For a heartbeat—maybe less—there is nothing. No light. No sound. No sensation except the infinite cold pressing against my skin, like being submerged in a frozen lake. The darkness is absolute, thick enough to choke on, and somewhere in that endless black my hound stirs, perfectly at home in the space between spaces. My eyes shift without my permission, bleeding from stormy gray to the soulless black orbs of my other form. I feel the void recognize me. Welcomes me.
Then the world snaps back into existence.
I materialize in the Blackhaven territory, and my senses flood with information. The familiar scent of pine and damp earth fills my lungs, sharp and clean after the smoke-heavy air of the house. Beneath it runs the musk of pack—fur and sweat and the iron tang of a recent hunt. Wood smoke curls from chimneys in the distance, carrying the rich aroma of roasting meat. My territory. My people.
We built our pack’s settlement on the edge of Sovereign and Blackhaven since we work for both nests. It’s a considerable chunk of land—rolling hills blanketed in dense forest, cleared meadows where wildflowers push through the tall grass, and a river that cuts through the eastern boundary like a silver ribbon. Our people have built homes from timber and stone, structures that blend with the landscape rather than fight it. It’s far better than the scraps we had before—the cramped, lightless hovels we were forced to call home when we were nothing more than disposable soldiers.
I wander through the settlement, breathing in the life of it. Children shriek with laughter as they chase each other between buildings, their bare feet slapping against packed dirt. The clang of a blacksmith’s hammer rings out in a steady rhythm, accompanied by the hiss of hot metal plunged into water. Someone is baking bread—I catch the yeasty warmth of it drifting from an open window, and my stomach growls in response.
I pause to speak with my packmates and address the issues an alpha must handle. A dispute over hunting grounds—two young males with too much pride and not enough sense, their hackles raised, the acrid scent of aggression sharp in my nose. I settle it with a look, letting my eyes bleed black for just a moment. They back down immediately. A request for more building materials from a mother with three pups and a fourth on the way, her belly swollen beneath her dress. I promise her everything she needs. The everyday matters that keep a community running. The familiar rhythm of leadership grounds me, gives purpose to the restless energy thrumming beneath my skin like electricity before a storm.
I find my grandmother sitting beneath the great oak at the settlement’s center. The tree is ancient—its trunk wider than three men standing shoulder to shoulder, its branches spreading overhead like a living cathedral. Dappled sunlight filters through the leaves, painting shifting patterns of gold and green across the ground.
Maeba is teaching my mate to sew, of all things.
Raven’s dark hair spills over her shoulder in a cascade of midnight silk. Her brow furrows in concentration as she bends over a piece of fabric, her fingers clumsy with the needle. She’s killed men with those hands. Torn throats and shattered bones. And here she is, learning to mend cloth.
Something warm and fierce swells in my chest. “Good afternoon, ladies.” I bow deeply, a grin tugging at my lips.
“Keir!” Raven practically squeals, abandoning her fabric to dive into my arms. She hits me like a force of nature, her body colliding with mine, and I catch her easily—arms wrapping around her waist, lifting her off her feet. Her purr rumbles against my chest, vibrating through my ribs and settling somewhere deep in my core. The sound is primal, possessive, and it makes my hound pace restlessly beneath my skin.
“My Raven.” I cup her face in my hands—her skin is warm silk beneath my calloused palms—and kiss her lips. She tastes like honey and something wilder, something that belongs only to me. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer, and I sigh into the softness of her mouth. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Every nightmare, every battle, every scar—it all led me here. To her.
“How’s my grandson doing?” Maeba pats the bench beside her, her face a map of wrinkles earned through decades of laughter and hardship. Her white hair is pulled back in a simple braid, wispy strands escaping to frame her weathered features.
I settle next to my grandmother and wrap an arm around her frail shoulders, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her skin is paper-thin and cool, smelling of dried herbs and old magic—lavender and sage and something earthier that I’ve never been able to name. “Pretty good. Just checked on our people and came to visit with you.”
Raven picks up her abandoned fabric and climbs onto my lap, settling against my chest as if she belongs there. Because she does. Her weight is warm and solid, grounding me in a way nothing else can.
“All is well, Keir. Between you and Raven, our people are thriving. There are rumors of a new black unicorn foal born last night.” Maeba’s voice is warm with contentment.
Raven’s sapphire eyes light up, bright and eager in the filtered sunlight. “I’ll be back. I think I know who it is.” She shoves the fabric into my hands—the cloth is soft, some kind of cotton, dyed a deep forest green—and spreads her wings. They unfurl from her back in a stretch of obsidian leather, the membrane catching the light like dark oiled silk. The sound they make is a soft snap as they extend to full span, revealing the delicate webbing between each bone. Then she launches into the sky, powerful wingbeats stirring up dust and sending leaves swirling in her wake.
Maeba laughs, the sound crackling like autumn leaves crushed underfoot. She shakes her head, pale eyes following Raven’sshrinking form. “That girl has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.”
“I got really lucky, Grams.” I watch my mate disappear over the treeline, her silhouette stark against the endless blue. My heart feels too big for my chest, straining against bone and muscle.
“Why aren’t you in school today?” Maeba fixes me with a look that makes me feel like a boy caught sneaking honey cakes before dinner. Her pale eyes—clouded with age but still sharp enough to cut—pin me in place.
“We have a three-day weekend.” I turn my gaze to our people moving through the settlement—a woman hanging laundry, the white sheets snapping in the breeze; two old men playing a board game in the shade, their laughter carrying on the wind; a group of young hunters returning from the forest, a deer slung between them.
“This generation of dragons is kind and looks at the whole picture when doing things.” Maeba lifts her face toward the sky, letting the warmth of the sun soak into her skin. A hawk circles overhead, riding the thermals in lazy spirals.
“War is coming, Grams.” I stare at the dirt in front of me, watching a beetle moving forward through the grass without a care in the world. Its shell gleams like polished obsidian. I envy its ignorance. I envy its peace.
“Raven already told me. She also told me she and her mother are going to an all-female continent to see their queen.” Maeba tilts her head, studying me with those knowing eyes. “She’s bringing you with her, and Mina is bringing Zigmander. Bringing non-dragon males wouldn’t be seen as a threat to the females there.” She pats my knee the way she used to when I was a little boy—small and scared and afraid of the monsters in the dark. Before I became one of them.
“When did she decide that?” I blink at her, my thoughts scattering. The information doesn’t compute. How does my grandmother know something I don’t?
“Mina called while we were sewing. Iris and Xero are going together. Apparently, Xero is Iris’s bodyguard. Mina is sending them tonight to deliver the message to the queen. Since Xero can talk, she’s the best candidate.” Maeba turns to face me fully, her expression grave beneath the wrinkles.
The implications swirl through my head like a whirlpool, dragging me under. War brewing on the horizon. Diplomatic missions to foreign queens. Ancient powers stirring from a long slumber. My mate in the center of it all—beautiful and fierce and terrifyingly capable.
And me, standing beside her, ready to tear apart anyone who threatens what’s ours. “Well, we can get our people ready. Everyone has an assigned resident or two that they’re to blink to the secret location. I’ll run drills tonight just in case.” I kiss my grandmother on the forehead—her skin cool and dry beneath my lips—before rising. My muscles coil with purpose, with the need to move, to act, to protect.
Everything has to be perfect—just in case the world goes to hell in a handbasket in the next few months.
