Page 33 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

I leaned closer, filling my lungs with her scent. Ours. "I know what matters." My voice dropped lower, scraping like stone on stone. "Enough."

Our faces hovered scant inches apart. Her breath feathered against my jaw. Her eyes searched mine—for lies? Weakness? She found neither. Only the unyielding certainty of my claim.

A shuddering exhale escaped her lips. Not surrender. Never surrender. But … something shifted. Her fingertips, tentative, brushed the half-healed ridge of the wound on my shoulder. It was where I bled defendingher.

Ignition.

I captured her mouth, crushing any response. A choked gasp escaped against my lips, then she melted, resistance shattering like heat-shocked stone. Her arms snaked around my neck, fingers digging into the sensitive juncture where scale met flesh. It was a pressure point. She knew.

A possessive growl tore from me. I rolled her beneath me, pinning her with my weight, wings flaring instinctively, casting us in deeper shadow. She was mine to shelter. Mine to command. She arched upward, body remembering, yielding where her mind still fought. My claws, retracting just enough not to break skin, gathered her wrists. One hand pinned them above her head. The other traced fire down her side, mapping the curve of her hip.

"Tell me to stop," I challenged, the command guttural.

Defiance flared in her eyes, warring with the flush rising on her skin. "Don't …" she gasped, her legs parting, inviting the invasion. "command me." Then, softer, desperate. "Just … don't stop."

Her fight, even in surrender—it drove me toward a precipice. I released her wrists, seizing her hips instead, angling her. Ready. Slick heat met me. Her body, honest and urgent. I drove into her. One smooth, deep thrust. Her eyes flew wide, her back bowing sharply off the sleeping platform.

"Khorlar." My name, a broken sound. A plea. A brand.

I set a brutal pace. Each thrust was a staking of territory. Each withdrawal was a promise. Her nails raked my back, scoring paths near the vulnerable base of my wings. Pleasure sharpened, bordering pain. Our bodies moved, a frantic rhythm, two forces colliding, forged for this clash.

"Whatisthis?" she demanded between ragged breaths, her eyes finding mine, refusing to break contact even as tremors shook her. Always the questions. Always pushing. "Mate? What does it mean? To you?"

My rhythm stuttered. A fraction of a second. The question hit harder than her nails. The answer thundered through me, stark and absolute.

"Everything," I snarled, driving deeper, harder. Watching the war on her face—fear, need, defiance. "You are … everything. Strength. Weakness. Honor."

Her eyes widened. Fear flickered. Real fear. "And to your people? Scalvaris?"

I caught her face between my hands, rough, forcing her gaze. Our bodies slammed together. Opposing tides. "Mine. To protect. To defend." Words failed me. How to explain the path ahead without shattering her fragile courage? "There are … challenges. Those who will not accept."

Her jaw locked beneath my grip. "I don't need protecting."

A harsh laugh escaped me. "And yet, you have it. Want it or not."

Something fractured in her gaze. Anger. Need. A reluctant yielding. Her inner muscles clenched, milking a groan from my depths. "Not a cage," she warned, her voice strained, even as her body pulled me closer, deeper. "Not yours. Not anyone's."

"Never," I ground out, my pace quickening, the edge rushing toward me. "A fortress."

She shook her head. Denial warring with imminent release. I felt it begin—the tightening, the sharp inhale. I thrust harder, pulling the sound from her, her cry echoing my name like a shattered vow.

My own release roared through me. Unstoppable. Consuming. I collapsed, bracing my weight, burying my face in the curve of her neck.

Her scent. Mine.

Silence pulsed afterward. Fragile. Tense. Her breathing slowed beneath me. Her hands, hesitant now, rested on my back, tracing scale patterns. Thinking. Always thinking.

Knock. Knock.Sharp. Intrusive.

"Councilor." A young guard's voice, tight with urgency, muffled by the stone door. "Darrokar requires you. The Ignarath demand audience."

A silent snarl peeled my lips back. Plaktish. Testing. Or perhaps Zarvash wasn’t as discreet as he said.

Beneath me, Hawk stiffened. An instantaneous shift. Soft yielding replaced by coiled alertness. The warrior surfaced. It called to the beast in me.

"Inform Darrokar I'll attend shortly," I called back, irritation roughening my voice.

"Councilor." Retreating footsteps echoed, swallowed by the stone.

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