Heat in the Hall

Chapter 7

Riku Draven's point of view

I sense her before I see her, my dragon surging beneath my skin as Dawn's scent drifts through the crack beneath the office door. Light magic and apple blossoms, warm skin and something uniquely her—my nostrils flare, drinking it in like a man dying of thirst. Rain shoots me a warning glance from behind his desk, but I don't bother hiding my reaction. Let him pretend all he wants that she doesn't affect him the same way. I know better. Our mate approaches, and no amount of centuries-old promises can change what we both feel in our bones.

A soft knock, hesitant. My dragon rumbles with approval—she's showing deference to our territory even as her magic pulses against the ward, strengthening it with every passing hour. Rain calls for her to enter, his voice betraying none of the tension I can see coiled in his shoulders.

Dawn steps into our shared office, and something in my chest tightens painfully. She looks exhausted, dark circles shadowing those extraordinary eyes—one brown, one amber. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, damp at the ends as if she's just showered. The yoga pants and tank top hug curves that make my mouth go dry. My fingers itch to trace the line of her collarbone, to follow the delicate arch of her throat to where her pulse beats visible beneath thin skin.

"You wanted to see me?" Her voice carries a thread of wariness beneath the fatigue.

"Have a seat," Rain gestures to the chair positioned before our desks, maintaining that careful distance he thinks will save us both. Fool.

I lean against the edge of my desk rather than sitting behind it, closing the gap between us by several feet. Dawn's gaze flicks to me, then away, a flush rising on her cheeks. My dragon preens at her reaction, wanting more—wanting everything. I force him back, maintaining the casual smirk that's become my armor.

"Sleep well?" I ask, knowing damn well she didn't. The orchard's magic clings to her skin like perfume, telling tales of midnight wanderings my brother would rather ignore.

"Well enough," she lies, settling into the chair. Her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt, a nervous tell she probably doesn't realize she has.

Rain clears his throat, all business. "We need to understand your background, Dawn. Specifically, any connection you might have to Sorin before your powers manifested."

Her heterochromatic eyes widen slightly, then narrow. "I told you, I'd never seen him before he showed up at my apartment."

"Start from the beginning," Rain presses, his light green eyes unreadable. "Your childhood, your family. Anything that might explain why your light magic activated now, after remaining dormant for so long."

Dawn shifts in her chair, discomfort radiating from her in waves that make my dragon snarl with protective fury. I swallow it down, but my hands clench against the desk edge hard enough that the wood creaks beneath my fingers.

"There's not much to tell," she says, her gaze fixed on a point between Rain and me. "I grew up in foster care. No known parents, no family history. Just another kid in the system."

The pain beneath those matter-of-fact words slices through me. My dragon thrashes beneath my skin, demanding I comfort her, claim her, protect her from ever feeling such loneliness again. I resist, barely, though the metal of my tongue piercing scrapes against my teeth as I clench my jaw.

"How many homes?" Rain asks, his tone softer now, though his posture remains rigid.

Dawn's laugh is short, bitter. "Eight. Nine if you count the group home when I aged out." Her fingers move from her shirt hem to her sleeve, picking at a loose thread. "None that stuck. I wasn't exactly the cute, cuddly type people want to adopt."

I can't help myself. "Their fucking loss," I growl, earning a sharp look from Rain and a startled one from Dawn.

She continues after a moment, her voice taking on the practiced detachment of someone who's told this story before, though probably not often. "After I aged out, I worked whatever jobs I could find. Waitressing, retail, office temp work. Moved around a lot, never staying in one place more than a year or two."

"Running from something?" Rain probes gently.

Dawn's eyes meet his directly for the first time, something fierce flashing in them. "Not running. Just... not finding anything worth staying for."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I recognize that restlessness, that search for something that always remains just out of reach. Rain and I have carried it for centuries, soothing it with the club, with territory, with bonds of brotherhood rather than matehood. But never quite silencing it completely.

"And the tattoo?" I ask, unable to resist bringing up the dragon that marks her as ours, even if she doesn't understand its significance yet. "When did you get that?"

Her hand moves unconsciously to touch between her shoulder blades, where I know the ink lies. "Eighteenth birthday. First thing I did when I legally could." A small smile curves her lips, the first genuine one I've seen today. "It felt right, somehow. Important."

Rain and I exchange glances. The dragon mark appearing by her own choice rather than by magical manifestation is unprecedented. My brother's careful mask slips for just an instant, awe flashing across his features before he shutters it away.

"And your light magic?" Rain continues. "When did you first notice signs of it?"

Dawn's smile fades. She looks down at her hands, turning them palm up as if expecting light to spill from them at any moment. "There was nothing, not until that night with Finch—my landlord. He was threatening eviction, getting in my face. I felt cornered, afraid, and then..." She shrugs, her voice dropping. "Light everywhere. He flew across the hallway like he'd been hit by a truck."

Her voice cracks on the last word, and something inside me breaks with it. Before I can think better of it, I'm moving, closing the distance between us. Rain makes a warning sound low in his throat, but I ignore him. I reach out, brushing a strand of hair that's escaped her ponytail behind her ear. My fingers linger against the delicate skin of her temple, electricity crackling between us at the contact.

"You defended yourself," I murmur, letting my voice drop to the register that soothes rather than seduces. "Nothing wrong with that, sunshine."

Dawn goes very still under my touch, her pulse visibly jumping in her throat. She doesn't pull away, though, and my dragon roars in triumph. Mine, he insists. Ours.

Not yet, I answer silently. But soon.

"And Sorin appeared shortly after?" Rain asks, dragging us back to business though his eyes track my hand with naked hunger before he masks it.

Dawn nods, breaking the contact as she turns to address my brother. I let my hand fall reluctantly, the ghost of her warmth lingering on my fingertips.

"That same night. Said he could help me control it, that he'd been looking for me." A shudder runs through her. "His eyes... they weren't human. And when I pushed him away, when my light touched him, his skin burned. Not like Finch's—worse. Like acid eating through flesh."

My dragon stirs with vicious satisfaction at the thought of Sorin in pain. Good. Let the shadow-fucker burn.

"You've never encountered him before? No dreams, no strange encounters, no moments where you felt watched or followed?" Rain presses, leaning forward slightly.

Dawn shakes her head. "Never. I would have remembered him." She hesitates, then adds, "But when he spoke to me, it felt like... like he knew me. Like he'd been waiting."

The temperature in the room drops several degrees, magic gathering around Rain as his control slips. Ice forms briefly on the edge of his desk before he reins it in.

"He won't touch you," I promise, the words emerging as a growl. "Not while we draw breath."

Dawn looks between us, confusion and something warmer flickering in her gaze. "Why? Why are you protecting me? Why does the ward recognize me? What is this connection I feel to—" She cuts herself off, a flush staining her cheeks.

To us, I finish silently. This connection you feel to us.

Rain sits back, retreating behind his mask of control. "You're a light witch in shadow mage territory. The ward's protection is your birthright."

It's not a lie, but it's far from the whole truth. I catch my brother's eye, a silent battle of wills passing between us. Tell her, my gaze insists. She deserves to know.

Not yet, his answers. She's not ready.

I disagree, but now isn't the time to push. Dawn is exhausted, her shoulders slumping with the effort of reliving painful memories. My protective instincts war with my desire to claim, to mark, to complete the bond that hums between us like a plucked string.

Soon, my dragon whispers. Very soon.

Rain clears his throat, breaking the charged silence that's fallen between us. His fingers tap a precise rhythm against his desk, a habit he's had since we were fledglings that betrays his discomfort. My dragon is still bristling beneath my skin, agitated by Dawn's stories of foster homes and loneliness, demanding I pull her into my arms and never let go. I force him back, though I remain perched on the edge of my desk, closer to her than Rain would prefer. The scent of her—light magic and something uniquely Dawn—fills my lungs with each breath, making it harder to focus on my brother's words as he shifts to discussing her training schedule.

"Now that we understand your background better," Rain says, his voice carefully modulated to professional detachment, "we need to establish your training regimen."

Dawn straightens in her chair, fatigue momentarily masked by interest. The movement draws my eye to the elegant line of her neck, the slight jut of her collarbones visible above her tank top. My dragon rumbles with appreciation.

"Training," she repeats, as if testing the word. "To control the light?"

Rain nods, shuffling papers on his desk though we both know it's for show. My brother never forgets a detail. "Control is paramount. Your magic responds to emotion, particularly fear and stress. That makes it volatile and potentially dangerous."

I can't help but interject. "It also makes it powerful." Dawn's eyes shift to me, and I offer a smile that's all teeth. "Raw, instinctual magic has an edge that carefully cultivated power often lacks."

Rain shoots me a look that could freeze hell. "Raw, instinctual magic also tends to level buildings and expose our world to humans who aren't prepared to accept it."

I shrug, unrepentant. He's not wrong, but neither am I. Dawn's untamed power fascinates me, calls to something equally untamed in my own nature.

"Your training will have three components," Rain continues, turning back to Dawn. "Strength training to build your physical endurance, as channeling magic is physically taxing. Basic magical theory and practice to help you understand what your light is and how to direct it. And meditation, to help you maintain emotional equilibrium."

Dawn's fingers twist in her lap, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning," Rain answers. "You need rest first. Your midnight excursion to the orchard clearly took more out of you than you realized."

Her cheeks flush at being called out, but she doesn't deny it. My lips twitch, admiring her unapologetic nature even as my dragon snarls at the thought of her wandering alone at night. The orchard is safe enough, but the pull she felt toward it worries me. Ancient magic recognizing ancient magic—a sign of what's to come, whether Rain wants to acknowledge it or not.

"Liora will handle your magical training and meditation," Rain continues. "She's half-fae, with extensive knowledge of various magical disciplines. For strength training—" he hesitates, his eyes flicking briefly to me, "—Vane will work with you. He's my first officer, and the most experienced trainer we have."

The dragon inside me erupts without warning, a guttural growl tearing from my throat before I can stop it. The sound fills the office, primal and possessive, startling both Rain and Dawn. I feel my eyes shift, pupils narrowing to slits as my control slips.

"No." The word emerges as a snarl, my tongue piercing clicking against my teeth as I fight to maintain human form. "No other males near her."

Rain rises slowly from his chair, hands flat on his desk. His own eyes have shifted, pale green darkening with dragon magic. "Riku," he warns, his voice pitched low. "This isn't up for discussion."

"Like hell it isn't." I push off from my desk, closing the distance between us in two strides. Magic crackles in the air between us, his cold, mine hot, ancient energies recognizing each other as both kin and opposition. "Vane doesn't touch her. I'll handle her strength training myself."

Dawn makes a small sound, confusion and something else—something hotter—in her exhale. I'm aware of her watching us, her pulse visibly quickening at the confrontation. The scent of her arousal, subtle but unmistakable to dragon senses, makes my control slip further.

Rain's jaw tightens, the scar on his cheek standing out stark against his skin. "You're being irrational. Vane is mated, his loyalty absolute."

"I don't give a fuck if he's mated to the moon goddess herself," I snap, leaning closer. "No. Other. Males."

My brother's nostrils flare, scenting my determination, the dragon pushing dangerously close to the surface. "This is exactly why we made our pact," he says, voice low enough that Dawn can't hear. "This loss of control. This primitive possessiveness."

"Some things are worth breaking promises for," I counter, not bothering to lower my voice. Let Dawn hear. Let her wonder. "Some bonds can't be denied, no matter how hard you try."

The air between us thickens with power, the temperature fluctuating wildly as our magics clash. Ice crystals form on Rain's desk even as the air around me shimmers with heat. Dawn's magic responds instinctively, blue-white light dancing beneath her skin, reaching toward our conflict like a curious child.

"Stop it, both of you." Her voice cuts through our standoff, surprisingly steady despite her obvious confusion. "Whatever this is about, I don't need to be the cause of a fight."

Rain and I remain locked in our silent battle of wills, neither yielding. I feel my canines lengthen slightly, my dragon pushing closer to the surface with each passing second. Rain sees it too, recognizes the danger of pushing me further.

He breaks eye contact first, an almost imperceptible concession that sends a thrill of victory through me. "Fine," he says, ice coating his words. "You'll handle her strength training. But Liora is present for all sessions."

It's a compromise, a safeguard against my dragon's growing possessiveness. I should refuse, should insist on time alone with her, but even I recognize the risk. The bond pulls stronger each day, and Dawn remains ignorant of its true nature. Pushing too hard, too fast could frighten her away—or worse, damage the fragile trust building between us.

"Agreed," I say, stepping back to give us both breathing room. The magic in the air dissipates gradually, the temperature returning to normal.

Dawn watches us with wide, bewildered eyes, her light magic still dancing beneath her skin in anxious patterns. "Would someone please explain what just happened?"

Rain straightens his shirt, a needless gesture that helps him reclaim his composure. "A difference of opinion regarding training methods," he says smoothly, the lie rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. "Nothing for you to worry about."

I turn to her, making no effort to hide the heat in my gaze. Let her see what she does to me, even if she doesn't understand it yet. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, sunshine. Wear something you can move in."

"You're dismissed until dinner," Rain adds, already returning to the papers on his desk as if the confrontation never happened.

I can't resist adding one final touch. As Dawn rises from her chair, still obviously confused by our display, I wink at her—slow, deliberate—and have the satisfaction of watching color bloom across her cheeks.

My dragon purrs with satisfaction. Soon, he whispers. Soon.

I claim my seat at Dawn's table well before dinner begins, ignoring the raised eyebrows of club members who expect to find me at the head table with Rain. Let them wonder. Let them whisper. My dragon is restless tonight, prowling beneath my skin, demanding closeness to our mate even as my rational mind counsels patience. The Great Hall transforms as twilight deepens outside, ancient magic awakening in the carved beams overhead. Dragon scales etched into centuries-old wood catch the rising firelight and seem to breathe, undulating subtly in ways only those with magic in their blood can truly perceive. I watch the entrance with predatory focus, waiting for her scent to reach me before she even appears.

The Hall fills gradually around me, club members in their leather cuts taking their traditional places. A few nod respectfully as they pass, others glance curiously at my chosen seat before quickly averting their eyes. The hearth dragons pulse with blue-white light from their crystal eyes, responding to the gathering energy of so many supernatural beings in one space. To human eyes, this would appear as nothing more than a biker club dinner, rough men and women gathering for a meal. But beneath that surface lies centuries of tradition, pack hierarchy, and magic older than the country we inhabit.

Rain enters through the side door near the kitchens, his expression shifting from neutral to suspicious when he spots me. He changes course immediately, stalking toward me with controlled fury in each step.

"What are you doing?" he asks, voice pitched low enough that only I can hear.

I lean back in my chair, the picture of casual unconcern though my dragon bristles at his tone. "Having dinner with our guest. Isn't that what good hosts do?"

"At the head table," he counters, eyes flicking to the raised platform where we typically sit, overseeing the clan.

I shrug, deliberately provocative. "She'd be uncomfortable there, on display for everyone to judge. This is better."

Rain's jaw works as he weighs his options. I've backed him into a corner—either join me at this lower-ranked table, compromising his precious control and appearances, or leave me alone with Dawn for the evening. His dragon won't allow the latter, not with our mate bond growing stronger each day.

"Fine," he growls, taking the seat across from me rather than beside me. Smart—it gives him a direct view of Dawn, but leaves the space to my left open for her.

Triumph curls through me, hot and sweet. Then I catch her scent—Dawn approaching the hall—and everything else fades to background noise.

She appears in the main doorway, hesitating at the threshold. The Great Hall falls momentarily silent as every head turns to assess her. In the emerald dress from her first night, she's a vision that makes my mouth go dry. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, catching copper highlights from the fire. She's applied subtle makeup that enhances her heterochromatic eyes, making them more striking than ever.

The silence stretches just long enough to become uncomfortable before conversations resume, now interspersed with whispers about the newcomer. Dawn lifts her chin, refusing to be cowed by their scrutiny, and my chest swells with pride. She doesn't know her value yet, doesn't understand that light witches are revered and feared in equal measure, but she carries herself with innate dignity despite her uncertainty.

I raise my hand slightly, catching her attention. Relief softens her features when she spots me, and she navigates between tables with surprising grace for someone so new to our world. Her eyes widen slightly when she notices Rain seated across from me, confusion flitting across her face before she masks it.

"Sit," I invite, patting the bench beside me. "You look good enough to eat, sunshine."

A blush stains her cheeks as she slides onto the bench, the silk of her dress whispering against the ancient wood. "Is that another dragon joke?" she asks, her voice carrying a hint of challenge beneath the nervousness.

I laugh, genuinely delighted by her spark. "Maybe. But it's also just the truth."

Rain clears his throat, disapproval radiating from him in waves cold enough to frost the goblets on the table. I ignore him, focusing instead on the way Dawn's pulse jumps at her throat when I lean closer to pour her wine.

Liora arrives before Rain can scold me, her moss-green eyes widening comically at finding both alpha twins seated at a lower table. To her credit, she recovers quickly, sliding onto the bench beside Rain with a knowing smirk.

"Well, this is unprecedented," she murmurs, accepting the wine I pour for her. "Both Draven twins abandoning the head table? The club will be talking for weeks."

Rain's expression could curdle milk. "A temporary accommodation for our guest's comfort."

Liora's gaze shifts between the three of us, too perceptive for comfort. As half-fae, she understands mate bonds better than most. "Of course," she agrees, not bothering to hide her amusement. "How thoughtful of you both."

Servers arrive with the first course—hearty venison stew spiced with herbs from Liora's garden, crusty bread still warm from the ovens. The rich aroma fills the air, momentarily distracting Dawn from the undercurrents swirling around her. She dips her bread into the stew, closing her eyes in appreciation as she tastes it.

The small sound of pleasure she makes sends heat spiraling through me. My dragon stirs, hungry for something no food could satisfy. Under the table, I deliberately shift my position, letting my boot brush against hers. She startles slightly, her eyes flying to mine, but doesn't pull away. I hold her gaze as I take a sip of wine, letting her see exactly what I'm thinking.

Rain notices, of course. His eyes narrow dangerously, ice forming briefly on the rim of his goblet before he controls it. Good. Let him feel it—the jealousy, the possessiveness, the hunger he's trying so hard to deny.

"Dawn," Liora says, breaking the charged silence, "how was your first full day with us? Besides the interrogation, of course." She shoots Rain a pointed look.

"It wasn't an interrogation," Rain protests, at the same moment Dawn says, "Enlightening."

The contradiction makes Dawn laugh, the sound like silver bells in the fire-warmed hall. Heads turn throughout the room, drawn to the pure joy in that sound. Rain's gaze lingers on her, hunger briefly overtaking control before he shutters it away. But I see it, and my dragon rumbles with satisfaction. My brother can deny the bond all he wants, but his dragon knows the truth.

I lean closer to Dawn, using the excuse of reaching for bread to let my arm brush against hers. "You should laugh more often, sunshine. It suits you."

Her skin warms where we touch, her scent shifting subtly to include notes of arousal she probably doesn't even recognize. "Maybe I would if there were more things to laugh about," she counters, taking a sip of the spiced wine.

"I could tell you about the time Rain got stuck in half-shift with a tail he couldn't control for a week," I offer, grinning as my brother chokes on his wine. "Knocked over every valuable in the eastern wing."

Dawn's eyes light up with genuine amusement. "You didn't."

"I was seventy-three," Rain grumbles, dignity wounded. "Barely more than a fledgling."

"In human years, that's what—fifteen?" Liora supplies helpfully, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Dawn's surprise is evident. "How old are you?" she asks, looking between us.

"Old enough to know better," I answer, deliberately vague. "Young enough not to care."

As the main course arrives—venison roasted with forest herbs, root vegetables glazed with honey—I let my hand drop beneath the table, my fingers brushing Dawn's knee through the silk of her dress. She tenses but doesn't pull away, her breathing quickening in a way only dragon senses would detect. Rain's nostrils flare, catching the change in her scent, his knuckles whitening around his fork.

The meal continues, a dance of subtle tensions. I touch Dawn at every opportunity—fingers brushing as I pass the salt, boot pressing against hers beneath the table, hand briefly at the small of her back when she shifts in her seat. Each contact sends electricity crackling between us, visible only to those with eyes to see the magical connection strengthening with every touch.

By the time dessert approaches, Dawn's cheeks are flushed, her pupils dilated, her light magic dancing just beneath her skin in response to her heightened emotions. She laughs more freely at my stories, the sound drawing envious glances from around the room. Even Rain has relaxed fractionally, the corner of his mouth twitching in reluctant amusement at my recounting of club exploits.

I slide my hand to Dawn's arm, letting my fingers trace the delicate skin at her inner wrist. Her pulse jumps beneath my touch, quick as a hummingbird's wings. I hold her gaze as I touch her, letting her see the hunger that's no longer entirely playful. My dragon is too close to the surface now, desire sharpening his awareness until everything narrows to the woman beside me—her scent, her warmth, the way her breath catches when my fingers linger.

Mine, my dragon insists. Ours, I correct silently, my gaze flicking to Rain. Always ours.

The hall fills with the rough music of biker laughter and clinking glasses, the undercurrent of supernatural energy vibrating beneath mundane sounds like bass notes too low for human ears to detect. Dawn has relaxed beside me, the spiced wine loosening her careful guard, bringing a flush to her cheeks that my dragon finds irresistible. Each time she laughs—the sound becoming more frequent as the meal progresses—my eyes meet Rain's across the table, a silent acknowledgment passing between us despite his stubborn resistance. She belongs here, between us, completing a circuit that has remained broken for centuries. My brother can deny it all he wants, but even he can't ignore how the crystal eyes in the hearth dragons pulse brighter when she's happy, how the ward itself strengthens with each hour she spends within our territory.

The warmth of the hall seeps into my bones, heightening my awareness of every subtle shift in Dawn's posture, every quickened breath when our bodies connect beneath the table. The spiced wine flows freely, its ancient recipe—enhanced with herbs from Liora's garden that heighten magical perception—affecting Dawn more strongly than she realizes. I watch her sip from her goblet, fascination crossing her features as the liquid slides down her throat.

"This is incredible," she murmurs, examining the deep ruby liquid as if it holds secrets. "I feel like I can taste... everything."

Liora smiles knowingly. "The recipe is older than this country. The herbs open magical senses that might otherwise remain dormant."

Dawn's heterochromatic eyes widen slightly. "Is that why the room looks different? The carvings seem to be... moving."

"They are moving," I confirm, leaning close enough that my breath stirs the hair near her temple. "The magic in your blood recognizes the magic in the wood. They're speaking to each other."

She turns to me, close enough that I could count each individual eyelash, close enough that her scent—light magic and warm woman and the spiced wine on her breath—fills my lungs like intoxication. "What are they saying?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with meanings she doesn't yet understand. I hold her gaze, letting some of my careful mask slip, allowing her to see the hunger that burns beneath my playful exterior. "Welcome home," I murmur, voice dropping to a register meant only for her.

A shiver runs through her, visible only because I'm watching so closely. The blue-white light of her magic flares briefly beneath her skin, responding to emotions she can't yet name.

The arrival of dessert breaks the moment, servers appearing with delicate plates bearing what appears to be simple apple tart. But I know better. These apples come from the orchard, the same trees Dawn visited during her midnight wandering. Their magic intertwines with hers, recognizing kin.

"Try it," I encourage as the server places a portion before her. "But be warned—nothing from our orchard is ever quite what it seems."

Dawn's eyebrow arches in challenge as she lifts her fork, cutting into the golden crust. Steam rises, carrying the scent of apples and cinnamon and something older, wilder—the essence of the orchard itself, distilled into culinary form. She lifts the bite to her lips, hesitating just a moment before tasting.

Her reaction is everything I hoped for. Her eyes close, lashes fanning against her cheeks as pleasure transforms her features. A small sound escapes her—part surprise, part bliss—that sends heat racing through my blood. When her eyes open, the amber one glows faintly, responding to the magic in the food.

"It tastes like... sunlight," she whispers, wonder in her voice. "And secrets."

Rain shifts in his seat, his careful control slipping just enough that I catch the flash of desire in his eyes before he masks it. "The orchard predates our arrival here," he explains, his voice rougher than usual. "Its fruits carry magic older than any of us."

"Like the apple I took the other night," Dawn says, then bites her lip as if realizing her admission.

I can't help but laugh at her guilty expression. "Don't worry, sunshine. The orchard chose to give you that apple. It doesn't surrender its fruits to just anyone."

This clearly surprises her. "The orchard... chose?"

Liora nods, her moss-green eyes sparkling with amusement. "Everything in the Hidden Bowl has awareness, to varying degrees. The orchard particularly so. It recognized something in you worth nourishing."

Dawn takes another bite of the tart, considering this information as the magical flavors bloom on her tongue. I watch her throat work as she swallows, my dragon rumbling with approval at the sight. Beneath the table, my knee presses against hers, maintaining the contact my beast demands.

As dessert progresses, I feel it—the bond between us strengthening, becoming almost tangible. It manifests as a warmth in my chest, a golden thread connecting me to Dawn and, through her, to Rain. My brother feels it too; I can tell by the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes linger on Dawn's face when he thinks no one is watching.

The hall around us fades to background noise as my awareness narrows to the three of us—Rain, Dawn, and me—caught in a pattern as old as dragonkind itself. The mate bond, forming despite Rain's resistance, despite Dawn's ignorance of its true nature, despite the vow we made centuries ago after watching our mother's descent into madness when her mate died.

Some magics cannot be denied, no matter how many promises stand in their way.

Dawn sets down her fork, her dessert finished, and reaches for her wine. As she sips, her gaze moves between Rain and me, something new awakening in her expression—awareness, curiosity, and beneath it all, a hunger that mirrors our own. She doesn't understand it yet, but she feels it—the rightness of being between us, the completion the three of us represent together.

My dragon preens under her scrutiny, pushing closer to the surface until I know my eyes have shifted, pupils narrowing to draconic slits. I don't bother hiding it from her. Let her see what she does to me, what she is to us. The time for Rain's careful distance is running out.

As the meal concludes, club members begin to disperse, some heading to night patrols, others to the bar for more drinking and conversation. Dawn sets down her empty goblet, her cheeks flushed from wine and magic, her light pulsing gently beneath her skin in rhythm with her heartbeat.

"I should go," she murmurs, though she makes no move to rise. "Early training tomorrow, right?"

"Stay a bit longer," I suggest, my fingers finding hers beneath the table, tracing the delicate bones of her hand. "The night's still young."

Rain stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. "Dawn needs rest," he says, his tone brooking no argument. "As do you, if you're to train her properly tomorrow."

I follow him to the end of the table, leaving Dawn with Liora, who immediately engages her in conversation about the orchard. Out of earshot, I confront my brother.

"You felt it tonight," I say, keeping my voice low. "The bond strengthening. You can't deny it much longer."

Rain's jaw tightens, the scar on his cheek standing out stark against his skin. "I deny nothing. I merely recognize the danger more clearly than you do."

"Or you fear it more," I counter. "She's different, Rain. This isn't like mother's bond. Dawn has her own power, her own strength."

"All the more reason to proceed with caution," he insists, though I note he no longer argues against proceeding at all. Progress, however small.

We turn back to the table, where Dawn sits sipping the last of her wine, watching us with that new awareness in her gaze. Firelight plays across her features, catching copper highlights in her hair, turning her skin to gold. The crystal eyes of the hearth dragons pulse in time with the light magic flowing beneath her skin, acknowledging her presence, her importance.

In this moment, with the bond humming between us like a plucked string, I feel the first true surrender in her—not to me, not to Rain, but to the connection itself. She doesn't understand it yet, can't name what draws her to us or why her body responds to our proximity. But she feels the rightness of it, the inevitability, just as I do.

The mate bond will not be denied. Not by Rain's fear, not by Dawn's ignorance, not by the vow we made in grief and anger centuries ago. It builds between us with each shared glance, each casual touch, each moment in each other's presence.

And as I watch Dawn—our Dawn—contemplating us over the rim of her goblet, her heterochromatic eyes reflecting the firelight, I know with bone-deep certainty that our centuries of running from destiny have come to an end. The light witch has found her dragons, whether any of us are ready to admit it or not.