Page 50 of Shifting the Flame

The council members exchanged uncertain glances.

"We don't let grief and fear decide our law," Asher continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. "Garron deserves better. So does this town."

Though his face betrayed nothing, inside Asher's thoughts raced like wildfire.I know you didn't do this, Danica. Someone set you up, and I will find them.

After several tense moments, Thorne nodded reluctantly. "We'll postpone judgment until after the proper mourning period. A formal hearing will follow."

Relief coursed through Asher's veins, though he kept his expression impassive. He turned back to Danica, whose face had gone ghostly white in the moonlight. Her eyes were wide pools of confusion and fear.

He pulled her close one last time, bending to whisper against her ear. "I will fix this. You are my mate, and nothing will ever change that. I will protect you with everything I have." His lips grazed her earlobe. "Trust me."

He stepped back, a public show of separation that tore at his insides. His dragon roared in protest, demanding he sweep her into his arms and fly far from here. But centuries of dragon tradition demanded he stay with his people in their time of crisis.

A male clutch member named Hunter, who would maintain careful watch over Danica in New Orleans, materialized at his side. "I'll make sure she's safe, brother," he promised quietly.

Asher gave a nearly imperceptible nod as Danica turned to walk away from the festival. Her shoulders were hunched, and the festival lights caught the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. His every instinct screamed to follow her, but he remained rooted in place, a statue of authority while his heart trailed after her retreating form.

The festival grounds emptied in somber silence, townspeople leaving in small groups, their whispers carried away by the night breeze. What should have been a night of celebration had become a night of mourning.

As the last lights dimmed, Asher stood alone in the empty square, staring at the spot where Garron had fallen. His fists clenched at his sides as he made a silent vow.

Whoever did this will burn.

The front door of the Ectorius mansion exploded inward, wood splintering as Asher's fist connected with it. He didn't bother with the lights. Darkness suited his mood perfectly.

"Goddamn it!" The roar echoed through the empty halls, a sound more dragon than human.

Heat pulsed beneath his skin, the shift threatening to overtake him. He welcomed it. Fire would be simpler than this agony gnawing at his chest.

Asher seized a crystal decanter from the entry table and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the stone fireplace, sending shards glittering across the hardwood floor like fallen stars.

"Three hundred years of dragon tradition and they can't recognize innocence when it's standing right in front of them?" His fist crashed into the mahogany-paneled wall, leaving a splintered crater.

Blood smeared the wood where his knuckles had split open, but Asher barely noticed. Physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache spreading through him.

He stalked into the living room, where just hours ago he'd held Danica after their moment of passion. Her scent still lingered there, now tainted with the metallic edge of his blood.

The memory of her face as she'd been escorted away, pale and stricken, flashed before him. He'd promised to protect her, and he'd failed spectacularly.

"She planned a fucking children's party for someone who couldn't even remember her name," he snarled to the empty room, sweeping an arm across the coffee table. Books and decorative items crashed to the floor. "And they think she's a murderer?"

His dragon clawed at him, demanding release. Demanding retribution.

Asher grabbed a framed photograph of the town council, Garron in the center, stern and dignified. The glass cracked under his grip.

"She has more compassion in her little finger than half this town put together."

He hurled the frame against the wall, glass exploding outward.

"She fixed my disaster of a festival." His voice dropped low, ragged with emotion. "Fixed me."

The shift rippled across his back – scales pushing against skin, seeking freedom. Asher breathed deeply, forcing the dragon back inside. Burning his own house down wouldn't solve anything.

His feet carried him to the bedroom without conscious thought. The space where they'd shared passion and whispered confessions now felt cavernous and cold.

Asher yanked open the cabinet of his bedside bar, pulling out a bottle of bourbon worth more than most cars. He didn't bother with a glass.

As he sank onto the bed, something crinkled beneath him. A note rested on his pillow, folded neatly, in Danica's precise handwriting.

---