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It’s all thanks to a curse that helped kill my people, my family, and now, it seems, will ultimately kill me too.
I was forced to watch in silent horror as magic stole my kith’s ability to transform into their dragons.
Death isn’t the escape I was hoping for, but it will do. At least I’ll go hugging the sky and kissing the wind, knowing the others are safe. Protected. Knowing I didn’t break.
I scent the air for the telltale sour fetor that all Tainted carry. They try to hide it, but I can always sniff it out.
We’ve been successfully flying under the radar, biding our time while we figure out how to break an unbreakable curse. But until we’re free of it, we need the world—and especially the king and The Dragon Horde—to continue thinking that the Syphons are all dead.
My nerves start to settle and the taut apprehension that’s been sitting in my stomach like an anvil disintegrates into an eclipse of ruffled moths. I bite back a sad smile at the thought. That’s what Ren always called the uneasy feeling that flutters in your stomach when you’re worried. She always said butterflies are for good things, moths are for situations that could go one way or the other, and wasps are when you know you’re fucked.
The only conclusion I’ve ever been able to come up with is that we were betrayed.
“They’re going to catch you, Ever. They’re going to take you back to Paragon City, to Four Tiers, and they’re going to find out what you are,” she tells me gently, like she knows it won’t take much to shatter me, so she has to be careful. “They’re going to kill me,” I declare flatly.
“Spark the flames, Ever.” “Ignite the infernos,” I answer automatically. “Ash the embers,” we both say at the same time, a small chuckle escaping us as we finish the chant we’ve exchanged back and forth since we were kids.
The mystery meat will be escorted back to the rally point, and First Flight will decide what to do with her from there. Fall out.” My head snaps in Aeson’s direction. Mystery meat?
How did I not piece together who that big fucker Aeson was? Did the chase and mounting adrenaline fry my fucking mind? Because there’s no doubting it, not when I’m staring at his brother, Scion Lorn Noctis, firstborn son of King Kathal Noctis, and Crown Prince of The Dragon Horde. What the flying fuck are he and his little brother, Aeson Noctis, doing here?
It’s a liberating thing to realize that I don’t have to watch my tongue or perform any mental gymnastics. Too bad that big helping of freedom comes with a side of completely fucked.
“I’m Ever Tenebrae, daughter of the slaughtered King Merik Tenebrae, and the last surviving Syphon of my massacred line. Trust me, Spare, I’m not safe anywhere, least of all with you.”
It can’t be good. Then again, it can’t be that bad either, because they’re not setting me on fire or tearing me limb from limb. I was so fucking certain they would too, and yet here I am, skipping past wrong street, licking a wrong popsicle in the middle of what-the-fuck-is-going-on lane. What’s worse is I can’t seem to escape this fucking place no matter what I do.
Syphons and Surgers were once part of the Render Clan, but dragons and other Arcs hunted both to extinction because they coveted our affinities or felt threatened by them. Surgers were sought after for their ability to either boost others’ power or use it at will. For Syphons, it was because we could take away affinities both temporarily and permanently. Our kinds were collected and destroyed for no other reason than greed or fear.
“I don’t care who you are or what you’re the last of—if you cost me any of my Wing, you’ll beg for death long before I grant it.”
“Who.” Aeson takes another step. “Did.” And another. “This.” Tahir scrambles back, and several drakes shout orders for everyone to move out of the way. “To.” Blay charges. At first, I think he’s going to tackle Aeson, but he streaks past, diving for one of the massive archways instead. A mountain-sized purple dragon erupts out of him, the beast launching itself off the outer lip of the tower. An enraged roar reverberates through the dragon stone floors, walls, and ceiling as Blay’s dragon streaks away. “You.”
We stand, two enemies on a battlefield, neither willing to cede to the other, and somehow, I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now. I’ve never felt more seen.
But there’s something about being in the presence of this primal, raw rage that calls to me. It’s as though basking in the physical manifestation of what I can only feel inside is exactly what I need to be whole again, even if it’s only for a little while.
“Well then, Ever Tenebrae, last of the Syphons. On behalf of King Noctis and The Dragon Horde…welcome home.”
I’m marked by both aspects of the Tainted fuck, the calm control and the raging monster. And now I’ll never stop seeing him when I look at me…just like he wanted.
“One of those armor-winged, weapon-toting, camouflaging species of butterflies. Got it.” I smile. “Exactly. I think they’re from the genus Fuck Around and Find Out.”
“May the Source bless us with a miracle. You’re going to need one to survive the Noctis brothers.” I laugh and offer her a Cheshire grin. “Wrong, they’re going to need one to survive me.”
Aeson’s glower is scorching, but now that I know he likes it when I go toe to toe with him, all it does is make me want to rile him up even more, see how far I can bend him before he snaps.
Aeson wraps a hand around my throat and bellows in my face, deep and long and menacing. I feel the dominance reverberate through me, the claim, the demand to submit. So I open my mouth and roar right back because fuck that and fuck him.
What if the key to breaking the curse isn’t based on blood and bloodlines like we thought? Maybe the solution is of the fairy-tale variety—only it isn’t true love’s kiss that sets us free, it’s dragon dick.
“When your father was killed and there was no surviving kindred or kith, his Crush was automatically left to the next king. My father has never touched it, other than to add pieces of King Tenebrae’s trove when it was cleared from his towers in the keep. The king has ordered that it all be given back to you. Consider it his gift to you for your Naming Day. I brought you here so you can claim it and take your first official steps into the arms of The Horde.” Lorn’s voice grows soft and regretful. “Where you were always meant to be.”
“Because kindness is nothing more than a pretty bow around a pretty box. Foolish people assume there’s something beautiful or valuable inside the lovely packaging. Survivors know otherwise.”
The word mirrors flashes across the vault door, and something about it plucks at long forgotten, stale, and dusty thoughts. The list disappears as I continue pacing, popping back up when I make another round.
But trauma is corrosive. It eats away and corrupts everything it touches, turning even the most innocent memories into live grenades.
Death and I have an unspoken agreement. We like to flirt and toy with one another, but we keep it cutesy and never go all the way.
“There it is, my Syphon,” Aeson purrs. “Break open for me, Beautiful. I want to see your surrender dripping down your thighs.”
There are a finite number of people in each of our lives who truly love us. That love warms us against the frigid toll life can take. It’s a light that guides us and fortifies us, and losing it leaves us dimmer, leaves our lives darker.
A moth will never survive its love for fire. Ice will always bow to the sun. And I can never be Aeson Noctis’s mate, not when I’m here to become his reckoning.
I have direct access to the King of The Dragon Horde, and nobody knows. This. Changes. Everything.
Lorn’s eyes narrow into a scowl. “I know my draw to her is different than yours, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care about what happens to her just as much as you do. And last I checked, she’s not yours either,”
but the secrets of the Syphon aren’t going to stay hidden forever.
“I Name you Ever Tenebrae, daughter of King Merik Tenebrae, and the last Syphon.”
“My…mate.” There’s no caustic bite to the way he says it this time. Instead, he’s laced the title with a lethal combination of desire and promise. He savors the phrase, plays with it on his tongue like he can’t get enough of the flavor. It’s both a taunt and an invitation, one I’d suddenly like to RSVP to.
And wingless monsters with heads that look like some mix of lion and leviathan, and long ribbons for tongues. I think they’re depictions of dragons, or what some ancient cultures thought dragons looked like, but I can’t say for sure. The people who thought such things are either long dead or now know that our kind can walk among them just as easily as we can turn into the great winged beasts of their nightmares.
“Ever, you are a fucking dragon! Just because you can’t reveal or manifest affinities doesn’t change what you are at your core. Aeson is your Bonded Mate and you’re his.”
“I can handle your sharp edges, Claws. Now be still before you set off my prey drive and we give the audience a very different kind of show.”
“Cut me. Hurt me. Destroy me. I’ll happily bleed for you, Ever. Every drop is yours already.”
“What do you need, Claws?” he purrs, like he doesn’t already know. “Tell your Bonded what he can do for you.” Like a match to dry kindling, I ignite and then I burn. “Kiss me,” I command. “And then take me somewhere so I can fuck you and no one will hear me scream.”
“I need to be inside of you, Claws. Can you make it to the rookery? I want your cum all over our sheets and your screams embedded in the walls of our rooms.”
“This could have been you, Spare,” I taunt as I ride my own fingers. “Don’t worry, I’ll send a wish you were here postcard to your blue balls when I’m done.”
I notice a strange sparkle of light ripple through the surrounding stone in an unmistakable wave that quickly fades.
“Your dragon feels the same way that you do…like you were made for me and me you. Like the metric of my happiness rests solely on yours. Like I could never be complete without you by my side.”
He kisses me then, and his lips and tongue walk a fine line between feral and fervent. It has all the edge of wild abandon, and yet it’s deeper, more profound, utterly life-changing. It’s reverent and resplendent, and I voraciously accept every promise I feel on his lips, every covenant I taste on his tongue, and every oath our mouths make.
