Page 38 of Echoes of Fire

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed.

Rath’s gaze didn’t leave me, though he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Few from Scalvaris come here anymore. It lies far from the usual paths, difficult to find without knowing where to look.”

My chest tightened at his words. This was something special to him, something shared just with me. “So why bring me here?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned and gestured to one of the rock formations nearby. Nestled against the spring’s edge, partially hidden by heat-resistant foliage, was a small structure made of organic material—simply designed but clearly well maintained.

“It’s a resting place for travelers,” Rath said finally. “Warriors, scholars—any who dare to venture far from their clans, their worlds. I thought you might like to see it.”

Rath’s hands brushed over the markings carved into the stone near the spring, his claws gentle against the ancient etchings. “This was built long ago, after the fall of the old world but before we founded our cities.” His tone dipped slightly, tinged with something unreadable. “It was not meant for claiming territory or power. It was meant to be a place of peace.”

I stared at him, the magnitude of his words settling heavily in my chest. “Then why did you bring me here?” I asked again.

He turned to face me fully. His wings shifted behind him, a restless motion that betrayed the otherwise controlled expression on his face. He stood for a moment, saying nothing, and then reached into a pouch he had strapped to his side. When his hand reappeared, he held something small but unmistakable—a dagger.

He stepped closer, holding it out between us. “This,” he said, his voice low but powerful, “is for you.”

The weapon was stunning. The blade itself gleamed, infused with streaks of the heat crystals I’d seen all around Scalvaris. But its hilt was something else entirely, forged from curvedfragments of metal that looked unmistakably human. It must have been recovered from the crashed ship. The two materials were woven together as though they had always belonged as one.

I hesitated to reach for it. “You … made this?”

“It was not an easy thing to create,” Rath admitted. “But for you, it felt … right.”

My mouth went dry. I glanced from the dagger to his face but found no mockery or humor there—only raw, steady emotion reflected in the sharpness of his features. He extended it closer, waiting, unbending in his patience until I reached forward and accepted the weapon.

The weight of it was perfect, the hilt cool beneath my fingers while the blade seemed to hum faintly with residual warmth. I traced a finger lightly along the carved grooves of the handle, my breath catching as I realized what it represented.

“You did this to—” I faltered, struggling to find words that could encompass the enormity of the gesture. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I did.” Rath’s voice was a low rumble, his jaw tightening faintly. “We are … different,shyrarva. Orla. Of two worlds that should never have crossed. But for all our differences, the bond does not lie. You are mine, and I—” He faltered, his claws flexing at his sides before cutting through the hesitation. “I am yours. All that I have—all that I am.”

The intensity of his confession pulled at something deep within me, a knot of emotion I hadn’t allowed myself to untangle since this all began. I stared at him, my chest tight, the dagger trembling slightly in my grip.

He’d put everything on the table, flayed himself open before me without shame or regret.

I dropped the dagger gently onto the carved stone behind me and crossed the short space between us in two steps. Rathstiffened slightly, caught off guard, but I didn’t give him time to recover. I reached up, my hands finding the planes of his face.

And then I kissed him.

FOURTEEN

RATH

Her clothes fell away like ash from a cooling forge. My claws hovered over the fastenings of her tunic, pulled back to their narrowest points as I worked the stubborn closures. A bead of sweat slid down my spinal ridge—not from heat, but from the excruciating care required not to shred the fragile human flesh.

My talons trembled as they skimmed her collarbone, her breath hitching when the blunted tips caught the strap of her breastband.

Fragile. So fragile.

The garment slithered free. Her breasts rose with her next indrawn breath, rosy peaks tightening under air that suddenly felt too thick. Two emotions warred—the urge to mark and the need to worship. My tongue swept over an ivory-sharp fang, restraining myself against instinct’s surge.

Slow.

Orla’s fingers grazed my flank with agonizing hesitation, undoing the seals along my combat harness. Her blunt nails caught on an old scar near my hip. My cock throbbed at the sensation, scales flushing hotter where her knuckles brushedthem. When the last clasp released, the harness fell with a heavy thud. She didn’t flinch.

Her palm met the center of my chest, halting me.

“Let me,” she whispered.

---