Page 23 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

He went utterly still. Tense. Like I might shatter.

Then, slowly, carefully, his arms came around me. Enfolded me. Strong. Secure. His wings followed—a living shield of dark leather and scale. Blocking out the passage, the fear, the world. Just him.

I should have pulled away. Rebuilt the walls. Insisted on distance.

Should.

Couldn’t. My heart racing—not just fear now. My body trembling—not just adrenaline. He held me fast.

Safe. Terribly, confusingly safe.

His heat soaked into me. Chased away the bone-deep chill. His scent—hot stone, wild spice, him—filled my lungs. Familiar now.

Comforting? God, help me.

“Sorry,” he murmured again. The vibration against my cheek. A physical thing. “I should have been here. Protected you.”

I shook my head. Mutely. My fingers curled into the rough scales of his chest. Clinging. Seeking an anchor in the storm.

“What do you need?” he asked. Simple. Loaded. Heavy with everything unspoken.

I didn’t think. Couldn’t process. Just … answered. The raw truth bubbling up from the chaos.

“Take me flying,” I whispered. My voice thin. Barely there. “Please.”

I felt his breath catch. His arms tightened. Fractionally. He pulled back just enough to see my face. His golden eyes—molten, intense—searched mine. Saw … what?

“Anything,” he said. The word absolute. A vow carved into the sudden stillness. Burning itself onto my soul.

7

HAWK

We didn't speak.Not one word.

Not when those impossible arms swept me up—a cage of stone and heat. Not when his wings like scarred night unfurled, swallowing the weak corridor light. Not when we shot upward through a vertical shaft, a sickening, dizzying spiral thatshouldhave ripped a scream from my lungs.

Instead? Nothing. Just … a weird, wild uncoiling deep inside.

My fingers dug into him—hard muscle, cool rough scales beneath me. It was instinct. I was grounding myself against the impossible. His scent hit me again—that volcanic stone and something else, something sharp, primal, male—and my lungs hitched on a shaky inhale. His arms weren’t just strong; they were … possessive.

Careful, yes, but with a crushing undercurrent. Like I was something fragile. Something he owned.

That thoughtshouldhave triggered pure rage. It should have.

But it didn't. Why?

The shaft opened. Sky. Endless, bleeding red sky. Twin suns hemorrhaging light across the horizon, painting this broken world in raw, wounded color. Then the heat hit—a physical blow, a violent updraft flinging us higher. My stomach vanished. A choked gasp tore free, involuntary. His grip tightened instantly. Possessive. Protective. Both.

We soared.

Below was Volcaryth, sprawling, impossible. Hidden ledges, dark openings. And beyond—nothing. Crimson waste stretching forever. Lava rivers like molten veins. The distant, deadly shimmer of the Crystal Mountains. Ignarath territory. Poison.

Wind ripped at me—my hair, my torn clothes, my sanity. It tried to slash away the terror still clinging from that corridor. From whatalmosthappened.

He climbed higher, his wings beating—a powerful, steady rhythm vibrating through his body, into mine. Solid muscle worked beneath my desperate grip. Living steel. Raw power, ruthlessly contained. But I could feel it—the tension coiled tighter than before. Darker. Sharper.

This wasn't the controlled flight from the other day. This was … fury unleashed. A raw, jagged edge to his movements. His breathing—harsh, audible even over the wind—betrayed the inferno still banked beneath the scales.

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