caught his wrist.

Twisted.

Snapped.

The bone broke with a sickening crack that I felt through my palm.

Ephah screamed.

Navee

THE WIND RIPPED THE BREATH FROM MY LUNGS.

And then I was falling.

One second, I was gripping Khashayar’s shoulder, fingers dug into leather and muscle, holding on for dear life.

The next—gone.

Raihn hit him like a shadow-forged storm, and the impact flung me straight into open air. Into nothing. Into the space between life and death where gravity was the only god and it wanted me down.

The world spun.

Sky. Trees. Sky again.

Stars wheeling overhead like they were laughing at me.

My stomach lurched. My heart stopped.

And then my wings snapped open.

Too slow.

Too late.

Air caught beneath the membrane like a slap—brutal and sudden, jarring through my spine hard enough to make my teeth crack together. Pain lanced up my back, but it stopped the freefall.

Barely.

I gasped, choking on wind and fear and the sharp, metallic taste of panic.

My wings flailed, unstable, trying to catch purchase in air that felt too thin, too cold. I twisted, claws scraping at nothing, fighting to right myself as the forest loomed below like an open mouth.

The trees rushed up to meet me.

Closer.

Closer.

Above, chaos tore itself open in gold and shadow and steel.

Xerxes arced through the sky like a lightning strike, his golden form blazing against the darkness as he chased Ephah into a downward spiral. Jada was already airborne again, carving through the night after them like a second blade—deadly and precise.

And Raihn—

Gods.

Raihn was a storm given wings.

He drove Khashayar down with relentless, brutal strikes. One after another. Merciless. Exact. Cold fury sculpted into flight, every movement calculated to hurt.

My heart surged, swelling with something fierce and hot.

He came for me.

They all came for me.

I twisted in the air, trying to climb back to them, but I was spiraling—wings unsteady, breath too ragged, body too weak from the fall. The cold bit at my fingertips, turning them numb. My vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges.

No.

No.

I gritted my teeth until my jaw ached and forced my body to obey.

“Not like this,” I hissed into the screaming wind. “Not falling. Not now.”

I banked hard—too hard—nearly clipped a tree crown, branches scraping against my wings. My body shrieked in protest, muscles burning, bones aching.

I didn’t care.

I had to get back to them.

To him.

To all of them.

Above me, a flash of gold cut through the darkness—

Xerxes.

He turned sharply mid-flight, his massive dragon head swiveling, golden eyes finding me floundering below like a broken bird. For one heartbeat, we locked gazes.

And then he roared.

The sound shook the sky itself—primal and powerful, rattling through my bones like thunder. In the next breath, he tucked his wings and dove.

Straight toward me.

I reached for him as he swept beneath me, his presence enormous and solid and safe. His wingtip grazed mine—warm scales against cold membrane—and then his neck curved, positioning himself just right.

I grabbed.

My hands found the ridged scales along his spine, gripping hard enough to bruise my palms. I hauled myself up mid-flight, muscles screaming, pulling myself onto his broad back with the last dregs of my strength.

I collapsed against him, panting, shaking, pressing my cheek to his scales.

“I owe you,” I muttered breathlessly, voice cracking.

Xerxes rumbled beneath me—a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through my entire body.

You always do, it seemed to say.

I let myself have one more breath.

Just one.

Below, Raihn had knocked Khashayar into a dive so hard I heard the trees tremble. Saw branches snap. Felt the earth itself recoil from the impact.

This wasn’t a rescue anymore.

It was an execution written across the sky in blood and shadow.

And I wasn’t about to miss the end of it.

I rose to my knees on Xerxes’s back, ignoring the way my body protested. My hands found purchase on his scales, steadying myself as wind whipped my hair back from my face.

“Take me closer,” I said through clenched teeth, my voice sharp with something dark and hungry. “Let me see them fall.”

And without hesitation—without question—Xerxes soared.

Straight into the storm.

The sky was burning.

Not with flame.

With fury.

Mine. Theirs. His.

All of it bleeding together until I couldn’t tell where one rage ended and another began.

Xerxes banked low beneath the tree line, wind screaming over his wings as we climbed again. My muscles ached. My hands were scraped raw from gripping his scales. My throat burned from breathing too hard, too fast.

But I kept my eyes locked on the chaos above.

Khashayar was spiraling.

Falling.

Dying.

Raihn was on him like a predator that had stalked this kill for lifetimes. His black wings folded tight to his sides as he dove, faster, tighter, every movement controlled and lethal. A king in his element.

Khashayar tried to level out, wings beating frantically, but he was bleeding—one wing torn and sluggish, membrane shredded. Too slow. Too weak.

Too late.

I saw Raihn’s sword flash.

Silver on black.

One clean arc through the night.

It caught Khashayar across the chest, splitting armor like skin, carving through flesh and bone with a sound that made my stomach clench. Blood sprayed into the wind—dark and hot, misting the air.

Khashayar’s scream started—

Then stopped.

Cut short.

Final.

Raihn didn’t pause. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t show mercy.

He drove the blade straight through the BoneBird’s sternum and kept going—slamming him down through the treetops like a falling star. Branches shattered. Bark exploded. The forest itself seemed to scream as both bodies disappeared into the canopy below in a burst of splintered light and broken silence.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Could only stare at the space where they’d been, at the torn branches and settling dust.

He’s dead.

Khashayar was dead.

The male who’d taken me. Threatened me. Put his hands on me.

Gone.

Then—

A roar split the sky.

Different from Xerxes’s.

Sharper. Less beast. More furious.

Jada.

I whipped my head up, heart hammering.

He was locked with Ephah high above us—blades flashing between them like lightning, steel singing through the wind. Just swords and fury and something far older than loyalty.

Vengeance.

Ephah struck first—fast and cruel, his blade arcing toward Jada’s throat with killing intent.

But Jada was faster.

He twisted mid-air, deflecting the strike with brutal efficiency, their swords clashing so violently I heard the sharp crack of steel from where I clung to Xerxes.

But Jada didn’t flinch.

Didn’t fall.

He caught Ephah’s blade with his own, locked their hilts together, and sent them both into a spiral so violent I thought they’d crash straight into the earth.

But Jada was in control.

He’d always been in control.

He broke the lock, spun beneath Ephah’s guard, and drove his blade through the NightBird’s wing membrane—once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Dark blood sprayed across the moonlight as Ephah’s wings faltered, shredding.

And then—with precision that made my breath catch—Jada disarmed him.

One sharp twist. One brutal wrench.

Ephah’s sword tumbled away into the darkness below.

Before the NightBird could recover, Jada closed the distance and sank his fangs into Ephah’s exposed throat.

I heard the wet snap of flesh tearing.

Heard Ephah’s scream—choked and gurgling and desperate.

And then—silence.

Ephah went limp in Jada’s arms, his wings folding, his body slack.

Dead weight.

He ripped away from Ephah’s throat, letting black blood drip from his fangs, and released the body. It fell like a broken doll, tumbling end over end through empty air before disappearing into the trees below.

Jada hovered there, panting, his chest heaving. His crimson eyes burned in the darkness. His wings trembled—not with exhaustion, but with the effort of restraint.

Of not chasing the corpse down and tearing it apart all over again.

Black blood dripped down his jaw.

And then he looked at me.

Even from that distance—even through the darkness and wind and space between us—I felt it.

That sharp, unspoken tether.

That bond forged in dungeons and promises and blood.

Mine, he’d once said.

And gods help anyone who forgot it.

My throat tightened.

Xerxes slowed beneath me, his wings easing into gentler beats. I touched the warm scales at the nape of his neck, my hand trembling slightly.

“Take me down,” I whispered, voice hoarse and cracking.

He turned without hesitation, banking toward the clearing below—toward Raihn, who was already walking from the wreckage of what used to be Khashayar.

Blood coated his hands.

His sword gleamed red in the moonlight.

His jaw was clenched, teeth bared, fangs catching the light.

He looked... untouched.

Like the violence had been nothing.

Like he’d needed it.

Like he’d enjoyed it.

I would’ve run from that once.

From the cold fury in his eyes. From the blood on his hands. From the monster wearing a king’s face.

Now?

Now I wanted to run to him.

The wind died.

The sky, once torn open by wings and vengeance, fell eerily still—like the world itself had paused to take a breath. To witness what we’d done.

To acknowledge what we’d become.

Xerxes landed in the clearing on silent wings, his massive form graceful despite his size. Golden scales caught the last threads of moonlight as he folded down, shifting, shrinking, until his lean, blood-slicked normal body stood in place of the dragon.

I slid from his back.

My legs trembled the moment my boots hit solid ground. The earth felt strange after so long in the air—too still, too stable. The world tilted sickeningly, but I stayed upright.

Barely.

And then Raihn was there.

He moved through the broken trees like a storm drained of its thunder. His sword still dripped with Khashayar’s blood—dark droplets falling to earth like rain. His wings dragged behind him, wide and spent, the membrane torn in places but still powerful. Still his.

His serpentine crimson eyes locked onto mine.

And softened.

Just for me.

No words passed between us.

Just breath. Just presence. Just him.

He didn’t run to me. Didn’t need to.

Kings didn’t run.

I crossed the last few steps myself, my legs shaking but holding. And the moment I reached him—the moment I was close enough to feel his heat, his presence, his life—his arms were around me.

Tight.

Possessive.

Grounding.

He smelled like spice and steel and the shadows I’d come to crave. Like home. Like safety. Like everything I’d thought I’d lost.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispered into my hair, his voice ragged and raw. Broken in a way I’d never heard before.

I didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

I just buried my face against his neck and let myself breathe.

Let myself feel the steady beat of his heart against my cheek.

Let myself believe I was safe.

Then I felt it—a second presence. Hot and close and familiar.

Jada.

I turned, only slightly, still wrapped in Raihn’s arms.

And there he was.

Black blood streaked across his jaw, dripping from his chin. His eyes were wild—burning red and feral and barely recognizable. I didn’t know if he’d shifted back mid-air or landed with claws still extended, but he looked more beast than male.

More predator than person.

“Navee.”

My name on his lips held everything.

Fear. Fury. Relief.

“I’m okay,” I said, my voice cracking on the words. “I’m here. I’m alive.”

He reached out—hesitated—then brushed a hand down my arm, as if checking I was real. As if touching me would make the panic stop. Make the fear fade.

His throat worked hard, once, twice, before he rasped, “I would’ve ripped the whole sky open if they’d hurt you.”

The words hit me like a physical thing.

“I know,” I whispered.

Because I did know.

I’d seen it in the way he’d torn into Ephah. In the way he’d hovered after, shaking with barely-controlled rage. In the way he looked at me now—like I was something precious and breakable and worth destroying worlds for.

We stood like that.

The three of us—Raihn, Jada, and me—with Xerxes watching nearby, silent and golden and steady.

A family forged in blood and darkness.

A bond that couldn’t be broken.

Then—

A sound behind us.

A cough. Wet and pained.

Raihn tensed instantly, his body going rigid, his hand moving toward his sword.

But I turned first.

And my heart stopped.

Melchior staggered into the clearing, his arm cradled against his chest, his face pale beneath streaks of dried black blood. He looked half-dead—bruised and battered and barely standing.

And entirely pissed off.

“Someone want to explain,” he growled, his voice rough as gravel, “why I woke up alone in the fucking garden?”

The tension broke.

Jada let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh—sharp and startled and relieved.

I ran to Melchior without thinking, throwing my arms around him carefully, mindful of his wounds. He was solid. Warm. Alive.

He blinked, clearly stunned. “... You’re alive?”

“Barely.”

“You’re stupid,” he muttered, but his good arm came up to hug me back, holding me tight enough that I felt his ribs expand with breath. “But alive.”

I pulled back just enough to look at his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so—”

“Don’t.” His jaw clenched. “Don’t apologize for saving my life, Navee.”

Raihn stepped closer, his voice like cracked stone. “We need to get inside. Now. Before Blythe sends more.”

The name hung in the air like poison.

Blythe.

The one behind this. The one who’d sent Khashayar and Ephah. The one who wanted me dead—or worse.

Jada was already scanning the trees, his body coiled and ready, jaw tight. “He won’t get another chance.”

“No.”

My voice came out harder than I expected. Sharper.

I pulled away from Melchior, my hand still gripping his coat, and looked at each of them in turn.

Raihn. Jada. Xerxes. Melchior.

My family.

My pack.

“He won’t,” I repeated, quieter now but no less deadly. “Because next time?”

I bared my teeth.

Let them see the predator I’d become.

The VenomBird who’d stopped running.

“We won’t just be ready.”

I met Raihn’s eyes.

Held his gaze.

“We’ll be waiting.”