Page 32 of Echoes of Fire

“Hush.” His nose traced the honeyed hollow of my throat, inhaling deeply. “Your mind will dissect it later. For now,” hiships rolled once, a lazy undulation that made me gasp, “let the fire speak.”

I wanted to argue. To dissect the biology of his “scent-marking glands,” to question the permanence he implied. But his hand was sliding lower, calloused palm cradling the back of my knee, and the words dissolved into a moan.

Somewhere in the fervent quiet, I realized my fingers were carding through the ridges along his spine, memorizing their topography.

Rath’s breath hitched, and his hips bucked.

I stilled. “Did I?—?”

“Again,” he demanded, voice cracking.

This time, when my nails scraped the sensitive grooves between his scales, his whole body shuddered—a seismic vulnerability that echoed in the broken sound he muffled against my throat.

The fire spoke.

And for once, I listened.

ELEVEN

RATH

Orla’s breathing was soft against my chest. The air was thick with the scent of her—my scent now woven into hers, permanent and undeniable. I didn’t need my heightened senses to notice how perfectly it clung to her skin.

Even in sleep, her body carried the mark of our bond.

A low hum of satisfaction rumbled in my chest. She was there, pressed against me, her fragile human frame fitting perfectly against mine as if the stars themselves had shaped us for this. For each other. My tail tightened its lazy coil around her bare thigh, and the warmth of contact kept threats and doubts at bay for precious moments longer.

She shifted slightly, and I froze. Her face turned toward me, her lashes brushing her cheeks where the glow from the heat crystals danced faintly against her skin. Even now, grappling with the fragility humans wore so openly, I could feel it beneath the surface—the core of strength she didn’t see clearly in herself.

The sight of her like this—unguarded, peaceful—should have soothed me entirely. But as my claws brushed idly over her shoulder, tracing one of the curling tattooed designs etched intoher skin, I felt the truth simmer deep inside. It threatened to unseat the quiet victory coiling in my chest.

She was fragile in ways a Drakarn would never be. Soft skin where scales should have grown, bones that lacked the tempered strength of volcanic rock. What would stop the world—the council, the zealots, Karyseth—from taking her away from me? What if …

I tensed, drawing in a slow breath, too measured to be casual, unwilling to let her feel my unease. Damn it. The thought still lingered, twisting cruelly under the protective satisfaction radiating through me.

It wasn’t that I doubted her strength. Quite the opposite—I’d seen it flash like lava-forged steel when she squared her shoulders despite fear, when she spoke truths I didn’t want to hear but needed nonetheless. I’d seen it in the fire of her defiance, in the way she’d bled and fought for survival in a world so utterly foreign to her.

No, it wasn’t her I doubted. It was the bond—or her perception of it. Did she understand what it meant to me? To us? Or did she still see it as temporary? A convenience? A circumstance she’d never intended to become entangled in?

The thought burned more than I cared to admit.

I rolled onto my side, careful not to disturb her, and propped myself up on one elbow. My gaze swept over her form, soft curves barely concealed by the remnants of the sheet tangled at her waist. Her arm stretched beside her head, bearing lines of ink I now recognized as part of her own fragmented mythology—a map of home, of hope, impossibly distant.

A human thing—this need to carry their past like scars and trophies.

I traced another constellation on her forearm, the faint texture of raised skin under my fingertips a startling contrast to my own hardened scales. Her tattoos spoke of stories written instars long dead, far from the volcanic flames that forged Drakarn bodies and culture. Both beautiful, but worlds apart.

Possession stirred again, heavy and insistent in my chest. She was mine. The bond was everything, absolute, undeniable in its truths. She belonged in this place, with me, and yet …

Fear dug its claws in. What if it wasn’t enough? What if she didn’t want to stay?

I growled low under my breath, the sound rumbling more ferally than intended. Her eyelids fluttered slightly, and I forced myself to still, reigning in the breadth of emotion threatening to spill over.

She shifted against me, her head nuzzling faintly into my chest, lips parting with the softest sigh. One of her hands slipped upward, brushing the side of my rib cage. A simple movement, unconscious even, but it sent a warmth spreading through me sharp enough to drown out the darker thoughts lingering at the edges.

Her breathing shifted, soft sighs turning into faint murmurs as she began to stir. I watched the transition, the way her brows knit slightly before smoothing, how her lips parted in confusion or dream and then settled again as her body woke slowly. Each micro-expression felt like a revelation, a glimpse into the depths of her humanity that both fascinated and confounded me.

The rising heat in my chest softened into something gentle, tender. Adoration claimed me, an urge old as the volcanic rivers of Volcaryth—protect, cherish.

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