Page 173 of The Dryad Storm

Startlingly, the boundaries between us begin to fall, searing to flame under the relentless force of his stubborn fire.

And the compassion burning in his eyes.

I force myself to sit up, mouth trembling, holding his relentless stare. “All right, Wyvern,” I raggedly concede, with absolutely nothing left in this world to lose. “I’ll horde to you.”

Raz’zor’s lips lift in a canine-baring smile. He takes hold of my hand and coaxes me to rise with him, before drawing me into a loose embrace and bringing his lips to the base of my neck.

A shiver of sparks radiates from the contact, the pleasurable sensation startling me.

He tightens his embrace, his teeth piercing my skin, and I gasp, my eyes widening as my rootlines open and I’m flooded by his entire horde’s sunbright, revolutionary fire.

Chapter Fourteen

Forest Magic

Elloren Guryev

Northern Dyoi Mountain Range

I startle awake after only a trace of sleep, the shock of a new, green blaze of fire power roaring through my horde bond, a flare of Yvan’s heat lashing out to wrap so hungrily around me, it sparks a rampant warmth through every line.

Yvan lies beside me in a mossy Forest alcove inside the ledge’s tree line, both of us catching a few hours of much-needed sleep after the grueling work of connecting everyone’s power to the Dyoi Forest’s shielding as strongly as we can without Oaklyyn’s runic amplification.

Yvan’s eyes snap open and meet mine in a rush of green sparks, my pulse quickening over both the feel of this unexpected verdant flame and the powerful hunger in Yvan’s fire.

“What just happened?” I ask, fighting off the urge to draw him close, shocked by how much this rush of fire is making me crave his lips and body against mine, a firestorm having flared between us.

A glazed look enters his eyes, his breathing uneven. His brow tenses, and I can feel him forcibly wresting a line of his fire magic away from me to search our horde connection for the source of this new flame while our bondburnsas if fanned to new heights by this unfamiliar fire, green-and-vermillion fire blazing through it with spitfire energy.

“Someone has joined our horde,” Yvan huskily states, focusing his green-flame-streaked gaze back on me. He swallows, a hot flush coloring his angular face. “Raz’zor... his fire brought them in. There’s an energy of attraction in it. Can you feel it?”

It’s my turn to draw inward, to search the horde bond for a deeper reading of Raz’zor’s vermillion line of fire, and sure enough, I find his red flame embracing this new green power.

Raz’zor, I send out through our fealty bond.

Dryad Witch, comes Raz’zor’s low, simmering reply.

Who have you horded to us?

A triumphant rush of his vermillion flame streaks through my vision.

The Dryad, Oaklyyn.

Red sparks explode through our fealty bond, and it surprises me, the amount of fire Raz’zor has wrapped around Oaklyyn’s name.

“It’s Oaklyyn, isn’t it?” Yvan surmises, giving me a sly look.

“It is,” I confirm, astonished. “I’ve never felt Raz’zor’s fire this worked up.”

Yvan’s expression takes a turn toward the knowing, a molten heat entering his gaze that sends a flare of his warmth straight down my spine. “He wants her for his mate.”

He wraps his hand around mine as the unspoken simmers between us, the hot brand of his gaze and the Wyvern warmth of his touch surfacing a memory from what feels like lifetimes ago—that time Yvan and I danced in Verpacia under a starry sky, loved ones gathered around us, Trystan’s violin music light on the air. I remember being entranced by Yvan’s seductive Lasair grace and assured lead, by the feel of his body moving against mine with unerring rhythm, the two of us perfectly in sync, our faces flushed, the caress of his hot hands on me lighting a fire down low. A fire that’s drawing me to him right now.

“Do you remember when we danced?” I whisper, the question escaping before I can swallow it back, my pulse thudding around it.

The sparks crackling through our bond strike into a blaze, fast and hot. Suggestive amusement dances in Yvan’s eyes as he lifts his free hand and authoritatively swipes it down, pushing our horde’s fire clear away, only the firestorm of want in our bond remaining.

“Do you want to dance with me, Elloren?” he asks, voice sultry, a serious glow entering his eyes as he strokes sparks along my hand.

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