Page 42 of Fated to the Dragon Alien

Stavian raised one brow. “You know she’s immune…”

The medic’s mouth opened, then closed.

Stavian took a step toward the medics, forcing eye contact. “What you really mean is, she needs the monitor panel. That’s what you’re worried about. Not the radiation.”

Neither medic responded.

Stavian gave a cold, thin smile. “That’s what I thought.” His wings twitched. “I’ll requisition new gear and assign her status to my watch rotation. She’s under my escort from now on.”

Still no pushback. Not even a whisper.

Cerani wasn’t surprised. No one argued with the controller—especially not when he carried the full force of the Axis title and looked like he’d throw someone through a wall if they raised an objection.

He placed one hand gently at the small of her back. Not possessive. Not demanding. But steadier than it should’ve been, considering the heat rolling off him.

“Come with me,” he said.

She did.

The moment the med lab door hissed shut behind them, everything changed. The corridor stretched empty ahead, dimly lit and silent, the kind of silence that begged for rules to be broken.

Cerani felt the shift before it happened—his hand flexing once against her spine, his breath hitching.

Then he moved.

Without hesitation, he slid an arm around her waist and turned sharply, guiding her into a dark alcove off the main corridor. It was narrow and shadowed, barely big enough for two bodies. She barely had time to ask what he was doing before his mouth was on hers.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t speak. His wings came forward and wrapped around them, encasing her in the dark, intoxicating scent of him. He kissed her like he’d been starving for it—like every second since the last time had burned in him like a fuse. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against his chest, and her fingers clutched his uniform like she might fall apart if she let go.

Cerani kissed him back. Hard. The kind of kiss that tasted like missed chances and locked doors.

She didn’t hold back. She’d told herself this wasn’t safe, not real, certainly not smart, but none of that mattered. Not with his hands spanning her waist and his mouth moving like he knew what she’d been holding in and wanted to pull it straight from her skin.

Cerani pressed closer, her body caged between the cold wall and the heat of him. He was solid. Too solid. Like gravity. Herstomach flipped as his lips dragged against hers, slow for a second, like he wasn’t entirely sure he should be letting go. Then she curled her fingers into his collar and tugged him closer—and that was it. That was permission.

He groaned, and there was desperation in it. Like he’d meant to keep this quiet, controlled. But control was long gone.

Her hands clawed over his chest, over the hard line of his shoulder, catching the edge of one of his ridged wings. It was huge and heavy, with the same smooth, gleaming sapphire scales that covered the rest of him. She felt the sharp hitch of his breath as she explored the thick muscles that held up those magnificent wings, and he kissed her harder, like the whole world outside the alcove had fallen away.

She wanted to drown in this—the heat of him, the way his mouth moved like it had no intention of ever breaking contact, the way her heart was thudding like it hadn’t beat right in cycles and was just figuring everything out again.

He tipped his forehead to hers, breathing just as fast as she was.

“Cerani.” His thumb swiped gently across her cheekbone. “If this isn’t what you want—”

“I’ll say it,” she whispered.

But she didn’t.

She stared up at him. Every inch of her was pressed against his frame, and she didn’t say a word. Asking him to stop after that kiss felt like asking a star to stop burning.

He brushed her hair back, quiet for a long second. The air was thick with all the things neither of them could afford to say. Then, finally, he stepped back. Just enough to give her room.

“We have to move,” he said. “There’s a storage wing a level down. We’ll get you something to wear.”

She blinked at him, still catching her breath. “Then I’ll go back to the barracks.”

His face changed—not hard, not cold. Focused. “No,” he said.

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