Page 2 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

The world narrowed to the visceral—the grit of her bloodied hands slipping against my claws, the searing heat of the broken rock, her weight against my grip. Every sense screamed for focus, demanding I lock down instinct and channel it into precision.

The tension in my chest ratcheted tighter, some unseen thread pulling at a place I hadn't had time to name—something wild and ancient, testing the limits of my control as her scent flooded the space between us, closer this time. My tongue burned as if branded, the acrid metallic tang of danger mingling with her phantom sweetness.

This was not the moment for distraction—damned if my own body didn't agree—but the sensation was suffocating, scalding. It deepened as I wrapped my other clawed hand around her waist, sharp focus overriding any resistance. No matter how fast I worked, the heat radiating off her lingered, clinging to me.

"You weigh less than an ash cat," I grunted, hauling her upward. "Stop fighting me."

"I'm not fighting!" she hissed, her voice sharper than expected. She kicked her legs toward the collapsing rubble below, struggling for a foothold. I swore and pulled harder, drawing her body flush against mine.

"Then stop squirming!" I snapped.

The moment her weight fully shifted into my grasp, the tension snapped—not just in the rock, but somewhere deeper in me. My tail flicked against the edge of the ledge as I propelled us upward, clearing the worst of the debris. My wings flared briefly, catching the air to stabilize us, and finally—finally—we landed on solid footing.

Her breath hitched, the first unguarded sound of emotion slipping past her carefully constructed exterior. For a moment, we were utterly still. Dust settled in the faint light, coating her bruised and dirt-streaked skin like motes of gold.

Her scent lingered. Unforgivingly.

"Are you injured?" My voice was gruff, harsher than intended.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She tilted her head slightly, those sharp, assessing eyes locking onto mine like she was calculating some equation that couldn’t be spoken aloud.

"Nothing broken," she rasped, exhaustion evident in her tone. "Thanks."

There it was—a flicker, a crack barely noticeable, as if she’d loosened her grip on the vigilance she wore like armor. When her fingers brushed briefly against the clawed hand still gripping her waist, I felt her relax.

That wouldn't do. Not here. Not now.

Not withher.

"Be more careful next time," I ground out, my voice cracking like a whip. Without ceremony, I released her, the distance I needed achieved as she staggered slightly to her feet. She didn’t fall, though; her legs steadied quickly, and she held herself like a queen.

Her expression shifted imperceptibly, mouth settling into its former sharp line. The momentary vulnerability I’d glimpsed dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.

Good. Better this way.

She took a breath, her jaw working as if considering something to say before closing her mouth again. Straightening her spine, she moved stiffly past, her scent trailing after her like smoke.

I stood rooted, my chest tightening under the weight of it all—her scent, the phantom warmth of her body pressed against mine, the impossible ache that clawed through me like something ancient trying to awaken.

It couldn't awaken. It wouldn't.

The burn on my tongue refused to fade.

By the time I’d reached the platform, the human was gone, slipping back into the tighter-knit cluster of her kind near the edge of the training ground. Where she belonged.

One of the Drakarn trainees glanced toward me, worry etched on his uncalloused face. A warrior fresh to the field, still too tender to hide his questions beneath a stoic mask. I bared my teeth briefly in warning, and his gaze darted away. They would learn, in time, to stop looking for cracks in their instructors—or at least to hide when they did.

I forced myself to focus on the Drakarn trainees. I was not responsible for the humans, and that wouldn't change.

But the burn in my chest refused to fade, no matter how much I tried to ignore it.

1

KHORLAR

This was madness.

The heat was an assault, waves shimmering off the scorched earth around our pathetic excuse for a camp. It promised brutality for the trainees. Good. Let the fire bake endurance into their soft hides.

---