Page 30 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

“Sit.” I pointed to the platform, adopting a tone I usually reserved for malfunctioning equipment. “Now.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “The wounds are shallow.”

“I wasn’t asking.” It was old habit. Assume command when things go sideways.

Surprise flickered across his harsh features, quickly masked. Then, almost amusement? He gave a stiff nod and moved to the platform, lowering himself with a control that didn’t quite hide the strain. His wings rustled, settling like folded shadows against his back.

I grabbed water and cloths. My movements felt jerky, too fast. Back in the main room, Khorlar watched me, his stillness a counterpoint to my buzzing nerves. I knelt before him, setting the basin down with a soft click. I was closer than strictly necessary. The air between us felt thick, charged.

“Arm.” I held out my hand, palm up.

He hesitated for a heartbeat, then extended the limb. The gash wasn't ragged but clean, deep enough to part scales, revealing the darker, vulnerable flesh beneath. Dried blood flaked away as I touched the edge. I dipped a cloth, the cool water darkening the fabric.

Starting at the edge, I cleaned gently. His scales were cool and smooth under my fingers, almost like stone, transitioning abruptly to the raw edge of the wound. He didn’t flinch, but I felt the tension radiating from him, a low hum beneath the surface.

My thumb brushed against an intact scale. Hard, unyielding.

A low rumble shook his chest, dismissive. “Desperation lends false strength.” His eyes burned into me, tracking my every small movement. “His words sealed his fate.”

I looked up, the cloth poised in my hand. “His words?”

“Regarding Plaktish. Regarding … intentions for you.” The gold in his eyes turned golden, lethal. “Unacceptable intentions.”

Unacceptable. My stomach clenched. Not with fear. It was something else. Possessive heat. I dipped the cloth again, needing the focus. “You killed him. For saying things.”

“For intending them,” he corrected, his voice flat. “For daring to voice them in my presence. For touching you. Trying to hurt you. I would rend him apart again.”

There was no hesitation. Just fact. The heat in my gut intensified, spreading outward. I shifted my attention, spotting another tear in his tunic, dark blood staining the fabric near his ribs.

“Shirt off,” I ordered, my voice huskier than intended.

He went utterly still. For a long second, the air crackled. Then, with a fluid ripple of muscle, he pulled the tunic over his head, tossing it aside.

Oh.God.

Gray scales flowed over muscle, defined and dangerous. Scars, pale lines against the dark crimson undertones, mapped old battles. And the rings. Twin hoops of dark metal pierced his nipples, catching the faint light. Primitive. Provocative. My fingers twitched.

Focus. I pressed the damp cloth to the shallow cut on his ribs. His muscles jumped, abs clenching hard under my touch. His breathing hitched, growing rougher. Not from pain. Definitely not from pain. His tail twitched once against the floor. A restless whip-crack sound in the quiet.

“Leg?” I asked, my eyes fixed on the scrape I was cleaning.

“A bruise,” he grumbled. “It requires nothing.”

I finished, setting the cloth aside. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken things. His scent filled my lungs—ozone, hot metal, and something intensely male, musky underneath. I started to pull back. “All done. Don’t get it?—”

He moved like lightning striking. One hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head back. His mouth crashed down on mine.

It was not like before. There was no caution here. This was raw. Starvation unleashed. A claiming.

My gasp was swallowed whole. My hands flew to his shoulders, gripping hard scales, anchoring myself as his tongue swept inside. Longer than human. Hotter. Textured ridges scraped against my own tongue, sending shocks straight down my spine. Smoke, metal, the coppery tang of his blood, and pure, undiluted Khorlar. Intoxicating.

“Vrakasha,” he groaned, the alien word a vibration against my lips.

I didn’t know it. Didn’t care.More.

My fingers dug in, nails scraping against the unyielding surface. A deep growl answered me, rumbling from his chest into mine. He surged to his feet, lifting me effortlessly. Air rushed past as he pinned me against the wall. Cool stone pressed against my back, his scorching heat branding my front. I moaned into his mouth.

“Yes,” he snarled, less a word, more a guttural agreement. His hands found my thighs, strong fingers digging in as he hitched my legs around his waist. His mouth left mine to plunder the side of my neck. Fangs grazed my pulse. Not breaking skin. Promising. Threatening. My head fell back, offering more.

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