Page 15 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

Two days. And the lies piled between us like a slag heap, heavy and foul.

The stone floor offered no peace beneath my back through the endless, watchful nights.

Sleep?

It was a forgotten luxury. Darkness only sharpened it all. The whisper-rustle of silk as she shifted on her sleeping platform. The soft huff of her breath across the chamber.Her.Her nearness was a physical pressure. A brand against my senses.

Mine.

The word wasn't a thought. It was a blood-beat. A marrow-deep certainty. My fangsthrobbed—not a dull ache, but a searing, insistent pulse keeping rhythm with her breathing. It was a fire smoldering behind my eyes.

I had claimed her before the Blade Council, the Temple, Plaktish. A public declaration, witnessed by the Old Bloods.

But not toher.

The deception coiled, cold and scaled in my gut. Was it necessary? Protective? The excuses were thin as cooled lava crust, cracking under the weight of truth. She didn't understand.Couldn'tunderstand the primal power in her scent, a call threatening to shatter hard earned Drakarn control, tradition,everything.

So I lied. I used omission and misdirection. I let her believe this was protection. Politics. Nothing more.

Ash and lies.

I watched her prepare for the day. She moved with ritualistic efficiency. She laced worn boots tight. She checked the knife at her hip—always the knife, loose in its sheath, ready. That close-cropped hair, dark as volcanic glass, was smoothed back with quick, practiced swipes. Her skin caught the glow from the heat crystals, a rich and warm brown compared to my own ridged, gray hide.

She looked up. Caught me watching her. Her eyes narrowed—not fear. Never fear with her. She showed calculation. A challenge simmered just below the surface.

"Staring again, Stone Fist." Her voice was low, cutting. She used the old warrior name.

Was it deliberate provocation?

I didn't deny it. I couldn't seem to look away. "Duties," I grated instead, the word rough, ill-fitting in the charged air.

"Then let's move." She straightened. All coiled muscle and lethal grace. "No more cage. I'm going with you today, Khorlar, or I find my own way back."

My wings stirred against my back, involuntary. The membranes tightened like drum skin. "That is unwise."

News of my claim had no doubt rung out through the city. If we were observed, there would be … expectations. Expectations I could not meet with the rules my Hawk had given me.

"So is ignorance." She stepped closer. Fearless. Too close. My chest tightened, a painful clench around my core. Her scent spiked—that clean, sharp sweetness fogging my thoughts, clouding judgment. "I'm going stir-crazy in here, Khorlar."

My name. The curve of her lips around the syllables sent a jolt straight through me. It was primal, an ancient hunger that stirred deep in my mind's bedrock.Control.I was losing this battle. Had been losing it since the moment I’d pulled her from the falling rock, felt her impossible warmth, a shock against my scales.

"Very well," I conceded, the words forced past the constriction in my throat. They were raw-edged. "But you stay close. No wandering."

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. It was rare. Transforming. It hooked something vital inside me, pulling tight. "Deal."

* * *

Central Scalvaris seemed more crowded than usual. Warriors were heading for the training caverns, their scales gleaming dully. Craftsmen hauled geodes and obsidian shards. Merchants hawked spiced meats and woven fire-grass near the banks of the river. It was a familiar rhythm. Now jarring. Withherbeside me.

Conversations choked mid-word as we passed. Gazes snagged on Hawk, then skittered away when they met mine. Space opened around us. A sudden vacuum in the crowd. Each reaction was a hammer blow against my composure.Claimed.They knew. Everyone knew.

She didn't.

Hawk noticed. Of course, she did. Those sharp eyes missed nothing. She was cataloguing the whispers, the averted faces, the sudden tension thick as geyser steam.

"Problem?" she asked, a low murmur, pitched only for my ears. "Or does everyone usually flinch when the great Stone Fist walks by?"

"They show respect," I lied. The words tasted bitter.

---