Page 11 of Fallen for the Two-Headed Dragon

The air became thick, but not with heat. The heat did not affect him. The overwhelming pressure of grief, the humid fog of sorrow, affected him greatly. His claws dug into the viscous stream. He drew in a deep breath that did nothing to ease the ache in his chest.

The grieving lake was the resting place for all Fireborn, but Rathym also felt the presence of his dearest friends. Luvon was murdered by flames from a Fireborn, his whole body charred beyond recognition. In his hearts, Rathym knew the connection between the flames that killed him and the pool of magma meant a sliver of his spark went back to the Great Flame, which powered the grieving lake.

Little Princess Riniya’s spark was somewhere within the churning depths as well. When the elves had fallen, their sacred resting place was destroyed. Rathym had returned to her palace too late to be useful. All he could do was excavate her body from the rubble and flee as the invading forces erected the barrier that would backfire, trapping everything within it in a distant, lifeless realm, only charred, rotten land left behind. He’d returned her spark to the lake of the Great Flame with the most painful tears he’d ever cried.

“Luvon.” His tongue was so heavy, the strength it took to form words was exhausting. “Luvon. Riniya.” A sob tore from his throat, thick with ash and pain. “I thought it would feel better than this.”

He fell into the pool. The sparkling stream was warm on his legs. With every heave of his shoulders and every rumbling cry that forced its way from his chest, he felt his burden lighten. Luvon and Riniya were with him, their sparks glistening orange embers behind his eyelids.

There was so much more to say, but his whole body revolted when he tried to speak. He curled up in the burning churn of magma and remained there, overtaken by grief, until their sparks returned to the depths.

With a sobering sense of calm, Rathym pulled himself together for the long trip home.

Home. Where a warm, human body slumbered in his bed.

Rathym returned to the comfort of his new home right in time for his midday nap. Unfortunately, there was the matter of the paperwork that scorched in his hands.

The largest chunk of parchment rambled on about nothing. For years, they’d had only one detective working the case. Why was he not surprised? Nothing useful was reported until 156 years in, which was also when the claw print of the detective’s superior changed.

In the following years, the lone detective became part of a team. One member of that team was transferred from Species Relations, whose notes were adamant that Ivaan Kovgroff was a main suspect based on his known connection to the dark fae who’d accompanied the charlatan human usurper.

Known connection?

Rathym bristled. How had they not caught him right then and there? Instead, they dicked around for another century or so. When they finally got him, there were more charges added to his rap sheet, including complicity to genocide and conspiracy to genocide and obstruction of justice to an ally.

Heat filled Rathym’s throat. He’d never considered that the two crimes were connected. Why had he not seen it before? Was he just as blind as the detective had been?

He tossed the paperwork on the table and seethed. His blood boiled. Smoke and flame leaked from his snout.

He wasn’t sure how long he paced, but at last he felt his fury simmer. He only hoped he hadn’t woken Dana. Her body needed rest. She would likely sleep on through the night thanks to the draught.

It was evening now. Too early to go to bed, but he’d missed his nap anyway. His bones were weary with the kind of exhaustion that came from renewed grief. His mind was muddled, his hearts in tangles. The strength required to keep his distance from the treasure in his bed was not something he possessed. With the human’s warmth against his scales, he nuzzled into her neck and rumbled a deep, masculine purr involuntarily. Hair the dark, rich color of a sturdy chestnut tree in its prime tickled his snout.

When the sharp blossom of emotion that only belonged between mates bloomed inside of him, he didn’t fight it. It was much better than the burning heat of revenge or the sting of guilt. He allowed the peculiar emotion to carry him into a place between sleep and wakefulness, where he felt a deep companionship, as if he’d never lost his home. As if it were right here all along.

An intrusive thought pierced his drowsing mind. Could it be that he, a centuries-old, mature, and experienced dragon, hosted resentment toward the human species under false pretenses? Was it possible he was even jealous of their open affection and kinship, his bitterness but a result of his own loneliness? Yes, one sour human and their fae-enhanced army had committed genocide, but not all humans were charlatans. If his homeland had embraced interspecies relations, why did he still feel ambivalent?

Why did it feel impossible to pry open his heart?

Chapter Eight

Dana

Dana slept like a baby, her dreams pleasant and warm. When she woke, she felt the warm imprint of scales where Rathym cradled her. Had he stayed with her all night?

Wait. When had she gone to bed? His bed?

Blurry images formed behind her eyelids. Staring at the ceiling of the cave, lain bare on the dining table. The ceiling starting to swirl as adept claw-tipped hands roamed her lower body. Rathym’s two hardening lengths as he backed away. The anxiety she always felt when she thought someone was unhappy with her. His chest scales, somehow both hard and soft, pressed against her breasts. Snuggled in the blankets, the desire to coax him to lay down with her dying on her lips.

Oh, fuck. He could have easily taken advantage of her. Here she was, protectively tucked against him, and she wholeheartedly believed he would never harm her.

Aside from the headache that was assuredly caused by the weird-tasting wine, her whole body ached. Her muscles were sore from the full-body wracking she’d done while hiding from the pack of wolves. Though it seemed impossible, she swore she could feel the healing lotion working to knit her skin and muscle back together.

Not wanting to burst the cocoon around them, she held completely still and ignored the signals from her body for a while. The electric circuit between their skin made her heart pitter-patter like rain on a reading nook window, little lightning bolts skittering across her skin. Soon, the aches in her body won and she shifted.

“Good morning, my treasure.”

Oh god, is that my new nickname? She sure hoped so. In his deep, gravelly drawl, heavy with sleep, it was all he had to say to make her core flutter to attention. She bit her lip to restrain a giggle at the silly flip-flopping going on in her abdomen.

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