Page 21 of Echoes of Fire

Rath didn’t react immediately. His tail snapped behind him, short, tightly controlled arcs that betrayed his lingering agitation. It wasn’t until I took a hesitant step closer, this time letting my fingers hover inches from him, that his focus shifted. He looked at me, and the edges of that predator’s fire softened just a little.

“You’re shaking,” he said, his voice rough—hoarse, almost tender in its uneven delivery.

My whole body trembled, from adrenaline, from everything that had just happened. One hand clasped the fabric of my tunic. I was breathing too fast, too shallow. I was trying to ground myself, but the room still felt unsteady.

Without a word, Rath moved. Fluid. Deliberate.

In a single step, he closed the space between us, his massive hand landing softly against the small of my back while his tail wrapped securely around my legs. For a creature so imposing, his touch was shockingly careful, almost reverent. He pulled me toward him, the heat of his chest pressing into me like a shieldagainst the world. His claws shifted, hesitant, before curving over the back of my head.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice brittle, like the words were more for himself than for me. “No one will touch you. Not while I breathe.”

The dam inside me broke. Hot tears spilled over before I could push them down, frustration and relief colliding in a way that was too much to hold in.

My fingers gripped the loose fabric of his tunic as my forehead rested lightly against his chest. There was no fighting it—no pushing him away even though some part of me insisted I should. I hated the comfort I found in his presence, hated that it settled me better than anything else.

Hated that I didn’t pull away.

The tears came harder, and Rath didn’t try to stop me. He held me close, his tail tightening just slightly to anchor me. His thumb brushed gently over my shoulder.

“Let it go,” he said.

I shook my head weakly, voice muffled against the smooth scales of his chest. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Neither did I.” He was quieter now, laced with a kind of rawness that caught me off guard. His words hung there, heavy and unshielded.

I tilted my head to meet his gaze, expecting deflection or annoyance, something calculated. Instead, I found that same flicker of vulnerability—the crack running under all the searing confidence he projected. It did something to me, tugged at threads in my chest I didn’t realize were tied so tightly.

“Why do you care so much?” The question escaped before I could stop it, more honest than I intended. I regretted it instantly. Surely, he wouldn’t?—

“You’re mine,” he said simply, like the answer was carved deep into his bones. His gaze burned, unrelenting in its certainty. “No one will touch you. Not Krazath. Not anyone.”

I blinked, the weight of his words pressing into the space between us. His voice carried no hesitation—just absolute conviction. It terrified me. Not because of the possessiveness, but because something in me wanted to believe him.

I snorted unsteadily, trying to mask the twisting warmth in my chest with something sarcastic. “Humans don’t exactly subscribe to this ‘fate-bonded forever’ thing, you know.”

Rath tilted his head. “Maybe that’s why you shatter so easily,” he said, not cruelly, but with a faint edge borne of an observation he couldn’t possibly have made. “You’re too quick to let go.”

It should’ve annoyed me. It didn’t. Instead, it settled somewhere deep, pulling at parts of myself I didn’t want to examine.

Finally, I sighed, wiping the last of my tears with the back of my hand. “This won’t stop them, you know,” I said quietly. “The zealots, the council, Karyseth. They’re not just going to let this slide.” My voice faltered slightly, gesturing toward the corridor where Krazath had disappeared.

Rath’s wings folded at last, his body slowly losing its tension. He stepped back half an inch—but only half. “Then let them come.” His voice crackled with the threatening promise.

I groaned, thumping my head against his chest. “That’s not an actual solution.”

His lips twitched—not quite a smirk but enough to send that sharp curve of a fang glinting faintly. “It’s the only one they’ll understand.”

I shook my head, torn between exasperation and something dangerously close to trust. “You’re impossible.”

His tail brushed briefly against my back before curling faintly near my feet again. “So are you.”

The faintest, reluctant smile tugged at my lips. Maybe impossible wasn’t so bad.

SEVEN

RATH

The Blade Council’s private chambers were near-silent, punctuated only by my claws drumming against the polished table. The room was cavernous and foreboding. No flames burned in the sconces—just the cool glow of heat crystals embedded in ancient walls. Normally, I found purpose in the hush, its weight sharpening thought and honing words. But now, all I could focus on were the whispers.

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