Page 45 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

Like me.

Khorlar’s weight seemed to press down even now, settling heavy. His scent clung to my skin despite scrubbing. His taste, sharp and metallic, still coated my tongue. The memory of rough scales scraping mine, the furnace heat of his body, the molten gold intensity of his eyes … those were memories that wouldn't fade.

Mine.

It was his claim. A brand seared into my mind. What terrified me more was the treacherous part of me that wanted it.

Ahead, the corridor opened into the central chamber. Voices drifted out—Selene’s measured calm, a counterpoint to Eden’s rapid-fire chatter. This was home base. My people. The anchor I needed against the current threatening to pull me under.

I paused just inside the threshold, scanning. It was habit. I assessed the room. Eden’s chaotic sprawl of tech—scavenged guts of our transport gleaming under the heat crystals. Kaiya was hunched over glowing samples, muttering something I didn't understand. Selene, efficient as ever, was sorting medical supplies near the far wall.

"Look who decided to grace us," Lexa called out, spotting me. Her grin was sharp, all teeth, barely reaching her eyes. "Enjoying your private suite while the rest of us slum it?"

The words landed like tiny darts. I forced my own smile, thin as cracked ice. "Hardly a five-star resort."

Selene looked up then, her gaze sweeping over me, pausing fractionally on the harness visible beneath my open jacket. That quiet, assessing stare missed nothing. Understanding flickered there. Or maybe pity. Worse.

"New gear?" she asked, her voice soft. It was too soft.

Heat flared up my neck, hot and prickly. "A flight harness." I aimed for casual, landed somewhere near a cornered animal.

“Custom?” Selene’s hands stilled over a roll of bandages. "Khorlar’s work?"

Damn it. "How?—"

"The stitching," she cut me off smoothly. "Vyne mentioned warriors develop unique patterns. Like a signature."

Perfect. It was a brand. My face burned. "It’s … practical."

"Of course." Her smile was infuriatingly gentle. There was no judgment, just quiet knowledge. Worse than any accusation.

"Vega?" I asked, needing to shift the focus off me. Off the harness. Off him. "Has anyone seen her lately?"

Eden glanced up, pushing stray wires aside. "She said she was going to the lower passageways. She said something about checking exits."

A cold fist clenched in my gut. Vega alone. Near potential escape routes. After our fight. After her obsession with finding other survivors.

"Kira and Reika?" The question felt tight in my throat.

Lexa frowned. "I haven’t seen Kira since yesterday."

Yesterday? The fist tightened.

"She asked Vyne for border territory maps," Selene added, her movements slowing, concern finally showing in the set of her shoulders.

Alarm bells started ringing loud in my head. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me." I breathed the words. The pieces slammed together. Ugly. Sharp.

"You don’t think—" Selene started.

The door crashed open. It was Vega. Her chest heaving, face stark white under the orange glow. Wild panic in her eyes. Locked on mine.

“Kira’s gone.” She was panting. Raw. "I searched everywhere. The training grounds. The mess. Even the freaking temple courtyard. Gone."

Silence crushed us. It was heavy. Suffocating. Eden’s tools clattered against the table, the sound sharp in the stillness. Lexa swore.

"When?" My voice felt distant, scraped raw.

"Last night." Vega’s voice frayed at the edges. "She packed supplies. Weapons."

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