Dragon Born Luna

CHAPTER 9 Chains and Choices

Kiara

Ryden was the first to speak.

“You’re bleeding.”

Not a question. A fact, crisp as the moonlight catching the edge of his jaw.

I looked down. A shallow cut on my arm. Probably from the broken glass when he crashed through the archive window like some overgrown predator with a hero complex.

“Good observation,” I said dryly, brushing a fleck of blood from my skin. “What gave it away—the red or the pain?”

Hayden chuckled from somewhere behind me. “She’s got teeth.”

“She’s not a threat,” Ryden said.

He was too close. His scent coiled around me—smoke, rain, something sharp beneath it. It pulled at something low in my gut. Dangerous. Familiar. Wrong.

Or maybe… too right.

I took a careful step back. “What is this? First send your hound after me, hunting me, then you save me?”

“You weren’t the one being hunted,” Hayden said. “Technically, you were trespassing. We just happened to meet in a place where old secrets go to rot.”

Ryden frowned. “I told you to wait outside and not engage”

Hayden raised a brow. “And miss the moment she pulled a book on dragon lineages like it was her birthright?”

I stiffened. The book was still clutched in my hand.

Ryden turned to Hayden. “I’ll handle it.”

That earned him a sharp look. “No. You’re too close to this.”

“I’m the Alpha,” Ryden said coolly.

“And I’m your Beta,” Hayden replied, just as smooth. “Which means it’s my job to see what you don’t.”

Their gazes locked. Alpha and Beta. Friends, probably. Brothers in every way that mattered. But something about the way Hayden looked at Ryden—assessing, tired—told me this wasn’t the first time they’d clashed over orders.

“I’ll write up a report,” Ryden said tightly. “About the mysterious kitchen girl who likes midnight strolls and leaves wolfsbane behind like perfume.”

“Looking forward to it,” Hayden said, then added, without looking at me, “Leave.”

Ryden hesitated.

Then—almost reluctantly—he looked at me. Just one look, but it was enough to make the tether between us throb.

He didn’t know.

But I did.

The mate bond stirred —soft at first, then sharper, scraping against bone. Muffled by wolfsbane, dulled by time, but there. Real.

He didn’t know.

But I did.

And suddenly, I couldn’t breathe right. And it terrified me.

“Stay out of trouble,” Ryden said at last, then slipped back through the shattered window.

Then we were alone.

Hayden took a slow step toward me. The knife had vanished. His hands were tucked into his coat like this was a conversation and not a hunt. “Well,” he said. “That was dramatic.” I said nothing.

He studied me for a beat, then clicked his tongue. “You’ve been slippery.”

“Thank you. I try.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” he said, circling me now. “You’ve made mistakes. Left behind breadcrumbs. You’ve been… sloppy.”

“I’ve been careful.”

Hayden smirked. “You’ve been lucky. Big difference.”

The air between us tightened. His presence was different from Ryden’s. Sharper. Like a scalpel instead of a sword. Designed for precision. For pain.

“You're not scared of me,” he said, tilting his head.

“I don’t scare easy.”

“You should,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Because I don’t give second chances.”

“Then maybe you should kill me,” I said, not backing down. “Instead of talking in circles.”

He paused. “And miss the mystery? Not a chance.”

I crossed my arms. “Why are you really here?”

Hayden’s smile thinned. “Ryden’s distracted. You distract him. That’s dangerous—for all of us.”

“By who? Me? A little kitchen hand? And you're what? His babysitter?”

“I’m the one who keeps the kingdom standing when our Alpha forgets which way is up.”

There it was. The bitterness. The loyalty. The fracture.

I softened my voice, just a little. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

Hayden’s gaze sharpened. “Know what?”

“Who I am.”

His lips twitched. “I think he’s starting to suspect. But names? Bloodlines?” He shook his head. “His father scrubbed most of the records clean. The Purge was never about truth. It was about erasing.”

“So you know. And yet here you are,” I said, “watching me with the eyes of a man who knows exactly what he’s looking at.”

“I know danger when I see it.”

“So do I,” I murmured. “And you reek of it.”

He smiled again, wider this time. “Flattered.”

We stood in silence for a moment. The book still pressed to my chest. My blood still warm from Ryden’s scent. My mind still racing with too many truths I couldn’t afford to speak.

Hayden stepped back. Just a little.

“You’re leaving yourself exposed,” he said, voice lower now. Not cruel. Not sarcastic. Just… quiet.

I looked away.

“Whatever you’re planning,” he added, “do it faster. Smarter. Or don’t do it at all.”

“Why?”

“Because the next time we meet like this, with you drawing Ryden close to you, close to danger” he said, and there was no warmth in his voice, “I won’t be talking.”

A chill crawled up my spine.

But I met his gaze one last time. “Then make sure I don’t find you first.”

He nodded once. Almost respectful. Then turned and walked out into the dark.

—

Vanquise’s silver cane had left a throbbing wound on my wrist, the skin pulsing gold as it knit itself back together.

I clenched my teeth and slipped through the palace corridors, my back pressed to the cold stone walls. The encounters with all three men I needed dead had shaken me more than I wanted to admit.

I ducked into my tiny servant’s room. Under the straw-stuffed pallet, hidden beneath loose floorboards, was the one thing I’d smuggled into the palace: a bundle of black fabric, flexible as shadow, lined with wolfsbane-soaked thread to mute my scent.

Nana’s parting gift.

"For when you’re ready to stop hiding," she’d said.

I changed quickly, strapping knives to my thighs and wrists. Tonight, I’d find blood—even if I had to carve them out of the palace’s rotten heart.

The first guard died quickly.

He’d rounded the corner just as I scaled a drainage pipe, his torchlight catching the glint of my blade. His shout died in his throat as my knife found his. But not before his sword grazed my ribs.

I hissed as blood soaked through my shirt—then watched, pulse hammering, as the wound stitched itself closed in seconds.

Too fast.

“Intruder in the west wing!” a voice calls. Male. Rough. Close

So much for subtlety.

I duck under a sagging clothesline and leap over a stack of crates, landing hard and skidding on the slick stone. My shoulder slams into a wall.

Dead end.

My breath catches in my throat. The back wall of the kitchen annex rises before me, slick with moss and smoke-stained soot. No doors. No windows. Just a tall, narrow chimney carved from the same black stone.

Perfect.

Or suicidal.

No time to hesitate. I throw myself at the bricks, fingers clawing for purchase. The mortar crumbles under my nails. I scale the lower wall, boots scraping, knees slipping. The opening is narrower than it looked—my shoulders barely squeeze in. The inside reeks of ash and old grease, smoke-slick and suffocating. I wedge myself into the flue and start climbing.

Then I hear it.

A howl.

Not human. Not even pretending to be.

The sound splits the night like a blade, sharp and wrong and hungry.

The Alpha's hunters.

Another joins it. Then another. The sound circles like a pack—closer, tighter, hunting.

They’ve picked up my scent.

I scramble faster, the flue narrowing with every inch. My skin scrapes raw against the brick. My breath burns.

Below, a thud.

Then a low growl curls up the chimney.

Hot breath follows, steaming up the shaft and carrying with it the stench of wet fur and burning bone.

They’re here.

One jumps. I hear it—the claws against stone, the hiss of rage, the click of fangs.

Climb. Climb faster.

My back presses to one wall, my boots brace against the opposite side. I shove myself upward in short, frantic bursts, arms shaking, lungs screaming for air.

A sliver of moonlight gleams above me—so close. Freedom. Safety.

Then—

A hand snatches my ankle.

Fingers, not claws.

Still, I thrash, panic choking me.

“Stop fighting, you i***t,” a voice growls.

Feminine. Low. Familiar.

Julise.

Her grip tightens. “You’ll bring the whole pack down on us.”

“What—how—” I gasp, twisted around, trying to see her face in the smoke.

“Quiet,” she hisses. “You want to live? Listen to me. There’s a hatch three meters up. Use it. Move silently. No stumbles. No sound. They’re hunting with ears now.”

“Why are you helping me?” My voice shakes.

Her eyes catch the light—hard, unreadable. “Because if Hayden finds you first, it’s not just your life at risk.”

She doesn’t wait for my answer. She releases my leg and drops down the chimney like she’s done it before.

A moment later, I hear snarls erupt below—then the unmistakable clash of bodies. She’s drawing them away.

I blink sweat from my eyes and climb.

Three meters. One chance.

At the top, I find the hatch—small, iron-rimmed, nearly invisible in the soot. I shove it open and tumble into the pantry beyond, landing hard on cold stone tiles.

I don’t move. I barely breathe.

Outside, the howls fade. Footsteps thunder past. But no one opens the door.

I’m alone.

Safe—for now.

"Where’d she go?" I hear a voice growl.

Julise’s breath was hot against my ear. "Breathe."

I didn’t. I wasn't easily startled or snuck up on but she did it.

The lead wolf sniffed the air, nostrils flaring. Wolfsbane or not, my blood was fresh. His gaze locked onto our hiding spot—

Julise stepped out.

"Lost, boys?" She planted her hands on her hips, voice dripping with false sweetness. "Scullery’s that way."

The wolf bared his teeth. "We’re hunting a intruder."

"Oh?" Julise laughed, sharp as broken glass. "Funny. Only thing I’ve hunted tonight is rats." She kicked a burlap sack. Something inside squealed. "Want to help me skin them?"

The wolves exchanged glances. Then, with a final snarl, they melted into the shadows.

Julise didn’t move until their footsteps faded. Then she rounded on me, her voice a furious whisper: "What the hell are you doing?"

I opened my mouth—

"Don’t." She jabbed a finger into my chest. "I don’t want lies. I want to know why my kitchen girl is dressed like an assassin and bleeding."

My stomach dropped. She’d seen.

Julise exhaled sharply, then grabbed my arm. "Come on."

She shoved me through a hidden door behind the spice racks. The air inside was thick with dust and the weight of old secrets.

The archives. Again.

Julise barred the door behind us, then turned, arms crossed. "Talk."

I hesitated. This was the girl who’d saved me . She’d smuggled me into the kitchens, lied to the guards, protected me.

But trust was poison here.

"You knew," I said quietly. "This whole time."

Julise’s gaze flicked to my still-glowing wound. "Yes I knew. And do you want to know how? Fiona sent me. To guide you, keep you from being stop now I'm guessing she was right to do so."

I went still. "Why? Why you? What do you have to gain when you seem so close to both that the current Alpha and his Beta"

"The former Alpha King." Her voice was raw. "He killed my family. Just like he killed yours."

The truth hit me like a blade between the ribs. That’s why she’d helped me.

We were the same.

Julise reached into her apron and pulled out a crumpled parchment—a masquerade invitation stamped with the royal seal.

"Tomorrow night," she said, pressing it into my hand. "The nobles will be drunk. The guards distracted. And the king’s private chambers?" She smiled bitterly. "Left unguarded."

I stared at the invitation, then at her. "Why are you really helping me?"

"Because I can’t do it alone." She shrugged, but her eyes were fierce. "And because you’re the only one reckless enough to try."

A clock chimed in the distance. Julise cursed. "Dawn’s coming. You need to go—now."

I hesitated. "Julise—"

"Go." She shoved me toward a back passage. "And Kiara?"

I froze at the sound of my real name.

Julise’s grin was all teeth. "Wear something pretty to the ball."

Dawn came too soon.

I made it back to my room without being seen, but my wrist still burned from Vanquise’s silver, and my mind wouldn’t stop spinning with Julise’s plan.

The kitchens didn’t care that I was unraveling. The ovens were already blazing. And Julise? She was halfway through prepping dough when she caught my eye across the flour-dusted room.

I tried to duck away.

Didn’t work.

She cornered me like a hawk in a henhouse. “You’re going to the masquerade.”

I blinked. “No.”

“Don’t play dumb.” She shoved a tray of rolls into my hands, then grinned—wide, wicked, and startlingly pretty. “The royal ball. Tomorrow night. Everyone’s talking about it.”

I stared at her. “You never said you were this dramatic.”

“You never asked.” She twirled a spoon, eyes glinting. “And besides, drama makes things interesting.”

She had a gleam. That sharp, reckless gleam that didn’t match the flour on her nose or the simple braid down her back. It hit me like a slap—Julise wasn’t just clever and brave.

She was dangerous.

And maybe... fun.

“I’m not going,” I said, trying to keep my voice flat.

“Yes, you are.”

“Julise—”

She dropped her spoon and stepped into my space, lowering her voice so only I could hear. “You want answers? Real ones? You won’t find them scrubbing pots. The nobles drink and brag. They lie and then forget who’s listening.”

I hesitated, but she leaned in again, conspiratorial. “You’ve been on the run too long. Let yourself do something reckless. Be a girl for once. Not a ghost.”

My throat tightened.

She saw that, and something in her smile softened. “What’s the worst that could happen? You trip over your gown and flash a noble?”

I snorted despite myself. “You’re insane.”

Her eyes danced. “You’re welcome.”

She left me with a wink and a promise of a stolen dress, I sat down on my cot, still holding the parchment.

The masquerade. A chance at secrets. A risk I shouldn’t take.

But I would.

Because Julise was right—I’d been a ghost long enough. And for the first time since Fiona and I went into hiding, I wasn’t alone.

I reached for the pouch hidden beneath my cot. Heirlooms Nana claimed belonged to my mother —hair pins, earrings— gleamed from the fabric folds—dragon-forged, curved like a flame.

I held it to my chest and whispered, “You knew, didn’t you?”

Fiona always knew more than she told me.

So later that night, I stood in front of the cracked mirror in my tiny room, adjusting the stolen gown.

Deep green silk, off the shoulders, the bodice cinched tight enough to make breathing a challenge. The mask was black, feathered, hiding everything but my mouth and the glint of my eyes.

I didn’t look like Mira.

I didn’t look like Kiara, either.

I looked like something in between.