Page 51 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

We'd flown ahead of our warriors to scout. I had to hope they would catch up soon. There was no time to wait.

I launched upwards, a coiled spring of muscle and fury unleashed. The first Ignarath met me in a devastating collision, momentum carrying us down in a spiral of claws and snapping teeth. His talons raked my shoulder, drawing hot blood. I roared, a primal sound of challenge echoing off the spires, twisting violently, my tail smashing into his side, sending him tumbling away, disoriented.

Below, the plateau erupted. The yellow-robed cowards scattered like startled insects, scrambling back towards the tunnels that would lead to the city, abandoning the humans they’d captured. Disgust curled my lip.

Hawk and Vega moved with practiced economy, reaching the prone figures, blades flashing as they formed a defensive line, back-to-back. Zarvash landed like a thunderclap beside them and the Ignarath ground assault, his sword a blur of deadly bronze light.

Every instinct screamed at me to drop, to stand beside my mate, to shield her body with my own. But the sky held three more circling predators, waiting to pick us off. Two others engaged Zarvash, their heavier frames giving them brute force advantages.

"Khorlar!" Hawk’s voice, sharp with alarm, cut through the din. "More! East!"

A glance confirmed it. Another wave, at least four Ignarath warriors, pounding across the broken ground towards the melee. It was coordinated. Deliberate.

A slaughter planned. And we had walked right into it.

I dove, intercepting a circling warrior, slamming into him with bone-jarring force. We tumbled earthward, a chaotic knot of wings and fury. I twisted at the last second, using his bulk to cushion my impact. The crack of his spine against the stone was grimly satisfying. He didn’t move.

There was no time. The remaining two airborne attackers were on me, their movements synchronized, pressing me back. Claws scored my back, ripping through scale. Agony flared as fangs sank deep into the membrane of my left wing.

Rage surged, white-hot and absolute. I roared, spinning, my tail whipping around like a living weapon. It connected with sickening force against one warrior’s throat. He collapsed, choking, claws scrabbling at his crushed windpipe. The other lunged, driving me toward the shimmering edge of a sulfur pool, his face a mask of triumphant hatred.

"The humans die!" he snarled, spittle flying. "And the traitors who shield them!"

"Try," I growled back, feinting, then driving forward, my claws finding the vulnerable hollow beneath his jaw. Hot blood sprayed across my chest. His eyes widened, surprised, then glazed over as the light faded.

I spun, desperate, scanning the chaos. Zarvash fought like a whirlwind of bronze death, his blade weaving intricate patterns, leaving bleeding Ignarath in his wake. Vega stood guard over the fallen, her small knife darting with surprising lethality.

And Hawk?—

There. Locked in combat with an Ignarath easily twice her mass. She moved like quicksilver, impossibly fast, her human agility a startling counterpoint to his brute strength. Her blade flashed, biting deep into his exposed side. Dark blood splattered her arm.

A surge of fierce, possessive pride roared through me. My vrakasha. My warrior mate.

Then I saw it. The second attacker. He was closing on her blind side.

She sensed him, turning, but a fraction too late. His massive, rock-hard fist slammed into her ribs. The sound—a sickening crunch—echoed across the battlefield, louder than the cries and the clash of steel. It stopped my heart.

She staggered, her face twisting in a mask of agony, but somehow, impossibly, she stayed on her feet. Pivoting on pure instinct, she drove her blade upward, burying it hilt-deep in the attacker’s throat with a final, desperate surge of strength. Blood erupted, drenching her. The Ignarath gurgled, collapsing at her feet.

But she wavered, one arm clamped tight around her side. Even from yards away, I saw the unnatural bulge beneath the harness, the way her body listed.

Something inside me fractured. Shattered into a million razor-sharp pieces.

Thought ceased. Strategy vanished. There was only her.

I launched myself across the battlefield, a meteor of black scales and unrestrained fury. Two more Ignarath moved to block me. They might as well have tried to stop an avalanche. I tore through them. One shrieked as I sheared his wing off at the shoulder in a spray of gore. The other met a stone outcrop with enough force to liquefy his spine. I felt the bones give way under my grip.

I reached her just as her knees buckled. My arms swept around her, rage warring with a desperate tenderness I didn’t know I possessed. I lowered her gently, carefully, beside the still forms of her friends.

"Fine," she gasped, her face bleached white, lips bloodless save for a thin trickle leaking from one corner. "Just … winded …"

Liar. It tore at me. Through the dark fabric of her undershirt, a bruise was already blooming, deep purple even against her dark skin. Her breathing hitched, shallow and painful. Internal damage. Severe.

Cold terror, absolute and paralyzing, seized me, threatening to freeze me solid. Not a scratch. Not a bruise. This … this could kill her.

"Hold on." The growl rumbled deep inside me, raw with fear. I scooped her up, cradling her against me, agonizingly aware of her broken ribs, her fragile human frame. "Just hold on,vrakasha. Stay with me."

Zarvash materialized beside me, smeared with blood, his breathing harsh. "Go!" he commanded, his sharp eyes taking in Hawk’s pallor, the blood at her mouth. "Healing caverns. Now. We'll handle this."

---