Page 29 of Claimed By the Drakarn Warrior Lord

“Enough.”

Darrokar's voice reverberated across the arena, commanding immediate stillness.

My opponent straightened, casting a wary glance toward Darrokar before stepping back and lowering her wings in submission. I didn’t know if I imagined the faint smirk tugging at her lips or if it was genuine.

Darrokar strode into the ring with the ease of someone who had never doubted their place in it. His golden eyes met mine, scanning the dirt smeared along my jaw, the faint trembling of my hand where I clutched the hilt of the blade.

“You did not win,” he said evenly, his voice firm but lacking malice.

I lifted my chin, willing myself not to flinch beneath the weight of his gaze. “No, but I didn’t lose.”

His mouth quirked—the barest hint of something that might have been approval. “A draw is not a victory,luvae.But it is not a failure either.”

One of the warriors behind him chuckled—a low, rumbling sound full of amusement. My cheeks flushed, but Darrokar silenced them with a sharp glance. His authority over them was absolute, even when it appeared effortless.

“You rely too much on your humaninstincts,” he continued, stepping closer until the scent of smoke and molten stone curled between us. His wings cast a wide, imposing shadow that swallowed the flickering light of the arena’s veins. “Speed is not your only weapon, but neither can you abandon it entirely."

I gritted my teeth. I could feel my pride aching under the weight of his critique, but I nodded curtly. “Then teach me.”

The mutter of murmurs that rippled through the gathered warriors at my words was barely audible, but I caught it. Those closest to the ring exchanged glances, their pupils narrowing into slits, revealing too much interest in the exchange.

The air between us crackled, thick with implications neither of us fully wanted to voice.

Darrokar stepped closer again, his clawed hand reaching out to turn the hilt of the blade in my grasp just slightly. His touch wasn’t rough—more curious, as though he were examining a fragment of a puzzle. “You harbor a fire,” he murmured, his gaze slipping back up to meet mine. “But you suffocate it out of fear it will burn too brightly.”

“I don’t have the luxury,” I replied, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.

“Nor did I,” he said, so quietly it nearly went unheard over the faint hiss of molten stone.

It wasn’t the response I had expected, not from him. For just a moment, the walls that so often surrounded him cracked, and something raw and unguarded slipped through.

I should have stepped back—I should have said something, donesomethingto break the spell that suddenly bound the air between us. But I didn’t.

Instead, I held his gaze. And something in me wondered if, maybe, the thing that bound us wasn’t a chain at all.

"Tomorrow," Darrokar said at last, his voice once again the commanding rumble I’d come to recognize. "You will return here. The training will be harder."

I straightened, forcing a smile to mask the exhaustion already settling over me. "I'd be disappointed if it wasn’t."

His lips curved just faintly. “Good.”

THIRTEEN

DARROKAR

"Ouch, ouch, ouch." My mate limped into our quarters, careful to put her training sword on the hook where it belonged before she collapsed down onto the chaise, dust from the training field blanketing the silk pillows.

She carried herself well on the battlefield. Shalyn was one of the toughest warriors in her training group, and Terra had held her own.

Her red hair, bound in a braid for training, had long ago started unraveling, and now her curls fanned out behind her head like blood upon the rock of our world.

She looked magnificent.

"I'm going to be sore tomorrow,"she groaned, rubbing her legs.

"You look sore now." I leaned back in the tub, the warm water steaming around me. "Come soak. Soothe your muscles."

"I think you have ulterior motives." She grinned, stripping off her chest protector. Her silken undershirt clung to her sweat-slicked body.

---