Page 5 of Echoes of Fire

Her.

The scent punched through the stink of charred flesh and sulfur—sweet, sharp,human. Ozone and damp stone, ink andsomething floral, cutting through the haze like a blade through smoke. My nostrils flared. My cock stirred.

Fuck.

I spun, wings snapping open with a crack that sent ash devils swirling. The crowded plaza blurred—artisans hauling cracked shields toward the forges, healers hurrying past with stretchers dripping blood, younglings darting between legs to scavenge discarded arrowheads.

No purple-haired human. No delicate throat to mark. But the scent lingered, tendrils of it coiling around me, whispering promises that made my fire churn.

“Rath?” Voskath’s blade hovered near my arm, its edge still steaming from dranith blood. “Your eyes are doing the … flame thing.”

I clawed a boulder, relishing the crack of stone. Sparks skittered across my knuckles. “Tend your patrols.”

The temple bell tolled—three jagged peals that meant sacrilege. My pulse roared louder than the geyser fields.

Move. Find. Protect.

I lunged toward the sound, boots crushing discarded weaponry into the ashen soil. The scent thickened near the forge district, where smoke coiled from the chimneys in lazy spirals. My blood boiled hotter with every step. Scales along my ribs flushed crimson—a mating flush, the kind hatchlings giggled about in training caves. Pathetic. Weak.

Unbecoming of a council warrior.

A scream tore through the acrid air. Female.Hers.

I was sprinting before the echo died, shoving Drakarn aside. A youngling carrying ore baskets went sprawling, black crystals scattering across the stones. An elder cursed my lineage, her graveled voice lost in the thunder of my pulse. I didn’t care. The forge’s heat slapped my face as I rounded the final corner andlaunched, wings pumping as I vaulted the wall surrounding the Forge Temple and landed into …

Chaos.

Warriors formed a snarling ring around the central dais, their tails lashing in unison like a nest of vipers. Karyseth’s priestess cadre chanted, their claws dripping blackened oil into the sacred flame pit. The air reeked of burnt myrrh and something fouler—congealed rage. And in the center …

Orla.

Two warriors dragged her forward by her absurdly fragile arms, her boots carving furrows through the ash. Blood streaked her temple, matting that violet braid she never tied properly. The frayed ends glinted with tiny metal clasps.

Her shirt hung torn at the shoulder, revealing a lattice of old scars. Thesekervashhad dared to touch her.

I would end them all.

Karyseth loomed over the flame pit. “Defiler of the Forge!” The High Priestess’s voice slithered through my marrow, colder than the void between stars. “You trespass where fire births honor! You steal sacred sight with …this.”

She held up Orla’s journal, pages fluttering like a wounded bird. My mate’s—no, not mate, never claimed—lips moved silently, calculating something only her clever human mind could fathom. Always thinking, even in the jaws of death.

The priestess hurled the journal into the flames.

Orla jerked against her captors, muscles straining. “Wait! Those were just?—”

Karyseth backhanded her.

The crack of flesh on flesh snapped my last thread.

Heat surged through my veins, primal and possessive. My vision tinted red, flames licking at the edges of my sight. The warriors nearest me stumbled back, clutching scaled faces as if seared by my aura. Good. Let them burn.

“Enough.”

The word rolled out as a growl, low enough to make the stone underfoot tremble. The crowd stilled. Even the sacred flames bent toward me, the light warping around my smoldering form.

Karyseth’s pupils narrowed to dagger points. “Warrior Rath. This doesn’t concern the Blade Council.”

Orla’s gaze locked with mine. Blood welled along her split lip, a crimson bead trembling at the edge before falling. Her pulse rabbited at her throat, a fragile, rapid beat that called to the fire in my blood.

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