Chapter 138: Before Dawn Breaks

The first drops of rain struck the pier like scattered coins, quickly building to a steady downpour that washed the acrid chemical stench from the air.

Cyrus raised one hand, crimson energy rippling outward in subtle waves. ℯℯ𝘭.

The twisted shipping containers groaned as they shifted into more natural positions, bent by wind rather than dragon claws.

Broken dock pilings cracked further under phantom gale forces. Scattered debris rearranged itself into storm damage patterns.

To any investigator, this would look like severe weather destruction—nothing more.

But Cyrus swayed on his feet, torn wing membrane still bleeding freely down his back.

Each step sent fresh crimson streaming between his shoulder blades, mixing with the rain.

"We need to go." Kane’s voice cut through the downpour as he grabbed Cyrus’s uninjured arm.

Cyrus’s golden-flecked eyes remained fixed on the dark water where the construct had dissolved.

Thunder rumbled overhead as if summoned by Cyrus’s lingering fury, but he finally allowed Kane to guide him towards the parking lot.

Kane’s grip tightened on Cyrus’s arm as they reached the Jaguar, rain streaming down both their faces.

"Can you still drive?" Kane’s voice carried an edge of worry he couldn’t quite suppress.

The dragon, who had just battled a forty-foot construct, now leaned against his car door, one hand pressed to his ribs.

"I’ll manage."

Cyrus’s response came through gritted teeth as he fumbled for his keys.

His hands shook slightly—from blood loss or residual fury, Kane couldn’t tell.

"I need to properly heal myself back at the penthouse..." He trailed off, sliding behind the wheel with visible effort.

Kane jumped into the passenger seat, watching Cyrus’s profile in the dashboard’s glow.

The engine purred to life, and Cyrus pulled away from the pier despite his condition.

But Kane caught the way his knuckles went white gripping the steering wheel, the careful control masking deeper pain.

Cyrus stumbled through the penthouse door, his weight pressing against Kane’s shoulder with each unsteady step.

"Let’s get you cleaned up," Kane murmured, guiding them down the hallway as red droplets marked their path across the marble floor.

Steam rose from the marble bathtub as Kane adjusted the water temperature, testing it with his fingertips until the heat matched what he knew Cyrus would prefer—scalding hot.

"Stop hovering and get in," Kane muttered, wringing out a sea sponge in the basin beside the tub.

"The water’s going to get cold."

Cyrus lowered himself into the bath with visible relief, his shoulders sinking beneath the surface as golden energy began to pulse faintly around his wounds.

The torn flesh started knitting itself back together, but slowly—dragon healing required concentration and energy he’d spent fighting that abomination.

Kane knelt beside the tub, dipping the sponge into the warm water before gently dabbing at the blood still streaking Cyrus’s neck.

"So what’s the verdict, doctor? Will the patient live to brood another day?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Cyrus’s voice carried exhaustion beneath the dry tone. "Though your bedside manner needs work."

Kane snorted, working the sponge across Cyrus’s shoulder blade.

"You’re lucky I’m not charging hazard pay. Fighting fake dragons wasn’t in my job description when I signed on as your assistant."

"Are you patching me or interrogating me?"

Kane’s hand stilled for a moment, the sponge suspended between them as something cold twisted in his chest.

The sight of Cyrus bleeding, wounded, vulnerable—it had shattered something inside Kane he hadn’t realized existed.

But admitting that fear felt like handing Cyrus a weapon he wasn’t sure either of them was ready for.

"Both," Kane said finally, resuming his gentle cleaning.

"It’s called multitasking. Very modern concept."

Cyrus turned in the bath, water rippling around him as his eyes found Kane’s face.

The fox spirit’s brow furrowed in concentration as he worked, amber eyes focused entirely on cleaning each wound.

Rain still dampened Kane’s silver hair, making it stick to his forehead in unruly strands, but he seemed oblivious to his own disheveled state.

Something warm stirred in Cyrus’s chest.

Kane had thrown himself into battle without hesitation, analyzed the rogue’s weaknesses while under fire, and now tended wounds with the same fierce determination he brought to everything else.

Adorable and capable in equal measure.

Cyrus pulled himself from the bath with careful movements, water cascading from his shoulders as the last wounds sealed themselves.

Kane’s eyes widened as Cyrus rose from the bath, water streaming down his perfectly sculpted form.

Despite their recent intimacy, heat flooded Kane’s cheeks at the sight of every defined muscle, every line of Cyrus’s powerful frame.

"Where—" Kane’s voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual.

"Where are you going?"

"I’ll finish healing up in the bathroom. You should shower—you’re still covered in harbor water."

He moved toward the bedroom, pausing at the doorway.

"Thank you, Kane. For everything tonight."

The bathroom door closed with a soft click, leaving Kane alone with the steam and lingering scent of dragon magic.

Kane stepped out of the shower, toweling his hair as he searched the empty bedroom.

The glass doors leading to the balcony stood slightly ajar, cool air carrying the scent of rain and chamomile through the gap.

He’d never noticed the covered balcony before—a private sanctuary hidden behind floor-to-ceiling curtains, overlooking Feilun’s sprawling skyline.

Cyrus stood at the railing, two steaming cups resting on a small table beside him.

The covered space kept them dry while rain drummed steadily against the transparent barriers.

"I didn’t know this existed," Kane murmured, accepting the offered cup.

The chamomile’s warmth spread through his fingers, chasing away the last chill from the harbor.

"I don’t use it often." Cyrus’s voice carried the exhaustion they both felt. "But tonight seemed appropriate."

Beyond the rain-streaked barriers, Feilun stretched endlessly in every direction.

Streetlights blurred into golden streams, while distant sirens wailed through the storm—emergency crews responding to what they’d assume was weather damage at the pier.

Morning light crept slowly over the horizon, painting the aftermath in softer colors despite the downpour.

Kane found himself swaying slightly, the night’s adrenaline finally ebbing.

Without thinking, he leaned against Cyrus’s solid warmth, his head finding the space between shoulder and collarbone.

Cyrus’s free arm came up, circling Kane’s waist as they watched the city wake beneath the storm.