But I couldn’t give them better. Not right now. Not while Dante was out there somewhere, tied to a chair, asking for me.
Another message:He keeps saying your name. It’s quite pathetic, really. Makes me wonder what you did to inspire such devotion.
My vision went copper-edged. I felt my control slipping, felt my dragon surging forward with murderous intent. Cinder’s hand landed on my shoulder, and I realized I’d been growling—actually growling, low enough that only supernatural hearing would catch it but still too obvious.
“Coach,” he said quietly. “You need to step back for a minute.”
I did, moving away from the bench into the tunnel where the cameras couldn’t see me. Pressed my forehead against the cool concrete wall and tried to remember how to breathe.
Ignatius appeared beside me. “Any word?”
“He’s saying my name,” I managed to get out. “Dante’s asking for me, and I can’t—I can’t get to him.”
“I know. But you need to hold on just a little longer. We’re close to tracking the signal. Doryu thinks he’s narrowed it down to an industrial area near the airport.”
“Thinksisn’t good enough.” My hands were shaking. “He’s hurt, and scared, and I promised him I’d keep him safe.”
“And you will. But not if you shift in the middle of a playoff game and expose what you are to thousands of people.” Ignatius’s voice was firm. “Get through this game. Then we’ll get him back.”
I forced myself to return to the bench. Watched the rest of the second period through a haze of barely controlled rage. Chicago scored again. 5-0. The crowd had gone quiet, the sort of disappointed silence that came when your team was getting demolished.
The third period was a formality. We scored once—Keegan, on a power play—but it was too little, too late. The final buzzer sounded with the score 5-1, and I stood there behind the bench feeling absolutely nothing.
We’d lost. The series was tied 3-3. We were going to a game seven on the road.
And I couldn’t bring myself to care about any of it.
I went through the motions of the post-game. Spoke to the media about effort and execution and how we’d regroup for game seven. Answered questions about Dante’s absence with vague references to “day-to-day injuries.” Watched the reporters exchange knowing glances, saw them filing away the story for later.
When I finally made it back to my office, Ignatius was waiting with Cole, Max, and Taz. Taz moved closer, his eyes assessing me because he’d lived long enough to recognize when another dragon was on the edge. “You look like hell.”
“I feel worse.” I sank into my desk chair, every muscle in my body screaming with tension, and glanced at Ignatius. “Tell me you found something.”
“Doryu’s been tracking the signal from Odin’s messages,” Ignatius said. “He’s narrowed it down to a warehouse district near the airport. Three possible locations.”
“So we go to all three—”
My phone buzzed. I grabbed it immediately, my heart stopping when I saw it was another video file from Dante’s number.
My hands were shaking so badly I almost couldn’t press play. The others crowded around me, all of us staring at the small screen.
Dante appeared, and my dragon howled. He was sitting in that same chair, but he looked more alert now. The bruise on his jaw had darkened to a deep purple, and there were shadows underhis eyes that made him look younger and more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him.
“Theron.” His voice was rough, like he’d been shouting. Or crying. “They want me to give you instructions. You’re supposed to come alone to—” He rattled off an address in the warehouse district, and I saw Cole immediately typing it into his phone.
“No backup, no police, no other dragons. Then they will take you to where I am, but it won’t be at the first place. You’ll be escorted after that. Just you. If you don’t show up alone, they’ll—” He stopped, his jaw tightening. Then he looked directly at the camera, and something in his expression shifted. “It’s a trap.”
The words came out fast and clear, and I saw the moment someone off-camera realized what he’d said. There was a shout, the sound of impact, and Dante’s head snapped to the side. The video cut off abruptly.
“Fuck,” Max breathed.
I was already moving, grabbing my jacket, my keys, my phone. “I’m going.”
“Theron, wait—" Ignatius started.
“He warned me it was a trap. That means he’s still thinking clearly, still trying to protect me even when he’s the one tied to a chair.” My voice cracked. “I’m not leaving him there another minute.”
“We know it’s a trap,” Taz said calmly. “We also know Dante won’t be there. Odin isn’t stupid, and he won’t give you an address to where he is. This is just the first instruction.”
