Page 26 of Flashover

“I wouldn't chain my mate,” he answers, voice low and rough. “What I would do is forge weapons to keep them breathing.”

Mates. The word detonates in my chest. I lift onto my toes and kiss him—fierce, claiming, tasting the grit of soot on his lips and the forge-heat that clings to his skin. His mouth opens over mine, smoke and iron still hot on his breath, the kiss searing through the lingering fear until only the raw, defiant need between us remains. He groans, mouth slanting across my lips as his tongue sweeps deep. My back arches; stone scrapes my jacket; the air tastes of iron and cedar and a promise older than time.

His hands grip my hips, fingers sliding beneath my hem, thumbs brushing the tender skin just above the curve of my pelvis. Each stroke sets my nerves ablaze, like fire drawn straight from the forge and traced along my spine. My fingers tremble as his braid unspools in my hands, a silken fall of heat-damp hair. He growls low, dragging his teeth along my lower lip before biting down—hard enough to mark, soft enough to make me moan. My knees threaten collapse, the floor tilting under the weight of everything he’s awakening inside me.

“Kade... just so you know, I'm clean and on birth control.”

He chuckles. "Rest easy, my mate. Dragons are immune from illnesses, including STDs, and our seed will not find your womb hospitable until you are one with me."

"One with me?"

"Shh, Liv. I've got you."

He lifts me onto the edge of the anvil, my legs parting instinctively as the warm metal presses against the backs of my thighs. We freeze—breath mingling, eyes locked—caught in the gravity between us before he begins to undress me with deliberate, reverent movements. The air is thick with forge heat, and the scent of smoke clings to our skin like prophecy.

Cool air sweeps over my overheated skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I gasp—a soft, involuntary sound—as my hips tilt toward his rock-hard erection, an unspoken invitation drawn from instinct and need. He pauses, eyes simmering with molten gold, silently asking for permission. I nod. The gesture is small, but it ignites desire where fear once lingered in the shadows of my mind.

The kiss that follows is pure exploration—our tongues moving with shared hunger, his hands mapping every inch of my body with firm, reverent pressure. His calloused palm slides up my ribcage and closes around my breast, thumb circling and pinching my nipple until sensation blooms hot and sharp, pulling me perilously close to the edge. My nails dig into his shoulders, anchoring me as the taste of sweat and smoke fuses on his tongue—a heady blend of heat, want, and surrender.

“Say you’re here,” he rasps against my throat, each word both plea and command, his breath searing the sensitive skin beneath my jaw.

“I’m here.” The words spill from my lips, raw and real. “I’m alive because of you. I’m terrified and thrilled. Part of me says I should run, but I think I could learn to live without breathing before I could learn to live without you. That may sound hokey…”

"Not at all," he says with a shake of his head. "It sounds perfect."

He growls—a sound both possessive and shaken—as he positions himself at my entrance, rubbing the tip of his cock against my wetness before slowly easing it inside of me. He fills me completely, stretching my walls with a delicious tension that grounds us together.

Heat surges through our bodies, fierce and consuming, and the cave around us fades into oblivion. All that remains is the rhythm he sets: deep thrusts followed by shallow ones, our bodies slick with sweat as they collide with increasing intensity. My legs wrap tightly around his waist, urging him deeper and deeper inside of me—a punctuation to our primal dance.

Sparks fly across his skin—tiny motes of sacred flame that answer to the heartbeat and friction—casting our shadows against the quartz wall like two creatures forged of fire in this carnal dance. His fingers find my clit between my legs, rubbing and pressing it in ever-tightening circles, driving me closer and closer to that precipice.

My orgasm crashes over me, a tidal wave of sensation ripping a loud moan from my throat as my body convulses with pleasure, gripping him tightly inside me. His follows shortly after, his spine arching back, teeth bared in a silent roar as he releases his seed deep within me. The forge flares—coals blooming white-hot—surging with heat before easing into a steady glow as he draws me into his arms. I feel every heartbeat, every tremble; his pendant trapped between our damp skin, a silent testament to the bond forged in the crucible of our shared desire.

Silence stretches, thick with steam and something fragile, a breath suspended too long in a burning room. Survivor’s guilt slinks in through the cracks—phantom screams lingering, soot-smudged faces of my lost crew rising from memory, smoke that won’t dissipate. My pulse skitters. Kade moves without a word, his palm settling over the pendant spot on my chest. The heat of his touch holds steady and real, the unwavering rhythm of theforge’s heart—pulling me back from the edge, anchoring me in the now. My ribs hitch once, then settle beneath his warmth.

“Your team,” he murmurs, “you didn’t kill them. Ignis did. And they won’t claim another.”

“What did I ever do to them?”

“You survived. You weren’t supposed to. Then instead of benching you completely they sent you here. The last thing Ignis wants is for you to start putting the puzzle pieces together.”

I swallow hard, throat tight with the pressure of unshed emotion. My head dips in a shallow nod, but it's his touch—warm and grounding over the center of my chest—that keeps me from fracturing. The rough pad of his thumb circles gently, slow and steady, easing the knot of grief and guilt coiled behind my ribs. My lips part, but no words come, only breath hitching through the weight of what we’ve just shared. His skin against mine is the only thing keeping the darkness from reclaiming me.

Rotor blades thunder in the distance—low, approaching fast, chopping the air with a menace that vibrates through the cavern walls. We both stiffen. He sets me gently on my feet, fingers gliding down my arms before they fall away, heat trailing in their wake, a ghost of touch I can still feel. The hum of adrenaline replaces the forge’s afterglow, and for one suspended breath, we lock eyes—neither ready to let go, both knowing we must.

“That’s an Ignis chopper,” he says, grabbing his spare clothes.

“There’s a drill today.” I yank on my pants, fingers trembling as I fasten the straps and buckles with stiff, jerky motions. The fabric feels too rough, too cold against skin still sensitive from everything we just shared. “You need an extra set of eyes? I’m in.” My voice is steadier than I expect, but my chest is tight, breath caught somewhere between thrill and dread. Outside, the chaos hasn’t hit yet—but it’s close. I can feel it pressing in, heat curling at the edges of reality like paper too near the flame.

“You’re benched,” he reminds—though his grin is anything but discouraging.

“Watch me observe. You’ll need someone inside the chaos.”

He weighs the risk, then nods once. “Stay close. We finish this, then we finish talking—no more secrets.”

Footsteps hammer at the mouth of the cave—urgent, uneven, chased by clipped radio commands and rising panic. I square my shoulders and step toward the entrance, pulse still thudding from the aftershocks of him, of us. My thighs ache where the anvil's heat kissed my skin, and the scent of forge-smoke clings to my clothes. Every breath feels scorched, every heartbeat a warning bell. Whatever’s coming, it’s already here—and I’m not hiding from it.

Outside, the wind howls low and hot, carrying the acrid tang of rising smoke and the churning thunder of rotor blades slicing through low air. The sky has gone the color of forge-cooled steel—unnaturally still, almost metallic in its calm, like the world is holding its breath.

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