Chapter 145: Wolf’s Warning, Dragon’s Wrath

Cyrus strode back into the shop’s dim interior, his phone still clutched in suddenly rigid fingers.

The casual conversation between Ginsei and Mochi felt distant, their voices muffled by the roaring in his ears.

Ginsei’s ice-blue eyes tracked Cyrus’s movement, serpentine instincts picking up the shift in the dragon’s demeanor.

"What’s wrong?" Ginsei asked, his pale brows drawing together.

Cyrus didn’t answer. His crimson eyes stared through the shop’s cluttered interior, seeing nothing but the growing certainty that Kane was no longer safe in his warded penthouse.

"—so I’ll put word out through the usual channels," Mochi was saying, oblivious to the tension crackling through the air.

"Underground auction, rare shard, all very hush-hush. Bob Holloway won’t be able to resist—"

The pendant’s warmth pulsed against Cyrus’s chest, a steady reminder of its connection to Kane. ℴℴ𝘮

Then something shifted. The familiar rhythm stuttered, becoming erratic.

Pain lanced through Cyrus’s ribs—not the clean ache of their old karmic bond, but something jagged and wrong.

The pendant’s tracking spell was screaming danger through their connection, and Kane’s terror bled through the enchanted stone.

"Mochi," Cyrus said, his voice cutting through the cat spirit’s enthusiastic planning.

"How quickly can you spread that rumor?"

"With Ginsei’s help?" Mochi’s whiskers twitched as he glanced between the dragon and serpent.

"I could probably get it done by the day. My network’s extensive, and if the snake here can smooth things over with any Bureau contacts who might get suspicious—"

"I can do that," Ginsei said, his enthusiasm cutting through the tension. "My contacts won’t ask questions if I frame it right."

He paused, ice-blue eyes narrowing as he studied Cyrus’s rigid posture.

"I still don’t get what your endgame is here," said Ginsei. "But promotion plus a Viper? Hard to argue with those incentives."

Mochi nodded enthusiastically, his earlier nervousness forgotten in the face of profit.

Cyrus’s phone buzzed against his palm, cutting through the chatter.

The message that appeared made his blood turn to ice.

Well played, old friend. I applaud you for thinking ahead to ward your house. Quite thorough, really. I’m impressed you thought that far ahead.

Unfortunately, I’ve always been better at finding the cracks in even the most carefully constructed defenses.

Your fox is with me now. Such a lovely creature—those amber eyes are just as expressive as I remember from our previous encounters.

Don’t worry, I’m taking excellent care of him.

For now.

Crimson light flared around Cyrus’s fingers, the phone’s screen crackling under the sudden heat.

"Boss?" Mochi’s voice seemed to come from very far away.

Another message arrived, the phone vibrating against Cyrus’s palm.

This time, it wasn’t words.

The image loaded slowly, each pixel revealing Kane’s unconscious form slumped against cold concrete.

Glowing resonance restraints wrapped around his wrists and ankles, the magical bindings pulsing with sickly green light that seemed to drain the color from his skin.

But it was the hand resting on Kane’s shoulder that shattered Cyrus’s control.

Elias’s wolfish claws gleamed in the dim lighting, each talon positioned deliberately against Kane’s vulnerable neck.

The casual possessiveness of the gesture spoke volumes—Elias knew exactly what he was doing.

Below the photo, simple words burned into Cyrus’s vision:

Come and fetch him, dragon. If you can.

The photograph seared itself into Cyrus’s vision—Kane’s limp form, those damned restraints, and Elias’s claws poised against vulnerable skin.

Something primal and ancient snapped inside him.

Crimson energy erupted from Cyrus’s body like a solar flare, washing over the shop in waves of raw draconic power.

The temperature spiked as his control shredded.

Glass display cases exploded in glittering cascades. Ancient coins scattered across the floor as their containers burst.

The overhead lights flickered wildly before half of them shattered, raining sparks onto the suddenly combusting papers below.

"Holy—" Mochi’s panicked yowl cut through the chaos as his carefully arranged shelves toppled like dominoes.

He dove toward his prized vintage arcade machines, arms spread wide in a futile attempt to shield them from the supernatural maelstrom.

"Not the Pac-Man cabinet! That’s a 1980 original!"

Ginsei staggered backward, his serpent instincts screaming at him to drop to his knees before the enraged dragon.

Bureau training warred with millennia of evolutionary terror as he fought to remain upright against the crushing weight of Cyrus’s aura.

His ice-blue eyes watered, his breathing shallow and labored.

A low growl rumbled from Cyrus’s throat—not human, not trying to be.

The sound reverberated through the shop’s walls, making the very foundation tremble.

For one terrifying moment, the boundaries between his human facade and draconic nature blurred completely.

The shop groaned under the weight of his fury, cracks spider-webbing across the ceiling.

"STOP!" Ginsei’s voice cracked like a whip through the chaos. "You’re going to bring the whole damn building down on our heads!"

The walls groaned ominously, plaster dust raining from the ceiling as another wave of crimson energy pulsed outward.

Mochi scrambled across his ruined shop, snatching a glass of water from behind his counter.

Without hesitation, he hurled the contents directly at Cyrus’s face.

The shock of cold water hitting overheated skin snapped Cyrus back to himself.

He blinked, droplets streaming down his face as reality crashed back into focus.

The crimson energy flickered and died, leaving only the acrid smell of burnt electronics and the settling dust of his destruction.

His legs gave out.

Cyrus collapsed onto Mochi’s battered velvet couch, his head falling into his hands as the full weight of what had just happened—what was happening to Kane—slammed into him.

His eyes still blazed molten red, but the murderous intensity had dimmed to something closer to anguish.

"Kane," he whispered, the name barely audible.

Mochi approached cautiously, stepping over the debris of his shop. Glass crunched under his boots as he surveyed the wreckage with surprising calm.

"Well," the cat spirit said, brushing plaster dust from his leather jacket, "that was dramatic. But we can mourn my vintage collectibles later."

He fixed Cyrus with a steady stare.

"Right now, you need to tell us what the hell just happened."