Page 34 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

She slid from beneath me. Moving with fluid grace, utterly unashamed of her nakedness. It was armor as much as vulnerability. The breach I'd made in her defenses was sealing itself, stone by silent stone.

"Trouble?" Her voice was carefully neutral. She was gathering torn cloth.

I rose, my eyes narrowed, tracking her every move. Precise. Efficient. It was a fighter's economy of motion. She would never be docile. Pride warred with a sharp stab of frustration.

I regretted nothing. Flat. Final. "He touched what is mine."

Annoyance? Uncertainty? It flickered across her face like heat lightning. "I'm not athing, Khorlar."

"No." Three strides closed the distance. I pulled her against me, ignoring the brief stiffening. Her strength against mine. "Far more dangerous."

Before she could form a retort, I took her mouth again. Hard. A statement. Pulling back, I saw the conflict still raging in her wide eyes. Desire warring with defiance.

"I'll return when this is settled," I promised against her lips. "No one takes you from me. Understand?"

She didn't answer. Her gaze held mine, a silent challenge. "Plaktish," she said instead, her voice low. "He plots. Be careful."

Fierce pride swelled my chest. Even now, torn as she was, her mind worked, assessed threats. Forme. Confirmation hammered home. My match. Whether she admitted it or not.

"Stay here," I commanded, turning toward the door. "The guards are posted."

Her expression tightened. "Cages, Khorlar."

"Necessity," I countered, pausing at the threshold. "They showed their hand. Theywilltry again."

A muscle jumped in her jaw. She gave a sharp nod. Acknowledgment. Not agreement. It would suffice. For now.

I stepped into the corridor. The door hissed shut. My claws curled, digging into my palms. Her scent clung to me, a distraction, a purpose. Discipline. I would need it all. A suspicious Council. A rival seeking blood. A human mate.

And her. The one being who could unravel the control I’d spent a lifetime forging.

I strode toward the Council chambers, the stone cold beneath my feet. Let them come. Let Plaktish scheme. Let the Council whisper. One truth burned through the noise, echoing with each beat of my heart.

Human. Mate. Mine.

I would burn Volcaryth down before I let her go.

11

HAWK

I couldn't stay still.

My body still hummed. The ghost of his touch was a brand, searing hot across my skin. A deep, radiating ache pulsed between my thighs, but I had to put it out of my mind.

The sheets beneath my restless hands still held his scent. Hot stone, the sharp tang of ozone after a lightning strike, something wilder, more primal. It was him.

He was mine.

The word ricocheted through my skull, his voice—rough-edged, absolute. It was not a request. A goddamn statement of fact carved into the air.

Then came the other word.

Mate.

My breath hitched. Terror, cold and sharp, pierced through the lingering heat. Partner? Lover? These were human concepts. Breakable. Temporary. But mate? That felt heavy. Permanent. Like chains forged in the planet's fire, binding me in ways that went bone-deep, soul-deep.

My fingers grazed the sensitive skin of my neck. Just below the jawline. This was where his fangs had pressed. They didn't break the skin—controlled, even then—but left a faint, damning pressure mark. Evidence. I’d seen the look Selene gave Vyne. Terra and Darrokar. Orla and Rath. That impossible mix—exasperation, fierce loyalty, and something else. Something elemental I couldn't name but felt crackling between them.

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