Page 217 of The Dryad Storm

Only to have it slam up against the newly impenetrable barrier.

Yvan sweeps his hand through the air, and the night-darkened room’s three lanterns instantly light. He firmly closes the door and fuses it shut.

“What’s happening to our magic?” I prod, tension simmering to life between us as my magic strains toward him, the memories of what we did here last night still pulsing over my body like a hot imprint. “And why are you glamouring yourself?”

“It’s the lack of a bond mark,” he says, his gaze a fiery brand as he brings his hands to his hips. “Setting down that mark... it’s a strong Wyvern instinct. More intense than I imagined. I had a hard time controlling the impulse last night... and it keeps getting stronger, like the bond’s magic is struggling to come into its fullness. Glamouring helps to tamp it down a fraction, but I can’t go up against Fallon and Vogel’s forces glamoured with my power straining toward you. But, it’s like we discussed... since you’re not Wyvern’kin and we have a unique level of power... I don’t know what will happen to your magic if I set the mark on you and completely fuse our fire power. You and I—” he motions between us “—we’reunprecedented.”

“That’s an understatement,” I huff out, struggling to suppress the ridiculously strong urge to kiss him.

A charged silence descends, Yvan’s fire aura leaping toward my magic in ardent flares, hungry to break through, certainty suddenly burning inside me.

“We take a leap of faith, then,” I offer, “the risks be damned. Yvan, we can’t hold any aspect of our true selves back from each other any longer. Come what may.”

“I don’t want to hold anything back from you,” he agrees, eyes afire.

“Then tell me what we need to do about this.”

The flame in his eyes deepens. “I need to claim you, Elloren.”

“You mean the bite?”

He swallows, his gaze sliding to the inner edge of my shoulder, his eyes going a bit molten before they meet mine once more. “Itinvolvesa bite.”

“Here?” I ask, running my fingertips along the spot near the base of my neck where his mouth lingered last night, again and again.

He nods, a ruddy flush forming on his face, a more heated look entering his gaze. I can sense how worked up he’s getting just from the thought of this, his fire sizzling toward me in rampant flares.

“How much of a bite?” I ask, tension sparking in the air between us.

“A small one,” he clarifies, clearly ill at ease with the strength of this Wyvern urge. “Just enough to connect with your blood and send fire through it.”

I hold his intent stare—his non-Wyvern,round-pupiled stare. Unsettled, I remember how he had to hide himself in the West. How he had to hide his wings. His eyes. Even his language. And that’s not what I want for him ever again. That’s not what I want forus.

“Take down the glamour,” I urge, my fire straining toward him.

Yvan gives me a molten look, then tenses and fully releases his glamour, his pupils contracting, hair morphing from brown to crimson, horns rising and wings fanning out as his fire surges so hot that it races across my skin and warms the entire room.

My pulse quickening, I step closer to him, then reach up and pull down my tunic’s collar, exposing the skin near my neck’s base.

Yvan draws in a wavering breath, his nostrils flaring along with his fervid aura.

“Go ahead,” I offer, heart thudding. “Claim me.”

He shakes his head, dragging his fiery gaze from my shoulder with obvious effort. “Not... at this moment,” he says, his eyes and power taking on a hungrier tension. “In...bed.”

Heat shoots down my spine as I fully grasp what this is—a truematingbond.

Nerves firing, I move to the bed and sit down, unable to stifle a slight smile as Yvan tracks me with his eyes but holds himself back, the energy in his conflagration of power like a tensed bowstring ready to snap, everything in him longing to hurl himself at me.

Holy all the gods.

“You gave me a Wyvern Firekiss last night and you’re suddenlyshy?” I tease.

Yvan flashes me a sultry look. “Say the word and I’ll do it again.”

My amusement instantly shifts to toe-curling surprise, our magic rising like storm static between us.

“You’re such a mix,” I breathlessly observe. “You’re so Keltish and LasairandWyvern.”

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