Page 26 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

"Sarah," he groaned against my mouth. My name. Myrealname—a prayer and a curse torn from his throat.

Ice water shock. Reality crashing back.

I wrenched away. Gasping. Stumbling back on trembling legs. I put space between us. Heart hammering so violently my vision pulsed at the edges. Air searing my lungs.

What— What just?—?

What had Idone?

His eyes—wild, unfocused gold fire—locked onto mine. Pupils blown wide, then snapping back to sharp slits as control warred with instinct. The hunger there—naked, raw, unfiltered—sent another wave of sickening heat washing through me.

"I—" he started. Stopped. Jaw working. Utterly lost. His chest heaved. Wings still half-unfurled, trembling with reaction.

I touched my lips. I felt the burn. Tasted him still. Fire and spice. Him.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed, the words rough, dragged from somewhere deep and painful. "I should not have?—"

"No," I cut him off, surprised I had a voice. Surprised it was almost steady. "It was?—"

What? Whatwasit? A mistake? Stress? Captivity fever? The inevitable explosion ofthis—this impossible, terrifying connection?

None felt right. None captured the earthquake that had just leveled every wall I'd ever built.

"It just … was," I finished lamely.

He understood. The unspoken hung heavy between us. His eyes—molten gold, burning with something far more complex than just desire—held mine for another long, shattering moment. Then he looked away. Forced a deep, shuddering breath. Forced his wings to fold tight against his back. Stone warrior assembling himself piece by painful piece.

"We should return," he said again. Voice tight. Strained. But underneath—that barely restrained wildness still thrummed.

I nodded. Once. Mutely. Couldn't speak. Couldn't trust myself.

He approached. Slowly this time. Carefully. Asking permission with his eyes, his stance. Maintaining a sliver of distance. I stepped into his space. Into the heat radiating off him. Let him gather me up again, tuck me against his chest.

It was different now. Everything different. Charged. Every point of contact a spark, a live wire humming with dangerous energy. But his touch was … formal. Impersonal. Almost. Despite the inferno I could still see banked deep in his eyes.

The flight back was silent. A heavy, suffocating silence thick with everything unsaid, everything suddenly, irrevocably changed.

We slipped back through the shaft. Back into the stone throat of Scalvaris. Back toward the cage. Our quarters. The shared space that suddenly felt impossibly small. Suffocating.

I turned away. Faced the wall. Needed air. Needed space. Needed to not feel the ghost of his mouth on mine.

"Hawk," he said. Quietly. That low, rough growl that sent an entirely unwelcome shiver tracing fire down my spine.

I risked a glance over my shoulder. His face was closed off again. Impassive stone. But his eyes—always the eyes—betrayed him. Still burning. Still hungry. Still remembering.

"I must attend to Council matters," he said, the words stiff. Formal. "I will return later. You'll be safe here."

Translation:Ineed to get away fromyou. Now.

"Fine," I managed. I hated the breathless edge clinging to my voice. "Go."

He hesitated. A flicker in his eyes—was there more to say? More todo? Then a sharp, decisive nod. And he was gone. The door clicked shut, leaving me alone.

Alone with the echo of his taste searing my lips, the phantom heat of his hands on my skin, and the terrifying, burning certainty that whatever line had existed between us—duty, protection, captor, captive—had just been incinerated.

And I had no idea what was going to grow out of the ashes.

8

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