Dravenna stood at the window, the academy below her a glittering mockery of stars that had never learned how to shine honestly—cheap knockoffs, really, like the trust funds of half the families in Paradise.
The office was silent now. Empty. The boy—her boy, though he still carried his ignorance like a designer blindfold—had left minutes ago, walking out with that confident stride that sliced through the air like a blade his father once carried, back when Seiryū still believed the world could be cut into pieces worth keeping instead of pieces worth selling.
She touched her lips.
Still tingling. Still warm.
And then she licked them.
Slowly. Deliberately.
Savoring the taste that lingered there—something far sweeter than the lips of a seventeen-year-old boy should have been. Something deeper than skin, deeper than saliva, deeper than any kiss had any right to be.
Dragon blood.
She could taste it when she bit him.
