Page 5 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

Mine.

It wasn't a thought, but a certainty, echoing in the marrow of my bones.

Mine to protect. Mine to claim.

I crushed it again, violently. She wasnotmine. Could not be.

Yet the ache in my fangs grew hotter.

Approaching camp, the threat became sickeningly clear. Five winged shapes tore through the sky, Ignarath silhouettes stark against the blood-streaked sky.

A banner of negotiation—a flimsy shield for their venom—trailed from the leader’s spear.

Perfect timing for a disaster.

I shoved past the humans, moving to the center where trainees huddled, a pathetic excuse for a defensive line. Terra stood rigid beside the other humans, watching the descent. If I got Darrokar's mate killed, my life would be forfeit.

And that death would be painful.

I should have never agreed to this mission.

"Hold!" My voice cracked over the camp, silencing nervous whispers. "Look at their banner. We follow protocol, damn them."

The Ignarath circled once—a predator's assessment—then landed, dust puffing up around their claws.

My own claws flexed, aching to grip my sword as I recognized the lead bastard—Plaktish. Scales like poisoned amber, metal bands marking him.

A viper known for smiling while he struck.

"Khorlar Stone Fist." His voice slid smooth as oiled death. "A fortunate encounter."

"Plaktish." My reply was flint. "State your business." We were outside the city but still well within the territory of Scalvaris. These interlopers had no reason to be there.

Not unless they wanted to cause trouble.

His smile widened, all fangs. "Direct. Charming." His gaze slid over the camp, lingering on the humans like a scavenger eyeing fresh kills. "I represent my High Council. Seeking … resolution … for recent troubles."

Silence. Let him spit his poison.

"Three patrols attacked." Plaktish purred the words. "Our warriors dead. Weapons gone." His eyes hardened, chips of obsidian. "The survivors described Scalvaris attackers."

"Impossible," I snapped.

Plaktish's smile stretched, predatory. "A flat denial? How interesting."

A trap. Baited and set. I tasted ash.

"What do you want?" I demanded, shedding the pretense of diplomacy like scorched scales.

He flared his wings slightly, a calculated display. "We demand a blood price. It's tradition."

"Bring evidence to Darrokar if you believe Scalvaris warriors were involved." My voice was flat stone. "This isn't the place."

"Oh, but it is." His gaze drifted, deliberate, snagging on Hawk. "We are happy to take your humans as payment."

A lightning strike of rage. Hot. Blinding.

A growl tore free from my deepest chest, raw and uncontrolled. My wings flared wide, muscles bunched, stepping forward without thought. Blind, primal fury—utterly beyond my control.

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