Page 68 of Fired Up Love

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Blood moonlight poured through the skylight of the Gravemont manor’s ritual chamber, saturating everything in deep crimson. Zina pressed herself into the shadows near the hidden entrance her magic led her to. The air crackled with malevolent energy—thick, oppressive, almost solid against her skin. She fought the urge to gag as the corrupted magic left a metallic taste on her tongue.

Across the vast chamber, Xai remained bound in mithril chains at one point of a triangular formation, his golden eyes finding hers despite the distance. Opposite him, Luciana Madrigal stood secured at another vertex, her elegant evening dress torn and stained but her posture defiant. Between them sprawled an intricate ritual circle—hundreds of symbols meticulously carved into ancient stone, now illuminated by the blood moon’s ominous light.

Zina’s heart hammered against her ribs. Her lioness prowled beneath her skin, muscles coiled tight with readiness, but not with panic. Years of her father’s training echoed in her mind:Think before you pounce, cub. The lioness who calculates outlives the one who merely reacts.

She inhaled slowly, processing what lay before her. Severin Madrigal directed two mercenaries in their preparations—a mage with raven tattoos positioned crystals around the circle’s perimeter while the massive orc ground herbs in a mortar of polished bone. None had noticed her arrival yet, their attention fixed on their tasks.

The ritual circle’s pattern tugged at her memory. Something about the curved lines and angular intersections struck her as oddly familiar. She squinted, mentally tracing the pattern, and realization dawned with a cold shock.

This was the Founding Pyre chamber’s blueprint—inverted.

She’d grown up studying her mother’s architectural notes for the spa. Fiona Parker had been obsessive about proper placement, insisting that certain walls align with specific energy meridians. As a child, Zina had thought it eccentric; now she understood her mother had been strategically building above the pyre chamber, creating a protective structure that enhanced its power.

This ritual circle mirrored that sacred geometry, but with a crucial perversion—the lines ran counter-sunwise, reversing protective flows into something corrupted and hungry.

“How good of you to join us, Ms. Parker.”

Zina flinched as Severin’s smooth voice cut through her thoughts. He hadn’t looked up from the ancient grimoire in his hands, yet he’d sensed her presence. His sandy-blond hair gleamed in the blood-tinged light, his expensive suit incongruously pristine amidst the arcane chaos.

“I’d say it’s a pleasure,” Zina replied, slipping her shoes off and inching forward while projecting calm despite her racing pulse, “but Mom raised me not to lie.”

A small smile played at the corners of Severin’s mouth as he marked his place in the grimoire with a ribbon. “Charming. Your mother taught you many things, it seems. Though perhaps not enough about knowing when you’re outmatched.”

Zina took another measured step into the room. Her eyes flicked to Xai, whose face remained impassive, though the temperature around him had noticeably risen. The mithril chains binding him glowed brighter in response, absorbing his draconic heat. His gaze conveyed a silent message:Be careful.

She offered him the slightest wink—quick enough that only someone watching for it would notice. His eyes widened fractionally before understanding flickered across his features.

“Outmatched is relative,” Zina responded, addressing Severin while mentally mapping the chamber floor. “I’m more of a quality-over-quantity gal myself.”

She took a hesitant step backward as if reconsidering her bravery. The move drew the attention of Severin’s mercenaries exactly as she’d intended. While they watched her apparent retreat, she used each seemingly random movement to position herself over specific tiles.

One, two, three...She counted silently, recognizing junctions that corresponded to nexus points in the Founding Pyre chamber. Her lioness provided perfect spatial awareness, every step calculated despite appearing panicked.

“There’s no escape, lioness,” Severin said, setting down his grimoire on a pedestal carved with panther heads. “The exits are sealed with blood wards. Only I can open them now.”

Zina ducked around a stone column, placing her foot precisely on a tile that vibrated beneath her weight—another nexus point mapped. “Who said anything about escaping?” she called, projecting bravado while continuing her careful choreography. “I came for my people.”

Her gaze locked with Xai’s again. The heat in his eyes had nothing to do with dragonfire and everything to do with the emotions she saw there—concern layered with something deeper that made her stomach flip despite their dire circumstances.

“I’d hate to miss our second date,” she added, loud enough for Xai to hear.

A rumbling laugh escaped him, steam curling from his nostrils. “Is that what this is? I expected better restaurant choice for our follow-up.”

“Critics give this place zero stars,” she agreed, the banter settling her nerves even as she continued mapping nexus points.

Severin’s expression darkened. “How touching. The dragon and the lioness, finding love amid crisis.” He gestured to the tattooed twins. “Accelerate preparations. The blood moon peaks in seven minutes.”

Zina used the momentary shift in attention to scan the chamber walls. Behind a massive stone pillar, she caught the faintest seam in the stonework—a hidden passage mentioned in her mother’s journals. Her ears, more sensitive than humans’, detected the softest scraping sound from within. Someone was coming through.

She maintained her frightened expression, not wanting to betray her growing hope. Four more nexus points to map. She positioned herself near a crumbling section of wall, pretending to search for structural weaknesses.

“Your dragon belongs to the ritual now,” Severin called, misinterpreting her movements. “As will you, once we extract the necessary Parker blood.”

“He doesn’t belong to anyone but himself,” Zina retorted, her lioness bristling at the possessive claim. Then, with a deliberate smirk toward Xai, she added, “Though I might have something to say about that later.”

Xai’s eyes flashed molten gold, chains creaking as he strained against them. The look he gave her promised retribution of the most pleasurable kind once they escaped this mess. The silent exchange fueled her determination—they had too much to look forward to for failure to be an option.

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