Dad stands on the balcony above the gauntlet, his silhouette dark against the morning sky as he looks down at the structure with critical assessment. His wings flex slightly when he spots me, the black membranes catching light before he glides down with practiced grace. The wind from his descent ruffles my hair as he lands beside me with barely a sound.
“I thought you weren’t running this year,” he says, arching a brow as he looks from me to Abraxis, then to Corvus. His tone carries concern wrapped in parental authority.
“I’m not getting in the middle of this,” Corvus says with diplomatic wisdom, holding up his hands in surrender. “I haveto live with her. If she wants to run, I support that. If she chooses not to, I support that too.” He steps closer and kisses me softly, his lips warm and reassuring, before taking Solaris’s egg carrier from me with gentle hands.
The egg vibrates against Corvus’s chest—a deliberate pulse that I recognize as Solaris making his opinion known. ‘Wise male, yer Corvus. Knows when tae stay out of a dragoness’s way,’his Scottish burr echoes in my mind with obvious approval.
“He approves of your stance,” I tell Corvus with a small smile before he can ask what the vibration meant.
“You are the heir apparent—you can’t run,” Abraxis says, his voice carrying the weight of someone who genuinely believes he’s protecting me. His scarred face shows the conflict between duty and care.
I tilt my head slowly, deliberately, looking at him with the same expression I’ve seen my father use countless times. The movement is predatory, controlled, speaking volumes without words. “Try to stop me.” I lock eyes with him and refuse to budge, my sapphire gaze unwavering.
He is one of the fathers in the nest, and I love him, but he has deeply ingrained issues with females doing dangerous things. I understand where it comes from—he was raised in an era when females were locked in egg chambers, kept safe and controlled, and ultimately powerless. But we have choices now. Klauth and Thauglor made sure of that, fought for that, changed centuries of tradition so we could be more than breeding stock.
“I tell you what,” I say, my voice carrying steel beneath the sweetness. “Why don’t you and Daddy talk like drakes do and let me know how that works out for you. I’m going to go runthe gauntlet.” I clap Abraxis on the shoulder as I walk past him, feeling his muscles tense under my palm, but knowing he won’t physically stop me.
I get about thirty feet from the gauntlet’s entrance when Orpheus steps out from behind a massive oak tree, his movements silent as death. “There are scorpions in there this time,” he whispers close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin.
“Terror twins at it again,” I whisper back with a grin, bumping my fist against his. The gesture is familiar, comfortable, speaking to years of sibling conspiracy.
“Yeah, just like old times.” Orpheus smiles with mischief dancing in his eyes and looks toward the gauntlet entrance where Keir is preparing to enter. My mate catches sight of us, smiles that devastating smile of his, and waves before diving into the darkness with the fearless confidence of someone who can blink through space itself. Leander’s groan of dismay is clearly audible even from this distance.
Orpheus and I lean against the low stone wall that borders the training grounds, listening to the sounds echoing from within the gauntlet—crashes, mechanical grinding, the occasional thud of impact—while watching Keir’s glowing dot move along the magical tracking display. Two more of his blink hound packmates line up behind me, their presence a comforting weight at my back.
“How’s he handling being Alpha?” Vaughn’s familiar voice comes from my left before his arms wrap around me in a warm hug. He kisses my forehead with paternal affection, and I breathe in his comforting scent of leather and old books.
“He’s doing well, Daddy Vaughn. The last of his pack moved into the Blackhaven territory last week.” I pull my phone out of the hidden pocket cleverly sewn into my leathers and check the screen, noting several messages. “Hemlocke is with his dad today, helping the seven families that want to relocate to Blackhaven.”
The move has been months in the planning—establishing safe territory, preparing housing, planting fields. It’s the kind of work that makes me proud of my mates’ leadership.
“Next!” Leander’s voice booms across the training ground, and I look up to find him staring directly at me. Apparently, I’m the next one to go—whether by design or fate, I’m not sure.
I walk over to the gauntlet with measured steps, my boots crunching on gravel, and crane my neck to look up at the towering wooden death trap. The structure seems to loom larger the closer I get, shadows pooling at its base like living things.
“Are you sure you want to run?” Corvus asks as he climbs the steps to join us at the entrance platform, Solaris’s egg carrier secure against his chest. I can see the worry in his silver eyes despite his earlier declaration of support.
“I’ll be fine,” I promise, meaning every word.
I kiss his lips softly, tasting coffee and bacon on his tongue, and let him band his arms around me, holding me against his solid warmth. We purr together—a soft rumbling that resonates between our chests where they’re pressed together—before he reluctantly releases me.
“Leave nothing breathing,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. His eyes flick up to Leander. “Live threats, partial shifting allowed.”
“What about breath weapon?” I call up Leander. After last year’s incident where I melted through three walls, they’d been debating whether to allow it this year.
“Not allowed,” Leander says with a knowing smile that tells me he remembers exactly what I did to his gauntlet last time.
“Alright, let’s do this then.” I roll my shoulders, feeling my wings settle into optimal position, and take a deep breath that fills my lungs with cool morning air.
Then I dive into the darkness of the gauntlet, leaving the sunlight behind as shadows swallow me whole.
Stepping into the dark hall of the gauntlet reminds me viscerally of the catacombs deep beneath Blackhaven—that same oppressive weight of ancient stone and forgotten deaths pressing down from above. There’s a musty smell that fills my nostrils, thick and cloying like wet earth mixed with decay, along with the lingering metallic tang of blood from previous contestants. The scent makes my stomach clench with anticipation rather than fear.
Keir gives a gentle tug on our bond, the sensation like warm fingers brushing against my consciousness, letting me know he made it through alive and relatively unscathed. Relief floods through me, and I smile in the darkness, sending a warm embrace back down the bond—my version ofI’m proud of you, stay safe.
The flooring beneath my boots is made of rough-hewn wood that creaks ominously with each careful step. The walls are constructed of the same material, though I can see metal reinforcements gleaming dully in the dim light filtering from somewhere above. I allow my silver talons to extend with softclicks, feeling them pierce through my fingertips with familiar ease, and raise the protective scales up over my throat—just in case something decides my jugular looks appetizing.
I shift my eyes to my dragon’s sapphire vision, and suddenly the darkness becomes navigable. Details emerge from shadow—the grain of wood, subtle variations in temperature, the faint shimmer that speaks of magic at work. I gaze out across several paths that branch ahead of me like a nightmare made of choices.
