Osiris’s voice cut through the banter, grave and low. “Ramses, how do we help him keep his soul?”

  The pharaoh looked at Ra, gaze softening. “Remember who you are—not just whose blood you carry. The line between king and monster is thin, but it is yours to walk. Every day. Every choice. The light in you is not meant to be snuffed by the dark. It is there to temper it. And you, Shelly—” he turned, eyes gentle “—are the shield and tether. Do not let him go.”

  Shelly’s jaw set. “I won’t,” she said. Her hand trembled in his, but her grip never loosened.

  Gabby forced a laugh. “She’ll punch the darkness out of him if she needs to.”

  Tara nudged her. “Or annoy it out. Either way, Shelly’s got this.”

  Ra managed a half-smile, but the shadows inside him thrashed as if in defiance to the words being spoken. He looked at Ramses, voice rough. “What about the others of your line? The souls still trapped?”

  Ramses’s gaze turned haunted. “Redemption is possible. But only if the balance is restored and the gate sealed again. You must learn to control the darkness that is not fighting for dominance in you, if you want any chance of closing that gate. The world is counting on you.”

  A hush fell. For a moment, the only sound was Ra’s ragged breathing and the distant, unending pulse of fire and shadow in the stone.

  It was Aurora that finally broke the silence, her voice soft. “No pressure. Just the fate of the world. You got this, Ra.” Her smile was gentle and kind. Even in all the confusion and chaos, she looked for hope. She still hadn’t gotten her answers to what he’d brought her into, and yet she was trying to encourage him. She was a little warrior.

  Ra tried to smile, but it felt more like a promise to himself. “One step at a time, little warrior. One step at a time.”

  Aurora smiled and met Rory’s proud gaze. Ra knew how anxious the sisters were to spend time together.

  He turned to Ramses and pulled his bonded closer to him. Ra felt that he might burn up in the dark flames if Shelly left his side. “What do I do now?”

  “You will rest this night,” the ancient pharaoh said, his form seeming to shift like shadows where he stood before solidifying again. “And then you will need to split your time between King Aviur,” he motioned to the light royal fire king, “Kimba, Osiris, and myself. I can help you leash the darkness, and they will help you expand the light. Being soul-bonded should help. I will return for you in one day’s time, and we will begin.” He stared at Ra, his gaze boring into him. “It will not be easy, or painless. You should prepare yourself for that.”

  “Shelly comes with me,” Ra said, not even acknowledging his ancestor’s words. The only pain he couldn’t endure was not having her with him.

  Ramses’s eyes softened. “It can be no other way, Ra. Without your soul bonded, you will be consumed by the darkness. If you lose her, you will be the dark royal fire king down to your very soul.”

  Then, the ancient pharaoh was gone.

  The room was completely silent for several minutes before Gabby spoke up. “Sooo, does that mean we’re going to be rotating Shelly guard duty? Because it sounds to me like King Ramses just put a target on your chick’s back.”

  Aviur’s realm glowed with an eerie, otherworldly fire—a warmth that seeped deep into Ra’s bones, chasing away the chill of the dragon keep, though nothing could quite reach the cold gnawing at his soul. Aviur had insisted he and Shelly come here, to Aviur’s castle, after the chaos at Stonehenge and the tension of the dragon realm.

  “You need a night,” the fire king had said, voice brooking no argument, “to rest, to be together, to remember what you’re fighting for. And you need the firelight—it will help you hold the darkness at bay, if only for a little while.”

  The castle was all sweeping archways and burnished amber stone, the air heavy with the scent of spiced embers and a hint of something sweet—honeysuckle, maybe. The flames here were different than any Ra had known: pure, white-hot, burning away shadows instead of feeding them. It made him feel exposed, raw, but also . . . safer, somehow–as if the darkness inside him dared not fully unfurl in this place of ancient, cleansing light.

  He led Shelly through torch-lit corridors, Aviur’s parting words echoing in his mind: “This night is yours alone. No guards, no interruptions. The light fire realm will keep you safe. Use it. Rest. Heal each other if you can.”

  His hand locked around Shelly’s, their steps echoing in the hush. Her skin was soft and warm, grounding him when the shadows inside threatened to claw their way out. She didn’t speak, but her thumb stroked the back of his knuckles, a silent promise: I’m here. I’m not letting go.

  Their chamber was a sanctuary of molten light and soft shadow—a sprawling bed draped in gold-threaded linens, a fireplace crackling with white-blue flames. The radiance seemed to pulse in time with his heart, and for the first time since the transformation, he wasn’t afraid to let Shelly see him. The glow painted her hair in copper and fire as she turned to face him, searching his gaze, her eyes stormy with love and worry.

  He closed the door behind them, leaning his forehead to the wood for a heartbeat, fighting for control. The darkness inside him shifted—restless, hungry, always demanding more. He felt the ache of it in his bones, the way it pressed against his ribs, crowding out breath. But Shelly was there, steady and stubborn, refusing to be intimidated by what he’d become.

  She stepped close, her palm finding his back, fingers splaying. “Come back to me, Ra.” Her voice was a whisper, but it carved through the static in his head. “Let me in.”

  He turned to face her and cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “You sure you want that?” His voice was low, rough, carrying all the things he couldn’t say. “It’s . . . dark in here, Mery.”

  She didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. “I want all of you. Even the parts you think are unlovable.”

  A groan rumbled in his chest—half relief, half desperate longing. He kissed her, slowly at first, savoring the taste of her, the way her lips parted under his, the sweet, heady rush of her magic sparking against his skin. She pressed into him, her arms winding around his neck, tethering him as the world tilted.

  He pulled her closer, desperate for more–more touch, more proof that he was still himself. His hands slid down to her waist, fingers digging into her hips. “Shelly,” he murmured, voice raw, “I need you. I need to know I’m not lost.”

  She tipped her head back, breathing him in, her eyes shining. “You’re not lost. I’ve got you.” Her hands slipped under his shirt, palms skating over muscle, and he shivered at the contact, the warmth of her touch grounding him.

  The power inside him surged, wild and electric, and through their bond he let her feel it—a flood of heat and shadow, fire and hunger. He felt her gasp, her body tensing for an instant as the darkness brushed against her, cold and seductive, but she didn’t pull away.

  “Ra . . . ” Her voice trembled, but her hands were steady. “It’s so much. It’s . . . heavy.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers, breath mingling. “I’m sorry. I wish I could protect you from this. From me.”

  She shook her head, firm. “I don’t want distance. I want you, all of you. The dark and the light. Let me carry some of it.”

  He shuddered, his control snapping, the need to claim, to possess, burning through him. He swept her up, laying her back on the bed, covering her body with his. He kissed her again, deeper, more demanding, pouring all his fear and longing into her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, and he let himself drown in her—her scent, her taste, the hitch of her breath as he pressed his hips to hers.

  His hands roamed her body, memorizing every curve, every scar, every place that made her shiver. He was careful, but there was an edge to him tonight—a desperation that threaded through every touch, every kiss. He needed to be in control, to feel her surrender, to know that she trusted him, even now.

  He broke the kiss, his lips brushing her ear. “Tell me if it’s too much. If I’m too much.”

  She arched into him, her voice a vow. “You could never be too much for me.”

  He kissed down her neck, tasting salt and fire, feeling her pulse flutter. He took his time, worshipping her, letting his hands and mouth speak all the things he couldn’t say. She was the center of his universe, the anchor that kept him from flying apart.

  When he finally joined his body with hers, she gasped, her nails biting into his shoulders, grounding him. He set a rhythm, slow and deep, needing her to feel the depth of his need, every shudder of control he fought to maintain.

  “Look at me, Mery,” he whispered, voice trembling with need. “Stay with me.”

  Her eyes locked on his, wide and trusting, even as the shadows flickered in his gaze. She cupped his face, her thumbs brushing away the darkness. “Always.”

  Their bodies moved together, a dance as old as creation—his control, her surrender, her comfort, his need. She matched his every movement, breath for breath, meeting him with a passion that left him undone.

  He felt the darkness recede, chased back by the light of her love. He pressed his lips to her forehead, her cheek, her mouth, needing to memorize this—her heat, her trust, the way she held him, even as he unraveled.

  When they finally tumbled over the edge together, his name on her lips and her love blazing through their bond, Ra knew—no matter how deep the darkness inside him–Shelly would always be his way back to the light.

  After, he held her close, their hearts slowing in tandem, the hush of Aviur’s fire realm wrapping them in a cocoon of safety, even if just for this night. She traced lazy circles over his chest, her breath soft against his skin.

  “Still here?” she teased, gentle and sure.

  He smiled, a real smile this time, and kissed the top of her head. “Because of you.” He let the golden firelight dance over them, letting himself believe, just for tonight, that light was enough.

  The main living area of the cave glowed with the gentle light of the hearth fire, shadows flickering across thick throw rugs and mismatched chairs. It was late, the kind of quiet that only came after too many days of chaos, with everyone else tucked away in their off-shoot “rooms.” Here, in the heart of the stone, Rory sat with Aurora pressed close to her side, Fern on Aurora’s other. Kimba lounged nearby, golden eyes half-lidded as she watched them. Aston sat on Rory’s other side, his palm warm and reassuring on her knee.

  Aurora looked small, sitting cross-legged on the rug, her fingers tangled in the fringe. She was trying so hard to be brave, but Rory saw the tremor in her jaw, the thousand questions in her eyes.

  Aurora glanced up, voice uncertain. “So . . . if you’re my sister, why did Ra come to find me instead of you?”

  Rory winced, squeezing Aurora’s hand. “That’s fair. Well, Aston actually found you—he tracked you down via his crafty tech skills. Don’t ask how they got the internet to work in the dragon realm, I’m just going with ‘magic.’ But we all agreed, sort of, . . . it’d be safer if Ra was the one to go. The others were worried I’d do something impulsive.” She shot Aston a look, half teasing, half grateful. “They thought I might scare you, or the neighbors, or both.”

  Kimba huffed a laugh, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair. “She’s not exaggerating, Aurora. Rory’s rescue plans are never subtle. She’s the only soul bonded I know who got mated by essentially having me—full dragon, mind you—swoop into a battlefield, grab Aston, and drop him at her feet like she was ordering takeout.”

  Aston grinned, the firelight glinting off the gold threads in his hair. “And let the record show, I’m not complaining. Dragons, chaos, and all—I’d do it again. There’s never a dull moment with Rory. I wouldn’t trade her for anything.”

  Aurora’s eyes widened, something like awe and confusion blending on her face as she looked between them. “So . . . you really didn’t know about me? I mean, before now?”

  Rory’s heart twisted. She shook her head, brushing a stray curl from Aurora’s cheek. “My memory was taken from me when our parents were killed and a witch named Danni kidnapped me. She made me believe she was my mother.” Bile still rose in her throat any time she thought about Danni and all she’d put Rory through. And now that she knew all that Danni hadtaken from her, it was like a fresh wound. “Penny, the witch who you stayed with and who’s a tad crazy, helped me with a memory block and gave you back to me. That’s the only way we knew to even look for you.”

  Fern’s hand tightened on Aurora’s. “You’ve always felt like something was missing in your life. I think now we know what that was.”

  Kimba’s voice had softened, the dragon queen’s usual bite replaced with ancient kindness. “There’s so much both of you lost. Aurora, you don’t remember your parents. But now Rory does. And with our bond, I can help you share those memories. If you want.”

  Aurora blinked, hope flickering in her eyes. “You can do that? Really?”

  Rory nodded, drawing a shaky breath. “If you want. It’s yours to know.”

  Kimba knelt, taking one of Rory’s hands and one of Aurora’s. The dragon magic rose, swirling golden and electric through the room, and the cave faded.

  They were in a sun-drenched kitchen, the air warm with laughter and the smell of fresh bread. Rory remembered this—her mother’s arms around her, her father’s gentle hands, the hush of love in every movement. Baby Aurora, tiny and wriggling, was cradled in Rory’s lap, her parents beaming, pride and joy shining in their eyes.

  “You have to be careful, little flame,” her father’s voice echoed, deep and kind. “Your baby sister is precious. Protect her. Love her.”

  Their mother pressed a kiss to Aurora’s brow, her voice thick with wonder and devotion. “You are both our hearts. No matter what happens, you’re never alone.”

  The memory faded, warmth lingering like a blessing. Rory blinked, tears slipping down her cheeks. Aurora stared at her, wide-eyed, tears shining in her lashes, too.

  “I wish I had known them,” Aurora whispered. “For so long there’s been this emptiness inside of me. But now, I feel them. I feel you.”

  Rory hugged her fiercely, pressing her cheek to Aurora’s hair. “I know what you mean, sis. You’re not alone anymore. I swear it.”

  Fern cleared her throat, her voice thick. “I know you need to be with your sister, Aurora. I always knew this day would come. But—” she brushed a tear from her cheek, “—let me visit? Let me love you, even if it’s not every day?”

  Rory reached across, squeezing Fern’s hand. “Thank you, Fern. For everything. For loving her when I couldn’t.”

  Kimba nodded, gentle but firm. “It’s truly best. Aurora needs to be here—she needs family, and she’ll need guidance. But Fern, this isn’t goodbye. You’ll always be welcome in our home.”

  Fern hugged Aurora tightly, rocking her gently. “You’ll always be my sunshine, Aurora. Promise you’ll let me come see you. Promise you’ll remember you’re always loved.”

  Aurora’s voice broke as she whispered, “I promise. I love you, Fern. You’ll always be my mom.”

  Fern kissed her hair, then pressed Aurora’s hands into Rory’s. “You two take care of each other, alright?”

  “We will,” Rory whispered, drawing Aurora close.

  As the embers glowed in the hearth and shadows danced along the stone, Rory let herself ache for everything they’d lost—and hope, fiercely, for what they could build together from here.

  Kimba watched the two girls as they talked quietly. Aston had made his exit, like the gentleman he was, letting his mate do some much needed bonding. She’d taken Fern back to her home after a long hug between her and Aurora. And now she could see Rory just soaking up every detail of her sister. It was remarkable how alike they looked. And she could tell that as Aurora got older, she would favor Rory even more.

  “I’m going to let you two catch up,” Kimba told them as she stood and headed toward the front of the cave.

  “Thank you, Kimba,” Rory said, her voice full of sincerity.

  There was a whole lot of meaning in those two words, she felt it through their bond. Kimba looked at the young woman who’d come to the dragon realm as a broken girl in need of love and healing. Now, staring back at her was the result of what happens when someone walks through the fire and comes out refined. Rory’s eyes, once lost, were now filled with fierce determination. The chip she wore on her shoulder like armor was gone, and in its place was the confidence of someone who knew their worth, but also knew the worth of others. She was a force to be reckoned with when it came to those she cared for, and Kimba was thankful that she would continue to get to see the woman that Mother Gaia was growing her into. Every battle they faced would define her character and mold her into the woman she was becoming. Every victory and every failure would either tear something in her apart or make her stronger. Kimba had no doubt it would be the latter.

  Kimba moved through the winding corridors of the cave, letting the thrum of old magic and the lull of distant voices fade behind her. The warmth and laughter of the main room were like an echo now, replaced by the hush and flicker of the firelight that spilled from the small sanctuary she and Osiris shared. She paused at the threshold, watching him for a moment. Her mate, her miracle, her heartbreak, and her hope.

  Osiris sat on the edge of their bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed as if the weight of a thousand years threatened to pull him through the stone itself. He looked up as she entered, those fathomless eyes finding her instantly, as if he’d known she was coming before she’d even set her course. She crossed the room in three strides, sinking between his knees. Her hands, always strong, trembled just a little as she cupped his face.

  He leaned into her touch, and for a moment, she simply breathed him in, the scent of smoke and earth and something ancient, something hers.

  Osiris’s voice was low, rough with the ache of memory. “Sometimes I think about what I lost, Kimba. When I took the throne in hell, I thought I could hold on to myself, but the darkness swallowed me. I forgot you. I forgot I even had a mate. All those centuries, I ruled alone, and I didn’t even know what I was missing. There was a hole, but I didn’t know it was you who filled it.” His eyes glistened, vulnerability laid bare. “It wasn’t until I got free, until the memories started to come back, that I realized what I’d lost, what I’d left you to grieve. And for that, I am eternally sorry. I need you to know that.”