Page 8 of Echoes of Fire

The dagger trembled in Orla’s grip. Her wide eyes reflected my smoldering scales. So fragile. So mortal. One wrong move, and they’d scorch her to bone.

No.

Instinct surged—fangs aching to pierce, claws itching to claim. My tongue dragged across sharp teeth, tasting the ghost of her blood from when I’d carried her half-dead from the sands a month ago. Sweet. Addictive.

Too much.

I gripped her waist, scales hissing against her shirt’s synthetic fabric. Her breath hitched, and she pulled the knife back. Every instinct roared to bite, to brand, to make my claim the truth. But her fragile neck …

“Trust me,” I growled low, the words more plea than command.

Her nod was barely perceptible.

I struck.

My tongue dragged up the salt-damp hollow beneath her ear, every ridge and tastebud igniting as her scent exploded across my senses. Her pulse beat against the flat of my tongue—wild, human-quick, a rhythm that made my cock throb against my battle harness.

Fuck, she was soft. Softer than silk, her skin like gold under my slow, possessive stroke.

A whimper escaped her—high, reedy, cut short by clenched teeth. Her hips jerked against my thigh, seeking friction. My scales flared hotter there, granting her the barest hint of warmth.

Let her burn.

“Steady,” I rumbled against her jaw, though my own tail lashed uncontrollably, like I was some unblooded warrior. Her hands fisted against my shoulders, tugging the sensitive roots of my scales in a way that sent fire coiling down my spine. I groaned, the sound traveling from my chest to where our bodies pressed together.

Her answering gasp tasted like victory.

I licked lower, following the tendon straining in her neck. Her blood sang here—spiced fear and burgeoning want, a cocktail that made my fangs ache to pierce. My claws flexed into her hips, pricking through fabric as I hauled her harder against me. Her scent deepened, ozone sharpening to storm-air, damp stone blooming with the musk only a roused mate could shed.

“Mine,” I snarled into her skin, lapping at the sweat beading along her collarbone. My wings mantled tighter around us, shielding her from their stares as my tail coiled around her ankle. Let them see her flush. Let them smell her arousal.

Let every fool here know this fire was mine alone to stoke.

Her moan when I reached the scar below her ear nearly undid me—husky, unbidden, a sound that made my cock harden even further.

Fire surged lower. The dagger clattered as her grip slackened, her other hand fisting into my battle harness.

Karyseth’s roar shattered the moment. “Enough! Your theatrics insult the Forge!”

I whirled, shielding Orla with my wings. Flames licked my vision. “You doubt the scent-bond? Come closer then, Priestess. See what fire I’ve kindled.”

The challenge hung smoking around us.

No Drakarn moved.

Orla’s whisper tickled my ear. “Your scales … they’re glowing.”

I glanced down. My ribs shone crimson through ash-streaked plating—mating flush in full blaze.Fuck.

Darrokar’s wingtip brushed my shoulder. “The bond is … unexpected,” he rumbled, “but evident.”

His mate stepped up beside him, human eyes sharp. “She’s marked,” Terra said smoothly. “By your laws, that’s binding.”

Karyseth’s tail lashed, but warriors began bowing—first Krazath, then others, until only the priestess stood seething.

Orla’s fingers flexed against my chest. “Marked?”

I crushed her closer. “Later.”

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