Page 53 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

"How long?" I needed the measure of the gap. Needed to know the time stolen.

"Long enough," Selene replied. "I'm still learning Drakarn healing, but they have some out of this world herbs. It accelerated your healing. It looks like you've been recovering for weeks, not days. But you are far from recovered."

My fingers brushed the thick layers wrapped around my torso. It felt like a cage of gauze. "I need to?—"

"You need to rest," she cut me off, sharp as flint. Then her gaze softened fractionally, following mine to Khorlar. "Although … proximity has its own restorative properties, it seems."

Heat crawled up my neck. Proximity. It was a clinical word for something raw and unnamed. "He needs to know," I muttered, the admission escaping before I could lock it down.

Selene nodded. "Can you stand? The pain will be severe."

Every movement was fire. Agony licked along my ribs, grinding bone on bone with each hitched breath. But Selene's grip was steel beneath my elbow, an impersonal support. The need to reach him was a physical force, overriding pain, overriding reason. It was a gravity I couldn't fight. When we reached the edge of his slab, I hesitated, suddenly adrift in the space between wounded animal and … something else.

"I have other patients." Selene released my arm, her voice quiet but firm. "Do not compromise my work, Hawk."

She slipped away into the shadows, leaving me swaying, the air thick with Khorlar's heat and scent. Up close, the scale of him was staggering. Hard muscle lay beneath gray plates, the sharp line of his jaw relaxed in sleep, one arm flung outward, palm up, claws loose. Reaching.

For me.

The thought struck like lightning. This warrior. This alien predator. He’d smashed through every defense, breached every wall I’d ever built. He had carved out territory inside me where none should exist. Watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, feeling that inexorable pull, I knew it with chilling certainty. There was no going back.

Every instinct honed for survival, for self-reliance, screamed betrayal. Silenced by something older. Deeper. More savage.

Mine. His claim, echoed back from my own core.

Deliberately, gritting my teeth against the fire, I lowered myself onto the edge of the warm stone. No hesitation now. I eased down beside him, fitting myself into the curve of his massive body, sliding under the shelter of that outstretched arm.

Contact sent a shockwave through me. It wasn't pain, but ignition. His body radiated heat like a furnace core, seeping into my chilled marrow, driving out a coldness I hadn't known I carried. I rested my head against the solid wall of his chest. The steady rhythm of his heart pulsed against my ear—stronger, deeper than human. Thrumming.

It felt like surrender. Like stepping into the heart of the sun. Terrifyingly like home.

My eyelids turned to lead. Exhaustion, heavy and absolute, dragged me under. Here. Beside him. Safe wasn't the word. Claimed felt closer. Marked.

I surfaced later to movement. A sharp inhale beneath my ear. Tension snapped through the arm under my head, muscle turning to stone. Molten gold eyes flared open, shock locking his features as he stared down at me.

"Vrakasha," he breathed, the Drakarn word vibrating against my cheek. It was rough and possessive. His free hand hovered near my face, claws extended but unsteady. Trembling? "You live."

A faint smile pulled at my lips, cracking the mask of pain. "Apparently. You too."

His nostrils flared, drawing in my scent, assessing me in that wild, unnerving way. His arm tightened—a brief, crushing pressure—then instantly eased as memory of my injuries surfaced. He was careful now. Lethally careful.

"I thought …" His voice was raw, stripped bare. Unfiltered. "When you were struck … I felt the bones give beneath my hands." A shudder wracked his frame, immense power momentarily losing purchase. "I did not understand fear. Not until then."

"Takes more than a little fight to get rid of me," I murmured. I aimed for defiance. Landed somewhere raw. Vulnerable. Hated it.

His hand settled in my hair, claws impossibly gentle against my scalp, mapping the short strands. Confirming reality. "I cannot lose you." Simple. Stark. Absolute. "It would break me."

The confession wasn't emotional weakness. It was structural truth. Gouged in bedrock. This creature of fire and violence, tethering his existence to mine. My absence wasn't loss. It was annihilation.

Terror should have seized me. Sent me scrambling for distance, for the hard-won isolation that kept soldiers alive.

Instead, my own hand rose, ignoring the screaming protest of stitches. I traced the sharp ridge of his jaw. Solid reality under my fingertips. "I'm not going anywhere," I promised. A vow torn from me, echoing his intensity. "Not now. Not ever."

His eyes flared, pupils swallowing the gold. Pure predator. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to mine. It was more intimate than any kiss. His breath washed over my face—stone dust, ozone, Khorlar.

"When you are healed," he rumbled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, a physical force. "I will claim you. Properly. Before all. There will be no doubt." A statement of intent. Unshakeable. "You are mine."

The promise, raw, absolute, sent a tremor through me that had nothing to do with injury. My fingers tightened on his jaw. Acceptance. Challenge. Agreement.

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