Novels by Bella Fyre

173 (Kathryn’s POV) The contraction hit so hard it doubled me over. My fingers dug into Tyler’s arm as the air left my lungs in a sharp cry. “Easy,” he murmured, though his voice shook beneath the calm he tried to wear for me. His arm slid under my knees, his other wrapping tight around my back, and in one fluid motion I was lifted against his chest. “I’ve got you.” The world blurred as he started to run, his stride smooth but impossibly fast. The cool night air rushed past my face, the glow of the lake fading behind us. I could hear his heartbeat beneath my ear, pounding hard and steady, faster than I’d ever heard it. His scent familiar, grounding was everywhere, wrapping around me like armor. Through the haze of pain, I felt it, the first time, his voice in my mind, sharp and commanding. Doctor. Now. Meet us at the packhouse. She’s in labor. The bond carried more than words. It carried fear, urgency, the depth of his desperation. Camerin’s answering growl echoed faintly at the

172 (Tyler’s POV) The party swelled after the speeches, music picking up again, wolves crowding the courtyard to dance, feast, and drink until their laughter echoed into the trees. For the first time in far too long, my people’s voices weren’t weighed down by suspicion or grief. Kate lingered at my side for a time, smiling as Celia pulled her into conversations, nodding to the greetings of Rowan’s Luna, laughing at something Katie whispered in her ear. But I noticed the weariness creeping into her movements, the way her hand lingered on her stomach a heartbeat longer than usual. She caught my eye across the throng and gave me a soft, reassuring before slipping away toward the trees. I let her go. Fool that I was, I thought she only wanted a moment to herself. (Kathryn’s POV) The celebration was alive with music and laughter, but my chest felt tight. Too many voices, too many eyes, all of it pressing in. I smiled when I needed to, laughed when I should, but beneath it all, I just

171 (Tyler’s POV) While the house thrummed with preparations, pots banging, wolves stringing garlands between beams, Celia barking cheerful orders louder than any commander I found Kate on the porch, away from the noise. She was seated on the rail, hair catching the last light of evening, eyes thoughtful in that way that meant her mind was running three steps ahead. When she noticed me, she smiled, soft but resolute. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. I leaned against the post beside her, crossing my arms. “That’s dangerous.” She smirked at the joke but didn’t take the bait. “I want to give them something. Not food or decorations, something that lasts. Something for all of them. Your wolves and Jaxson’s.” I tilted my head, watching her carefully. She had my attention now. “What kind of something?” “The lake,” she said simply. “On my family’s land. It’s ours now, but I want it to be theirs, too. A place both packs can use. A place to fish, to swim, to train if they want. A reason t

170 (Tyler’s POV) Two weeks had passed since I ended Laramie’s life in front of them all, and the silence that followed lingered like smoke in the air. The pack carried on their duties without complaint, but their eyes told the story their mouths would not know every movement weighed, every word measured. They walked on eggshells around me, and though I had demanded obedience before, this was something different. Fear had settled into their bones, and I hated the taste of it. I had wanted loyalty. I had wanted unity. But fear was a poor substitute, and it left a bitter sting in my chest every time one of my wolves lowered their gaze too quickly or backed out of a room I entered. In the quiet moments, I replayed all Laramie’s snarl, Jonas’s laughter, the shock on Kate’s face as I made my choice. I had done what was necessary. I would do it again, if I had to. But even necessary things leave scars. Tonight, as the moon hung low over the compound and the sounds of my restless pack d

169 (third party POV) Tyler didn’t waste a breath. He dragged Laramie upright by the scruff of his neck as though he weighed nothing, his body limp and wheezing from the Alpha’s hold. With a sharp nod to Micah, blood still dripping from his nose, Tyler strode for the stairwell. “Bring Jonas,” he ordered. “They will all see this.” Kate followed in silence, her heart thundering. Camerin fell in at Tyler’s flank, his jaw set tight. Micah shoved Jonas forward from the cell, the traitor’s grin feral as though he relished the chaos he’d set in motion. When they emerged into the main hall, the sound carried before them laughter, clatter, the easy noise of wolves at rest. But the moment Tyler’s presence filled the doorway, silence rippled outward like a stone dropped into still water. Every head turned. Every voice fell quiet. Tyler shoved Laramie forward, forcing him to his knees in the center of the hall. Gasps rose from the crowd. Celia pressed a hand to her mouth, Katie’s eyes went

168 (Third party POV) The silence held for a long moment, tension coiled so tight Kate thought the air itself might snap. Jonas leaned back against the wall, a bitter smile twisting his mouth as though he thought he still had control. Tyler’s voice dropped to a quiet growl, more dangerous than any shout. “You will answer me.” His will rolled out in a wave, heavy and commanding, and Kate felt the pull of it even from where she stood outside the cell. The Alpha command pressed like a hand against her chest irresistible, suffocating. Jonas’s body convulsed, his head jerking as though he were fighting chains invisible to anyone but him. He ground his teeth, a sound of pain tearing from his throat, until finally the defiance cracked. “One,” he rasped. His eyes, burning with hate, flicked to Tyler and then away. “You want a name? Fine. Laramie.” The word hung heavy in the damp air. Micah stilled, his hands curling into fists. Camerin muttered something under his breath, too low for Ka

154 The egg cracked at dawn. Cain did not wait for the second fracture. The moment Mikan’s call hit his mind sharp, urgent, threaded with something fierce and bright he was already moving. Avi felt him leave before she saw it. She woke to the absence. The bed beside her was still warm. The air still carried his scent. But the mate-bond stretched thin, then snapped taut across distance as he teleported to the Draynor capital. She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling of the villa suite. The Circle did not stir. For once, it allowed something simple: joy. Tia’s egg had cracked. A new life. Not war. Not prophecy. Not ancient weapons. Just a hatchling fighting its way into the world. Avi smiled faintly and rolled onto her side, letting herself feel that happiness before duty reclaimed her. It didn’t take long. By midmorning the Veilkeepers were packed. Their week of quiet at the villa ended not with alarms but with assignment orders. Wing Corp headquarters awaited. The hang

153 The war did not end with fanfare. It ended with exhaustion. For three days the Draynor remained on the Dawlya homeworld not as conquerors, not as occupiers but as healers. Dragons stood beside Dawlya menders in shattered streets. Wing Corp medics stabilized crushed ribs and cauterized ruptured veins. The Veilkeepers rotated shifts, guarding defectors, watching for retaliation, and quietly earning the wary stares of a people who had been told for centuries that dragons were monsters. By the time the last triage station closed, something fundamental had shifted between the two races. Not peace. But something softer than war. When the Draynor fleet lifted from the atmosphere, it was not chased. No weapons fired. No curses hurled into the sky. Only silence. And watching. The return to Malta felt strangely muted. No cheering crowds. No triumphant arrival. Just quiet landings and long corridors of official debriefings. Avi spent most of the first day in a secured chamber in the Dra

152 Sereth did not descend in flames. He did not split the sky or shake the mountains when he left his silent orbit above Ashbarrie. He simply… moved. One heartbeat he was a distant pressure in the heavens an ancient presence coiled in watchful restraint. The next, he slipped through the veil of space and reappeared above the Dawlya world, unseen and unfelt by those below. He hovered high in the upper atmosphere, wings folded close, silver scales dimmed to the color of clouds. From there he watched. He watched the weapon fire. He watched the Circle rise in answer. He watched the dragons retaliate not with annihilation, but with precision. And then he watched something he did not understand at all. Mercy. Draynor ships landing in fractured cities. Dragon healers kneeling in rubble. Flame used not to consume but to mend. Sereth had been forged as a weapon. Bound. Conditioned. His power was harvested and directed for centuries by Dawlya hands that feared him as much as they depende

151 The first transmission did not go to the Dawlya. It went to the Queen. Commander Halren stood rigid on the bridge of the flagship as the holoprojection of Queen Brieanika stabilized above the command circle. Her red hair was unbound, her expression calm but her eyes were sharp, measuring everything before a word was spoken. “Report,” she said. Halren inclined his head. “Fallback weapon neutralized. Minimal fleet damage. Dragon ground units are secure. Dawlya primary energy lattice destroyed. Estimated infrastructure collapse across three major city sectors.” He paused, then added, “Civilian casualties undetermined. Power grids offline in several population zones.” Silence stretched across the bridge. Avi stood beside Cain, hands still faintly trembling from the power she’d channeled. The Circle was quiet now watchful, not agitated. Brie’s gaze shifted briefly to Avi. Not reprimand. Not pride. Assessment. “You crippled the weapon,” Brie said evenly. “Not the planet.” “Yes,

150 The Draynor did not answer panic with panic. They answered it with preparation. Across the Dawlya’s world, warning tones rippled through the city low, resonant chimes that sent civilians into reinforced shelters beneath crystal and stone. Above the skyline, Draynor warships slid into layered formation, shields flaring one by one like overlapping halos. Power hummed through their hulls, disciplined, contained, waiting. High overhead, dragons broke formation. They did not scatter. They descended. One by one, massive forms peeled away from the sky, angling toward the mountain ranges surrounding the city. Wings folded as they landed among stone and ice, claws biting deep into granite. With practiced precision, they shifted scales flowing into skin, wings collapsing into shoulders, fire becoming breath held tight behind teeth. Kings. Warriors. Sentinels. All taking cover. All waiting. From the bridge of the lead ship, Avi stood at the forward viewport, Cain beside her, Morgan and

149 The silence after the Circle’s surge was not peace. It was pressure. Stone groaned beneath the amphitheater as the remaining Dawlya magic recoiled into itself, collapsing inward like a clenched fist. The councilors, bloodied, shaken, stripped of their absolute certainty slowly dragged themselves upright. They were furious. The lead councilor lifted his head, eyes burning with a hate sharpened by humiliation. “This is not finished,” he said, voice raw but amplified by stubborn authority. “Keeper Avi, you are ordered to remain. You will return the Circle to Dawlya custody.” Avi didn’t answer. The Circle did not move. “You are not sovereign,” the woman with the broken seven-line mark spat, clutching her arm where dragon magic had seared her control away. “You are still Dawlya-born. Still bound by our law.” Avi finally spoke. Her voice was steady, but there was iron beneath it. “No,” she said. “I am Dawlya-raised. That distinction matters.” The councilor sneered. “You forget yo