Page 11 of Fire's Storm
His eyes narrow slightly, studying me with predatory focus. "The bond pulls you."
"Is that what this is?" I gesture vaguely between us, at the lightning still dancing around us both, at the clouds swirling directly overhead. "This... connection I can't explain? This need I can't satisfy?"
His gaze travels over my body with unmistakable intent, lingering on the visible electrical current now dancing across my skin without my conscious control. My body responds immediately to his attention, the energy intensifying wherever his gaze tracks, as if his very focus draws power to the surface.
"The Tempest Bond," he says, stepping closer with predatory grace. "Second element of the Ancestral Flame Protocol. The most volatile, the most powerful, the rarest of the elemental connections."
I find myself rooted in place, drawn by the same magnetic pull that's been haunting me for days. My body betrays me, leaning slightly toward him like a flower seeking the sun, even as my mind screams warnings.
"What are you?" I demand, refusing to show fear despite my racing heart and the inexplicable electrical energy crackling along my skin. My voice emerges steadier than I expected, authority from years of command cutting through my physical response.
"You already know," he answers, stepping closer. His scent reaches me—smoke and ozone and raw masculine power that makes my mouth water. Beneath those notes lies the unique scent-signature that seems perfectly complementary to my own, that resonates with my changing body chemistry on a molecular level.
An automatic hunger rises in response, static electricity building along my skin, small storm clouds forming above my head, responding to emotional states I can't fully control.
"The fire didn't burn you," he continues, moving closer with predatory grace. "The lightning didn't strike you. You're not what you think you are."
He moves closer still, until I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. Close enough that his body heat envelops me, his scent fills my lungs with each breath. Close enough that I can see the intricate patterns in his irises—not just blue but layers of electric blue, silver, and midnight, swirling with actual sparks of energy.
The skin-hunger that's plagued me since our first meeting intensifies to almost unbearable levels. Every cell in my bodyscreams for contact, for touch, for the press of his skin against mine. My hands actually shake with the effort of keeping them at my sides, of not reaching for him, of not pressing myself against his larger frame to ease the ache of emptiness.
"And your body knows me," he growls, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply. "I can smell the changes in you. Feel the electricity building beneath your skin."
The assessment would usually trigger the righteous anger that's served me well in a male-dominated profession. Instead, my body responds with another surge of electrical energy, blue-white sparks visibly dancing across my skin, confirming his words. Mortification and fascination war within me, neither winning as I struggle to maintain my composure.
"Fuck you," I spit, anger flaring at my body's betrayal. At his knowing expression. At the situation that makes no logical sense yet feels more right than anything in my life before.
His smile is predatory, revealing teeth slightly sharper than human normal. "You will," he promises, the certainty in his voice sending another jolt of electricity through my system. "The bond demands it. Your body demands it, even as your mind resists."
I’m outraged at his presumption, at the way he speaks as if he has any right to my body, to my responses. As if I have no choice in the matter. The captain in me—the woman who's fought for respect every step of my career—demands I put him in his place.
"Speak plainly or get out of my way," I challenge, chin lifting in defiance. I refuse to be intimidated by his size, his power, the impossible energy that surrounds him. "I didn't come here for cryptic bullshit."
His laugh is rusty, as if rarely used. The sound sends another wave of electricity across my skin, small blue sparks dancing between my fingers.
"I'm a dragon, Phoenix Ward." My name on his lips feels like a physical caress, making electrical energy surge beneath my skin. "And whatever you think you are, you carry dragon blood too."
Dragon. Ridiculous. Fantasy nonsense. Yet it resonates with something deep inside me, something that's been awakening since our first encounter. Something that explains my lifetime of anomalies—my unnatural heat resistance, my strange affinity for storms, the emptiness I've always felt among my human colleagues despite my professional success.
As if triggered by the word, blue-white scales shimmer beneath the skin of my forearms, more visible than before, following patterns like storm clouds and lightning strikes. I stare at them, mesmerized by their beauty, by the rightness of their appearance.
His large hand cups my face, drawing my attention back to him. His touch sends actual visible sparks dancing across my skin, tiny connections that send waves of energy cascading through my system.
The skin-hunger that's been tormenting me for days eases instantly at the contact, satisfaction so profound, it draws a small sound from my throat—not quite a moan, not quite a sigh, but something between the two. Three days of aching emptiness partially soothed by a single touch.
His thumb brushes my lower lip in a caress that sends electricity racing through my body, static building along my nerve endings, making me acutely aware of every point of contact between us.
"That's why you respond to me like this," he continues, voice dropping lower, rougher. "Why your body changes in my presence. Why your scent calls to me across miles, across fire, across worlds."
His thumb presses more firmly against my lower lip, parting my mouth slightly. Instinctively, my tongue darts out to taste his skin. The flavor explodes across my senses—ozone, electricity, male, complementary.
For a brief, disorienting moment, dream and reality blur together. I'm suddenly certain I've done this before—tasted his skin, felt his hands on my body, channeled storm energy alongside him. The déjà vu is so powerful that I sway on my feet, reaching out to steady myself against his chest.
The contact sends another jolt of electricity between us, visible sparks dancing where my palm presses against his shirt. Beneath the fabric, I feel the unmistakable texture of scales—smoother than human skin, slightly cooler to the touch, yet radiating a different kind of heat.
What's happening to me? Why does every touch, every word from him drive my body wild? Why do I recognize him when my mind screams he can't be real?
Lightning strikes a nearby tree, splitting it in half with a deafening crack. The boom of thunder follows instantly.
