Dr. Reeves arrived at exactly eight o'clock with a medical bag that looked like it could tranquilize an elephant.
I sat on my bed, hands folded in my lap, the picture of cooperation. Marcus stood by the window, arms crossed, watching me like I might spontaneously combust at any moment.
Which, to be fair, was a reasonable concern.
"How are you feeling tonight, Phoenix?" Dr. Reeves asked, setting his bag on my dresser and beginning to unpack syringes and vials.
"Tired," I lied. "Confused. Like maybe I've been fighting this for too long."
Marcus's eyebrows rose slightly. He hadn't expected me to give in so easily.
"That's completely normal," Dr. Reeves said in his soothing doctor voice. "Dragon blood awakening is traumatic for the mind and body. But we can help manage the symptoms."
I watched him prepare the injection. Clear liquid, same as before, but the vial was larger this time. Marcus wasn't taking any chances.
"What exactly is in that?" I asked.
"A combination of mood stabilizers and ability suppressants," Dr. Reeves explained. "It will help quiet the more volatile aspects of your heritage while allowing you to think more clearly."
More clearly. Right. By drugging me so heavily I could barely remember my own name.
"Will it hurt?" I made my voice small, vulnerable. The scared little girl Marcus still saw when he looked at me.
"Just a small pinch," Dr. Reeves promised. "And then you'll feel much better."
He approached with the syringe. I rolled up my sleeve without protest, even held out my arm. Marcus relaxed slightly, thinking I'd finally accepted my fate.
Dr. Reeves swabbed my arm with alcohol. The needle was inches away from my skin when I struck.
Fire erupted from my free hand, not aimed at either of them, but at the thick curtains covering my windows. The heavy fabric went up like it had been soaked in gasoline, flames racing from floor to ceiling in seconds.
Both men stumbled backward, and I used their momentary distraction to grab Dr. Reeves's wrist. Not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to heat the metal syringe until he dropped it with a curse.
"Phoenix, stop!" Marcus shouted.
But I was already moving. While they were focused on the burning curtains, I sprinted toward the window. The reinforced frame looked solid, but metal weakened when it got hot enough.
I pressed both palms against the window locks, pushing every bit of heat I could generate into the steel. The metal glowed red, then white-hot. The locks began to deform, softening like putty.
"She's going to jump again," Marcus said, his voice tight with fear.
Dr. Reeves was fumbling for another syringe, but the smoke from the burning curtains was making it hard to see. The fire alarm started shrieking, adding to the chaos.
I kicked the weakened window. The frame buckled, and glass exploded outward into the night.
Forty-two stories down, I could see the werewolf guards looking up, alerted by the breaking glass and the smoke now pouring from my window.
"Phoenix, please," Marcus said, and for just a moment, he sounded like the man who used to read me bedtime stories. "Don't do this. We can work something out."
I looked back at him. At Dr. Reeves clutching his burned hand. At the syringe on the floor, filled with chemicals designed to turn me back into Marcus's perfect, obedient daughter.
"No more lies," I said.
Then I jumped.
The fall felt different this time. More controlled. Like my dragon blood had learned something from the previous experience. I could feel the air currents, could sense how to position my body to create the right kind of drag.
But using my abilities to cushion the landing drained me in ways I hadn't expected. By the time I hit the alley behind the tower, my legs felt like jelly and my vision was starting to blur.
The werewolf guards were already moving, converging on my location. I had maybe thirty seconds before they reached me.
I forced myself to run.
The warehouse district was a twenty-minute drive from downtown, but I didn't have a car. I couldn't call a taxi—Marcus would trace it. My only option was to steal something or find another way to travel.
Two blocks from the tower, I found what I was looking for: a motorcycle parked outside a late-night diner. The owner had left it running while he grabbed coffee—a stroke of luck that felt like divine intervention.
I'd never ridden a motorcycle before, but desperation was a powerful teacher. The bike lurched and nearly stalled as I figured out the clutch, but soon I was weaving through Seattle's empty streets, the wind whipping through my hair.
By the time I reached the warehouse district, the adrenaline was wearing off and the exhaustion was hitting hard. Using my dragon abilities took a physical toll I was only beginning to understand. My hands were shaking, and I felt like I might pass out at any moment.
The address from Emma's note led me to a maze of abandoned industrial buildings near the waterfront. Most of them looked like they hadn't been used in decades—broken windows, rusted metal siding, parking lots cracked with weeds.
I found Warehouse 47 at the end of a dead-end street, its loading docks facing Elliott Bay. The building was massive, probably used to store shipping containers back when this part of Seattle was a thriving industrial center.
Now it looked like a tomb.
I parked the stolen motorcycle behind a dumpster and approached the main entrance. The door was slightly ajar, revealing darkness beyond.
"Hello?" I called out, my voice echoing in the empty space.
"Come in, child. You're safe now."
The voice was elderly, male, with an accent I couldn't place. I pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.
The warehouse was bigger than it looked from outside. High ceilings supported by metal beams, concrete floors stained with decades of oil and grease. Most of it was empty, but in the center of the space, someone had set up what looked like a small living area. A camping chair, a folding table, battery-powered lanterns casting pools of yellow light.
And sitting in the chair was the oldest man I'd ever seen.
He had to be at least eighty, maybe ninety. White hair down to his shoulders, deep-set eyes that seemed to hold centuries of wisdom. His skin was weathered and scarred, like he'd lived through multiple lifetimes of hardship.
But when he looked at me, his face lit up with recognition and something that might have been joy.
"Phoenix Draven," he said, rising from his chair with effort. "You look exactly like your mother."
"You knew her?"
"I knew them both. Elena and Vincent were like children to me." He gestured toward a second chair that I hadn't noticed before. "Please, sit. You look ready to collapse."
I was. The stolen motorcycle ride had used up the last of my energy reserves. I practically fell into the offered chair.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"My name is Matthias Chen. I was the last Elder of the Western Dragon Council before Marcus Blackthorne destroyed our people."
Elder. Council. The words carried weight I couldn't fully comprehend.
"Emma said you were a friend of my mother's."
"Emma Grey is a brave woman. She's been watching over you for twenty years, keeping me informed of your wellbeing." Matthias moved to the folding table, where I could see several items laid out. "She's also the one who helped me gather the evidence you need to see."
"Evidence?"
Matthias picked up a small device—looked like an older model tablet. "The truth about what really happened to your parents. About why Marcus Blackthorne killed them."
My heart started pounding. "You have proof?"
"More than proof. I have video footage of the murders."
The world seemed to tilt. After twenty years of lies and half-truths, someone was finally offering me the complete picture.
"Before we continue," Matthias said, studying my face carefully, "I need to ask you something. What did Marcus tell you about your heritage? About what you are?"
I told him about the conversation in Marcus's office. The story about dragon clans and territorial disputes. The claim that my parents were caught in crossfire between warring factions.
Matthias listened without interruption, his expression growing darker with each detail.
"All lies," he said when I finished. "Every single word."
"Then what's the truth?"
Matthias activated the tablet, and the screen came to life. "The truth is that you are the last heir to the Draven royal bloodline. Your parents weren't just clan members, Phoenix. They were the Dragon King and Queen of the Western Territories."
Royalty. The word hit me like a physical blow.
"That's impossible. If they were royalty, why were they living like ordinary people? Why didn't they have armies to protect them?"
"Because they were trying to prevent a war, not start one." Matthias swiped through several files on the tablet. "Twenty-one years ago, tensions between dragons and werewolves were at an all-time high. Extremists on both sides were pushing for open conflict. Your parents believed the only way to prevent genocide was through negotiation and intermarriage between the species."
"Intermarriage?"
"Dragons and werewolves can produce viable offspring, though it's rare and difficult. Your parents thought that if the royal families intermarried, it would create bonds strong enough to prevent war."
I thought about what Marcus had said about Viktor Klaus. About enemies who saw dragon blood as either a weapon or a threat.
"What does this have to do with Marcus?"
Matthias's expression hardened. "Marcus Blackthorne was supposed to be your mother's husband."
The words made no sense at first. Then, slowly, the implications began to sink in.
"What?"
"It was an arranged marriage, designed to unite the two most powerful supernatural bloodlines on the West Coast. Elena was promised to Marcus when they were both teenagers."
My mind was reeling. "But she married my father instead."
"Yes. Because she and Vincent fell in love. Real love, not the political alliance her family had arranged." Matthias pulled up a photo on the tablet—Elena and Vincent on their wedding day, looking radiantly happy. "When Elena broke her engagement to Marcus and married Vincent instead, it wasn't just a personal betrayal. It was a declaration of war."
"So Marcus killed them for revenge?"
"Partially. But there was more at stake than just his wounded pride." Matthias swiped to another file. "Marcus had spent years building political alliances based on the promised marriage to Elena. When she chose Vincent, those alliances crumbled. He went from being the future Dragon Queen's consort to a jilted lover who'd been publicly humiliated."
"That's still not enough reason to commit murder."
"You're right. But Marcus had help. Have you ever heard the name Viktor Klaus?"
I nodded. Marcus had mentioned him as some kind of enemy.
"Viktor Klaus was—is—a werewolf supremacist who believes dragons are an evolutionary mistake that should be corrected. He convinced Marcus that Elena and Vincent were planning to eliminate all werewolf bloodlines and establish dragons as the dominant species."
"Were they?"
"Absolutely not. Your parents were pacifists, Phoenix. They wanted integration, not domination. But Viktor is very good at manipulating people's fears and insecurities. He convinced Marcus that killing the Dragon King and Queen was a preemptive strike to save his own people."
The pieces were starting to come together, forming a picture that made my stomach turn.
"Show me the video," I said.
Matthias hesitated. "Are you certain? Once you see this, there's no going back. You can't unknow what you're about to learn."
"Show me."
He handed me the tablet. On the screen was a video file dated twenty years ago. I tapped play with a shaking finger.
The footage was grainy, clearly shot from a hidden camera. The scene was a forest clearing, probably somewhere in the Cascade Mountains. In the center of the clearing, Elena and Vincent knelt on the ground, their hands bound behind their backs.
Around them stood a circle of werewolves in human form. I recognized several faces—pack members I'd grown up seeing at family gatherings and business meetings. They looked younger, but their expressions were the same. Cold. Predatory.
And at the center of the circle stood Marcus.
He looked almost exactly as he did now—silver hair, ice-blue eyes, that commanding presence that made people instinctively defer to him. But his expression was different. Harder. More cruel than I'd ever seen him.
"You know why we're here," he said to my parents. His voice carried clearly over the forest sounds.
"This won't bring you peace, Marcus," Elena replied. Even bound and facing death, her voice was steady. "Killing us will only make things worse."
"Will it?" Marcus stepped closer to her. "Your marriage to Vincent was an act of war, Elena. You chose him over our people's survival."
"I chose love over politics. That doesn't make me a traitor."
"Doesn't it?" Marcus pulled out a gun—sleek, silver, designed for close-range killing. "You were supposed to be my queen. Instead, you decided to birth dragon purebloods who would see my people as inferiors."
Vincent struggled against his bonds. "Elena's pregnancy has nothing to do with species politics, you psychopath. She's carrying our child because we love each other."
Pregnancy. My mother had been pregnant when she died.
Marcus laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Love. Such a human concept. Dragons and werewolves don't love, Vincent. We dominate or we submit. Elena chose to submit to you instead of dominating alongside me."
"Please," Elena whispered. "If you have any feelings left for what we once meant to each other, let Vincent go. Kill me if you must, but let him raise our daughter."
Daughter. They'd known I was a girl.
Marcus knelt down beside Elena, close enough that the camera picked up every detail of his face. What I saw there wasn't the controlled fury of a political executioner. It was the raw, desperate need of a man who'd been rejected by the only woman he'd ever loved.
"I could have given you everything," he whispered. "Power, protection, a kingdom that spanned both our species. But you threw it all away for him."
"I threw away nothing," Elena said firmly. "I chose the man I love over the man I was told to marry. That's not betrayal, Marcus. That's freedom."
"Freedom." Marcus stood up, raising the gun. "Let me show you what freedom costs."
He shot Vincent first. Clean, professional, right through the heart. Vincent died instantly, his body crumpling to the forest floor.
Elena screamed—a sound of such raw agony that it seemed to tear through the fabric of reality itself. But she didn't beg. Even facing her own death, she maintained her dignity.
"My daughter will know the truth," she said, looking directly into Marcus's eyes. "Someday, she'll know what kind of monster you really are."
"Your daughter will know whatever I choose to tell her," Marcus replied. "She'll grow up believing I saved her from parents who were killed by extremists. She'll love me as a father and never question why."
"You can't raise a dragon child, Marcus. She'll awaken eventually. Her blood will call to her."
"Then I'll make sure her blood stays quiet." Marcus aimed the gun at Elena's head. "Goodbye, my queen. In another life, we could have been magnificent together."
The gunshot seemed impossibly loud in the forest clearing.
Elena's body fell forward, landing next to Vincent's. The two people who'd created me, who'd loved me before I was even born, lying dead in the dirt while their murderer stood over them like a conqueror.
But the video wasn't over.
Marcus holstered his gun and pulled out his phone. "It's done," he said to whoever was on the other end. "The Dragon King and Queen are dead. Begin Phase Two."
"What about the child?" a voice asked. I couldn't make out the words clearly, but the tone was questioning.
"Leave that to me. I'll take care of Phoenix personally."
The way he said my name made my blood freeze. Not with love or affection, but with ownership. Like I was a prize he'd won by murdering my parents.
The video ended.
I sat in the warehouse silence, the tablet shaking in my hands. Everything I'd believed about my life, about Marcus, about the man who'd raised me—all of it was a lie built on the graves of my real parents.
Marcus hadn't saved me from extremists. He'd murdered my parents out of jealousy and wounded pride, then taken me as some kind of twisted trophy. Twenty years of bedtime stories and birthday parties and father-daughter bonding—all of it performed by the man who'd orphaned me.
"How?" I whispered. "How did you get this?"
"Elena suspected Marcus might try to hurt them," Matthias explained gently. "She asked me to place surveillance equipment in locations where she and Vincent might be vulnerable. This camera was hidden in a tree overlooking what was supposed to be a secret meeting location."
"A meeting with who?"
"With Marcus. He'd convinced them to come alone by claiming he wanted to discuss a peaceful resolution to the marriage conflict."
A trap. The whole thing had been a trap.
"Why didn't you take this to the police? To the supernatural councils?"
Matthias's laugh was bitter. "With what authority? The dragon councils were destroyed along with your parents. The werewolf packs fell in line behind Marcus once he proved his power. And human law enforcement doesn't recognize supernatural crimes."
"So you just... waited. For twenty years."
"I waited for you to awaken. Dragon royal blood is different from ordinary dragon heritage, Phoenix. More powerful, more volatile, harder to suppress permanently. I knew that eventually, your abilities would manifest and you'd start questioning the lies Marcus had fed you."
I thought about the claw marks in my bedroom wall. About the memories that had surfaced in the shower. About the fire that erupted from my hands whenever I felt strong emotions.
"Emma's been helping you watch me."
"Emma Grey was your mother's closest friend. She would have died protecting Elena if she'd been there that night. She's spent twenty years in Marcus's household, gathering intelligence and waiting for the moment when you'd be ready to learn the truth."
"And now I have."
"Now you have," Matthias agreed. "The question is: what are you going to do about it?"
I looked down at the tablet, where the video had frozen on the final frame. Marcus standing over my parents' bodies, phone pressed to his ear, planning whatever "Phase Two" had entailed.
Taking me. Raising me. Poisoning me for twenty years to keep me docile while he played the role of loving father.
The rage that built inside me was like nothing I'd ever experienced. Not the anger I'd felt when I discovered the photos in his safe, or the betrayal when I realized he'd been drugging me. This was something deeper, more primal. The fury of a dragon whose family had been slaughtered.
Fire erupted from my hands, but this time I didn't try to control it. I let it build, let it consume the empty warehouse air, until the temperature around us rose twenty degrees in seconds.
"Phoenix," Matthias said carefully. "You need to control yourself."
"Why?" The word came out as a growl. "Why should I control anything? Marcus murdered my parents. He stole my life. He's been poisoning me for twenty years. Why shouldn't I burn his entire world to the ground?"
"Because that's exactly what he expects you to do."
The words cut through my rage like ice water.
"What?"
"Marcus has spent twenty years preparing for this moment, Phoenix. He knows that eventually, you'd learn the truth. He's been planning for the day you'd come for him, filled with rage and ready for revenge."
"So what? Let him plan. I'm not the helpless little girl he thinks I am."
"Aren't you?" Matthias leaned forward, his ancient eyes boring into mine. "Right now, you're thinking with your emotions instead of your mind. You want to storm back to his tower and burn it down around him. That's exactly the kind of reckless, destructive behavior he's been telling everyone to expect from dragon royalty."
I stared at him, the fire around my hands flickering.
"Marcus has painted dragons as violent, unstable creatures who solve problems through destruction," Matthias continued. "If you attack him directly, you'll be proving his point. Every werewolf pack, every supernatural authority, every potential ally will see you as the monster he's claimed dragons are."
"Then what am I supposed to do? Let him get away with murder?"
"You're supposed to be smarter than he is. More strategic. More royal."
Royal. The word still felt foreign.
"I don't know how to be royal."
"Your mother did. Elena could have ordered Marcus's execution for breaking their engagement. She could have declared war on the werewolf packs for the insult to her bloodline. Instead, she chose diplomacy and negotiation."
"And look how that worked out for her."
"It would have worked if Marcus hadn't been corrupted by Viktor Klaus." Matthias pulled up another file on the tablet. "Phoenix, you're not just the last dragon royal. You're also the most powerful dragon born in three centuries. Your abilities dwarf what your parents could do."
"How do you know that?"
"Because you're still alive. Twenty years of systematic poisoning should have killed a normal dragon child or at least permanently damaged their abilities. The fact that your powers awakened anyway, and at such strength, proves your bloodline is extraordinarily potent."
I looked down at my hands. The fire had died down to a gentle glow, but I could feel the power humming beneath my skin.
"What am I supposed to do with that kind of power?"
"Whatever you choose," Matthias said simply. "But choose wisely. The decisions you make in the next few days will determine not just your own fate, but the future of both our species."
Both species. Dragons and werewolves.
"Marcus still has allies. Other packs, political connections, financial resources. If I try to take him down alone—"
"You won't be alone." Matthias smiled for the first time since I'd arrived. "There are others, Phoenix. Dragons who went into hiding after the purge. Werewolves who never supported Marcus's actions. Even some humans who know the truth about the supernatural world."
"How many others?"
"Enough. But they won't rally to a cause of pure revenge. They need to believe you can offer something better than what Marcus represents."
I thought about the video. About my mother's dignity even in the face of death. About the way she'd chosen love over political advantage, hope over fear.
"She wouldn't want me to become like him," I said quietly.
"No. Elena wanted you to be better than all of us."
I handed the tablet back to Matthias, my mind racing with possibilities. Marcus thought he'd raised me to be his perfect, controllable daughter. He had no idea what I was really capable of.
But I was starting to figure it out.
"How do I contact the others? The ones who might help?"
Matthias smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes. "Very carefully. And very soon. Marcus will be looking for you, and he won't give up easily."
"Let him look." I stood up from the chair, feeling steadier than I had all night. "It's time Marcus Blackthorne learned what happens when you murder a Dragon Queen."
"And what's that?"
I met Matthias's ancient gaze, and for the first time since jumping out of my bedroom window, I smiled.
"Eventually, her daughter comes home."
End of Chapter 5