Hidden Flame: Bound to the Triplet Dragon Kings

**AVeryr*

| ran and hugged Draven and Rory as soon as | saw them. They just giggled. We all sat and ate breakfast before

we went

into a room in the palace that hasn’t been used in a long time. The dimly lit chamber buzzed with tension as

Draven and

| leaned over a weathered map, our fingers tracing the jagged borders of Nightshade territory. The air was thick

with the

scent of pine and sweat, a stark contrast to the cool, calculated demeanor of the group. Rory, her sharp eyes

darting

between the map and the others, adjusted her hood, her voice low and urgent. “Remember, this is

reconnaissance only. No engagements, no traces. We're ghosts in their midst.” Her words hung heavy, a

reminder of the peril we were about

to face.

Draven, his dark hair falling over his forehead, nodded grimly. “We'll mask our scents and alter our appearances.

They'll

think we're human traders passing through.” His hands moved with precision as he pulled vials of pungent oils

from his

satchel, distributing them to the group. With my fiery red curls tied back in a loose braid, | sniffed the vial

skeptically.

“Smells like a dead skunk mated with a pine tree. Should do the trick.” My lips quirked in a faint smile, but my

eyes

remained hard, my mind already on the mission ahead.

The group worked in silence, smearing the oils over our skin and clothing, the acrid scent overpowering the

natural musk

of our forms. We donned human disguises with the aid of Draven’s magic, also wore cloaks, wide-brimmed hats,

and

boots caked with mud to mimic the look of weary travelers. Even our weapons were concealed, hidden beneath

layers of

fabric and charmed to remain undetected.

As we approached the outskirts of Nightshade territory, the atmosphere shifted. The forest grew darker, the air

heavier, as

if the trees themselves were watching. My hand rested lightly on the hilt of my dagger, my senses on high alert.

Draven walked beside me, his movements deliberate, his gaze sweeping the surroundings for any sign of danger.

The Nightshade pack’s compound cinto view, a sprawling cluster of wooden structures surrounded by a high

fence

of sharpened stakes. The stench of blood and fear hung in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of their

disguises. My

stomach churned, but | kept my expression neutral, my steps steady.

We entered the compound under the guise of traders, our cart laden with trinkets and furs—a convincing facade

for any

prying eyes. The wolves within eyed us with suspicion, but the human disguises held. Bethany, a tall, gaunt

woman with a

cruel smile, approached us, her eyes narrowing as she inspected our wares. “What brings you to Nightshade,

strangers?” Her voice was smooth, but her tone was laced with menace.

Draven flashed a charming smile, his voice smooth and practiced. “Just passing through, looking to trade. Heard

Nightshade had the finest furs in the region.” Bethany’s lips curled, but she waved them deeper into the

compound.

“Stay where you're seen. We don’t take kindly to wanderers.”

As we navigated the compound, my heart pounded in my chest. The mission was clear: observe, gather

information, and

leave undetected. But as we passed a small, windowless hut, a muffled cry pierced the air. | froze, my eyes

locking with Draven’s as all of the torture | had gone through floods my mind. He shook his head slightly, a silent

warning, but my

resolve hardened.

Ignoring Draven’s unspoken protest, | drifted closer to the hut, my movements casual. Through a crack in the

wall, |

glimpsed a horrifying scene. Female werewolves, their once-proud forms now broken and bruised, were chained

to the

walls. Bethany stood before them, a whip in her hand, her face twisted in sadistic glee as she lashed out at a

trembling woman.

My vision blurred with rage. Without thinking, | shoved Draven aside and stormed into the hut, my disguise

forgotten.

“You sick bitch!” | roared, my voice echoing through the small space. Bethany whirled around, her eyes widening

in shock

as | lunged at her, fists flying.

Draven cursed under his breath, tearing off his cloak and drawing his blade. He charged into the hut, his instincts

taking

over as he assessed the situation. The female werewolves cowered, their eyes wide with fear and hope. Rory

appeared at

the doorway, her face pale but determined, her bow drawn. “Avery, stop! This wasn’t the plan!”

But | wasn’t listening. My fury was a storm, unchecked and unrelenting. | grabbed Bethany by the throat, lifting

her off

the ground with inhuman strength. “You were warned. Now you'll pay for what you've done,” | growled, my voice

barely

recognizable as any known species.

Alpha Warwick burst into the hut, his massive frfilling the doorway. “What's the meaning of this?” he

bellowed, his

eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. Draven stepped forward, his blade pointed at Warwick's chest. “Your

pack preys

on the weak. It ends here.”

Warwick's lips curled into a snarl, but before he could react, Draven feinted left and struck right, disarming him

with a

swift motion. Rory’s arrow whistled past, embedding itself in the wall inches from Warwick’s head. “Back off,

Alpha,” she warned, her voice steady despite the chaos.