Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this was wrong. The dragon didn’t care. The dragon only understood that someone had threatened his mate.
Malachar led him to the hotel. Later, Alessandro would realize this was intentional; the demon wanted witnesses, wanted to force Alessandro to reveal his nature as destructively as possible.
In the moment, he only saw red.
The hotel lobby disintegrated around them. Furniture burst into flames. Windows shattered. Guests fled screaming while Alessandro’s dragon form thrashed through the space, trying desperately to reach the demon who kept flickering just out of reach.
Malachar laughed the whole time.
“Look at you,” he crowed, dodging another burst of flame. “So impressive. So powerful. And so utterly useless. You can’t protect her, dragon. You can’t even protect yourself.”
Alessandro lunged. Missed.
“She’s going to die knowing you failed her. Just like your grandfather failed. Just like your father is failing. The Draven curse claims everyone eventually, and all your fire won’t save a single one of them.”
His certainty broke.
Not his rage—the conviction beneath it. The part of him that had believed, despite everything, that he could fix this alone.
He crashed through a pillar. Hit the floor. Lay there in the wreckage of his own making, scales receding, fire dying, human form reasserting itself with brutal finality.
The transformation back was always worse. His bones ached. His skin felt too tight after the armor of scales. And without the dragon’s rage to shield him, every emotion came flooding back.
The hotel lobby was destroyed. Marble cracked and blackened. Chandeliers melted into abstract sculptures of twisted crystal. Guests clustered at the edges, staring.
And Malachar was gone.
Alessandro pushed himself to his knees amidst the rubble, naked, shaking, surrounded by destruction.
“I’ve made everything worse,” he whispered. “Everything I touch falls apart.”
“Then perhaps it’s time to stop touching.”
He looked up. Estelle stood in the ruins, immaculate despite the chaos, regarding him with ancient eyes.
“And start listening,” she finished.
“I don’t know how.”
“You start by admitting you need help.” She offered her hand. “You continue by accepting it.”
Alessandro stared at her outstretched hand.
He took Estelle’s hand.
“Four days until the full moon,” she said, pulling him to his feet. “That’s not much time to become a different person.”
“I know.”
“But it’s enough time to start.” Estelle wrapped her own coat around his shoulders. “Now stop destroying my town and go figure out how to be worthy of that love.”
She led him away from the destroyed lobby, past the gawking crowds and the arriving fire crews. The path she took was deliberate: away from Bea’s shop, away from Marina, toward the beach where the salt air could clear his head.
“Malachar wanted this,” Alessandro said as they walked. “He wanted me to lose control. Wanted the town to see what I really am.”
“Of course he did. Public destruction. Property damage. Terrified civilians.” Estelle’s voice was dry. “You gave him exactly what he wanted.”
“I know.”
