Page 27 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

KHORLAR

Primal instinct ignited,a fire searing itself onto my thoughts:Hunt.

The word was a blood-beat thrumming in my ears, drowning out reason. The lingering taste of her—that intoxicating sweetness still sharp on my tongue—fueled the rage that had smoldered since I'd seen that Ignarath filth put his claws on her.

Myfemale.Myclaim.

Remaining there, breathing the air thick with her scent and my own unraveling control, was impossible. The stone walls of our quarters pressed in, confining, suffocating. Her expression, shifting from the heat of desire to confusion, then back to that guarded wariness I knew too well, was a blade twisting in my gut. I turned and ran, claws gouging stone as I descended into the deeper levels.

The killing-need throbbed behind my fangs. The Ignarath was still there. Still breathing Scalvaris air. Still polluting a world where he'd dared to touch what wasmine.

It was unacceptable.

Diplomatic immunity. Temple law. Council politics. They were dust motes in the face of the storm roaring through my blood, the ancient imperative that demanded retribution. That demanded his life.

Deeper now, where the air hung thick and still, I caught it—the faint, oily musk of Ignarath, laced with the sharp tang of fear-sweat. A grim satisfaction curled in my gut. Good. Let him fear. Tonight, I would teach him its true meaning.

My pace slowed as I reached the lower levels. These were less traveled. Darker. Heat crystals pulsed sporadically, spaced far apart, casting long, skeletal shadows across the rough-hewn passages. It was a perfect hunting ground. He thought distance meant safety down there among the forgotten ways.

Fool.

"Khorlar."

I spun, a snarl ripping from my throat before the disciplined part of my mind registered the speaker. It was Zarvash. His bronze scales absorbed the low light, gleaming dully. He watched me, his gaze typically calculating, yet sharper, more perceptive than usual.

"Not now, Zarvash," I growled, the sound rough even to my own ears. I turned away. The hunt pulsed, a living thing inside me. I had no time for Council subtleties. "I am owed blood."

"You mean the Ignarath delegate?" His voice—cool, measured—was like stone scraping against my frayed control.

I froze. Turned back slowly, the heat rising behind my eyes. "How did you know?"

"I have eyes," he replied simply. His stillness was a counterpoint to my simmering violence. "And I have the ability to recognize a warrior consumed by a blood hunt." A slight, deliberate tilt of his head. "He touched your human." He said it so surely. He wasn't guessing. His spies must have given him a report.

My human.

The words, spoken aloud by another, sent a fresh wave of burning possessiveness surging through me. The claim—certain, absolute—was undeniable now. Not after that kiss. Not after feeling her response, tasting a hunger that mirrored my own fierce need.

"He tried to take her." The words rumbled, ripped from somewhere deep in my lungs. "He would have dragged her back to Plaktish."

Zarvash's eyes narrowed fractionally, the only outward sign of his assessment. "That's crossing lines, even for Ignarath arrogance." A pause, weighted with calculation. "You intend to kill him."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement of inevitable fact.

"Yes." There was no hesitation. No doubt.

To my surprise, Zarvash gave a single, decisive nod. "Good."

I blinked, taken aback. The Strategist was never so direct, so … approving of naked aggression. He was always weighing consequences, maneuvering through political currents. "You believe me?"

A flicker of teeth in the gloom—not quite a smile, something sharper. "I believe what my senses tell me. My sources tell me that Plaktish flew here with five Ignarath, though only four were presented to the Council. This one has been conspicuously absent from official functions." His copper-streaked wings shifted, a subtle rustle in the quiet. "Convenient."

Understanding dawned, a cold, sharp clarity cutting through the red haze of rage. "A shadow operative. Unsanctioned."

"Precisely." Zarvash's tail gave a slight flick, a gesture of grim satisfaction. "Which means …"

"His life is forfeit under Scalvaris law." The realization tasted sweeter than honey-mead. There was no diplomatic shield. No Council interference. Just justice, raw and immediate.

It meant just blood.

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