Page 17 of Echoes of Fire

For now.

I angled my body closer, allowing my wing to brush against her. Her quiet intake of breath told me she wasn’t entirely unaffected. The tension in her shoulders had loosened, her weight shifting ever so slightly toward me.

The cavern echoed around us, the water’s soft lap against the stones providing a rhythmic beat. She tilted her head up just a fraction, presenting that delicate curve of her neck, and my mind spun with the images of my teeth grazing her soft flesh, of her moans vibrating through me as I worshipped her body.

Calm down.

Patience.

“I—” she began, her voice barely a whisper, but she didn’t continue.

My tail, still possessively curled around her lower body, loosened its grip just enough to let her feel the tension coiled in me. She looked down, surprised by the delicate hold I had, then back at my face, her eyes wide and unguarded.

That thought alone stoked the fire within me. My lips twitched in a half-smile as I imagined her, hair wild and flushed, biting her lip as she hovered over me in our bed.Ours.

She caught her lip between her teeth—and there it was again. That small action, that sliver of vulnerability that threatened to rip what little control I had left to shreds. I leaned in just a breath more, my mouth a breath from hers, the heat between us undeniable.

But she stepped back, her hand brushing against her waist where my tail had been. “You’re right,” she said, her tone lighter now, almost teasing. “I should be more careful.”

I exhaled, the tension in my chest easing just enough to speak. “You certainly keep me on edge.”

Her lips quirked faintly, the barest hint of a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

If I wasn’t careful, this human would be the end of me.

FIVE

ORLA

Rath’s quarters felt cramped, and not because of the walls. The space itself was more than large enough—ample room for his oversized bed platform, his towering racks of weapons, and his peculiar collection of volcanic relics that sat arranged with obsessive neatness. Even the row of silken tunics in his closet space that I hesitated to touch hung spaced precisely apart.

Despite the size, the air seemed to press in on me, heavy and unrelenting.

I didn’t care if the temperature-controlled sheets were some engineering marvel or if Rath thought my scanner and rock samples from my satchel should be displayed like trophies. None of that mattered—not when every surface of the room exudedhim.

His heat clung to the walls. His scent—the faint aroma of charred air and metal—saturated the space. His essence lingered like those wings of his, wrapping around me even in his absence.

I could only take so much before I went crazy.

Two days after that …momentin the hidden cavern, and I needed an escape.

Rath had left early in the morning, mumbling something about council meetings and an overdue conversation with Darrokar. For someone so usually direct, his reluctance to step away had been blatant.

His gaze had lingered over me, eyes gleaming with an unshakable intensity that seemed to bypass verbal barriers. He’d stopped masking it. That heat, that quiet certainty—it was everywhere now. And it filled the chamber to the brim, a threat … or a promise.

I pulled one of his tunics tighter around myself, its fabric absurdly light but efficient against the wind in the tunnels. My usual work shirt hadn’t seen the light of day since the temple disaster, shredded into something unwearable. I had other clothes I could wear, but if I was being honest—with myself, at least—I liked the way the tunic faintly carried his scent.

Pathetic, Orla.

I slipped out of the room before my thoughts could spiral deeper. His chambers sat deep enough within Scalvaris that wandering unnoticed wasn’t hard—except for the prickling sense that I was doing something wrong.

Whether it was a paranoid trick of the mind or those zealots lurking just out of sight, I didn’t know. But it didn’t stop me from pressing forward. My boots echoed against the carved stone floor as I threaded through corridors, the veins of heat crystals casting faint orange light along my path.

The carved arteries of the city felt alive, their high-ceilinged passages whispering with the pulse of steam vents and rushing water systems below. Crossing busier intersections felt overwhelming—hissing pipes venting heat, Drakarn warriors sharpening blades, and artisans hauling crates of glimmering crystals. Bits of guttural words reached me in clipped fragments, their consonants rippled with unmistakable curiosity whenever I passed. I kept my head down.

By the time I veered into the quieter halls leading toward the human quarters, I felt brittle. Like one wrong breath would snap me in two.

The enclave for the crew had been carved into an alcove smaller and plainer than any Drakarn living space that I’d seen—not that I’d seen many, but I welcomed the dimmer atmosphere. The air felt cooler here, soothing the perpetual flush lingering on my skin.

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