Page 42 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

I leaned back in the chair, feet kicked up on the table, a half-eaten peach in one hand and the Tides of Blood book in the other.

The light blue dress Fintan had given Yara a while ago hung from the armoire, its garment bag discarded beneath it.

It shimmered like morning frost—stunning, elegant…

but not me. Not anymore. I tucked it back in the armoire.

I sighed and took another bite from my juicy peach.

That’s when I felt it.

The hum. That telltale surge of energy in my chest, the sudden stir of magic in the air. And then—Zayn.

He walked in, holding a large box. The sight of him made my heart plummet and my pulse spike all at once. Of course, he looked effortlessly deadly: his long white hair tousled, eyes sharp and wild, his dark clothes clinging to the sculpted lines of his body.

I scrambled to sit up. “Hey,” I said awkwardly.

Without replying, he stalked over to the table and placed the box down in front of me. His gaze scanned my scattered stack of books until he plucked one out from underneath—Legends of the Flame.

“How do you like this one?” he asked with a smirk.

I tilted my head, confused. “It’s interesting… why?”

His eyebrows lifted, eyes going wide. “You—wait—you mean to tell me you read it?”

I nodded in suspicion. “Yeah?”

He held it up. “You read this book?”

“Yes. Do you want me to read it to you?” I teased.

His jaw practically hit the floor.

“What?” I asked, grinning.

“Elara… this book—” he tapped the scaled cover, “—this is written in a language no one can speak. No one but—”

He stopped as I started to laugh.

“No, it’s not. Look.” I grabbed the book, flipped it open, and pointed to a section I’d just marked. I cleared my throat. “When a dragon bonds with its person, their souls intertwine—power shared, destinies fused. What one becomes, so does the other.”

His mouth hung open. Again.

“See? Reading’s easy,” I said lightly, placing the book back down.

Zayn reached out and gently grabbed my wrist, his voice hushed now. “Elara… that book is written in Dragonic.”

My heart stuttered.

“Eryn gave me this…”

“Yeah! Probably as a joke!”

I remembered Queen Faylinn speaking of Dragonic—a language only dragons and…

My breath caught. Holy Divine.

“Have you heard of the Elementara Fae?” I asked slowly.

He nodded. “I read about them when I was younger.” His voice dropped. “Elara…” He stared at me as if I were unraveling everything he thought he knew. “They were the only Fae able to speak Dragonic. Because they had dragon blood in their veins. But they’ve been extinct for centuries.”

I didn’t answer. I just took another bite of peach, too shaken to form words. The juice trickled down my chin again, but this time, I didn’t bother wiping it away.

Zayn did.

He stepped closer, lifted his hand, and wiped the juice from my skin. His fingers were gentle. Possessive. And that tick in his jaw…

I looked down—mistake. His abs were flexed, his torso inches from me. Sculpted. Strong. My hand moved before I could stop it, tracing the edge of his stomach.

He hissed. Not in pain—more like restraint snapping. The dull buzz of magic sparked beneath my palm, his energy calling to mine, demanding it. Welcoming it.

Shit. What the Hel was I doing?

I yanked my hand back like I’d been burned. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He said nothing.

Not one. Gods-damned. Word. And that pissed me off for some reason. “You know what? I don’t think Genevieve would appreciate you staying in my room,” I snapped. “Maybe you should be with her. Which, I assume, is exactly where you were last night.”

He smirked, infuriatingly calm. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not! I don’t give a shit who you fuck—”

He cut me off as he stepped forward, voice low. “Admit it, Peach. You are jealous. So gods-damned jealous that it’s not you underneath me, begging me to make you come.”

My jaw dropped.

Anger started to overshadow the ache I was just feeling. “Jealous? Please—of what, your ego or harem of women who have more curves than brains? I don’t need to beg you for shit.”

Zayn stepped closer, voice low and smug.

“It’s kind of cute… how flustered you get when I’m around you.

Your heartbeat quickens; your cheeks get flushed…

In fact, I can smell your arousal right.

Fucking. Now. I just think you hate that you can’t pretend you don’t want me—when every breath you take is a silent plea for me to notice you. ”

Without even thinking, my hand cracked hard and fast across his cheek. And he grinned, lips curling like he enjoyed the sting. “Such a fucking brat.”

“Piss off, Zayn. Go fuck one of your little whores or Genevieve.” I went to storm off, but his hand grabbed my wrist tightly and he pulled me hard against his chest.

His breath was hot in my face, my pulse raced, “She isn’t you.”

I backed up until my spine hit the cold stone wall. “Wh-what?”

“I said… She. Is. Not. You.”

He was so close now, I could taste him. His gaze dropped to my lips, then my chest, then slowly back to my eyes. “Say it. Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll leave.”

“I don’t want you.” The words flew out of my mouth quickly, but I lied.

He bit his bottom lip, then turned abruptly toward the door. Hand on the handle.

Paused.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and started pacing back and forth like he was contemplating whether to stay or leave.

He froze, then turned to look at me.

“Fuck it.”

And then he was on me.

He groaned at the first taste. The sound was raw and guttural—like pure ecstasy igniting, a spark setting his restraint on fire.

His hand wrapped around my throat—not rough, but firm enough to make it clear. This was no soft kiss. He crashed his mouth to mine, and gods, I let him. I melted into him. I wanted to be claimed.

My lips parted, and his tongue plunged in, deep and possessive. We found our rhythm instantly—like we were made for this. For each other.

I moaned into his mouth.

I tugged at his tunic, yanking it over his head. He pulled back, just enough for me to take him in. He rubbed his thumb over my bottom lip.

“Gods, the things I want to do to this mouth, Peach…”

I licked my lips. “Perhaps you should show me.”

He kissed me again—harder, deeper. My magic exploded beneath my skin, pouring into him, crackling like lightning between us. I didn’t understand it… I didn’t care. I just needed him.

Zayn’s hand slipped back to my throat. He leaned down, turning my head with just one finger as he still held my throat, and growled in my ear, “You. Are. Mine.”

My knees nearly buckled.

“I thought you hated me,” I whispered. My hand trailed down his stomach, fingers brushing the band of his trousers.

His brows snapped together. “That’s what you think? That I hate you?” His demeanor changed.

Shit. He looked pissed.

Gods, I’m stupid, why did I just ruin this?!

He slammed both hands against the wall on either side of my head, hips thrusting forward. I gasped as I felt the hard length of him press against my stomach.

“I don’t hate you…” He murmured as he thrust into me again. “I can’t fucking stay away from you, Peach,” he said. “Every second I fight the urge to touch you… to claim you… to mark you and fill you with my cum so any man who even looks at you smells me on you and knows you fucking belong to me.”

A soft moan escaped my lips. He grabbed my jaw and forced me to meet his eyes. “Mine.” Then he lifted me.

My legs wrapped around his waist just as he pinned me to the wall again, his mouth finding mine. The kiss was all teeth and hunger and breathless need. His hands gripped beneath my thighs, holding me up as my back moved up and down on the wall, and gods—his body pressed perfectly against mine.

Our kiss deepened, turned desperate. His tongue slid against mine with wicked purpose, claiming every gasp I gave like it was his right.

I rocked my hips into him, and he answered with a growl low in his throat, grinding back hard enough that we both shuddered.

Clothes still between us, it didn’t matter—we dry-humped each other in a rhythm that was primal, heated, maddening.

Every press of his hips sent sparks down my spine, every drag of my body against his made him curse softly into my mouth.

“Please,” I begged, my voice ragged. “I need you.”

He ground against my aching core, and I rocked against him in return. Gods, he felt huge.

“Elara,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “You see what you do to me, Peach?” he said, biting my collarbone. He rubbed his very hard and very large length against my aching entrance.

I nearly came from that alone.

“I’m going to make you come until your eyes roll back and see your own mind. Until you forget your own name and only remember mine.”

My back arched. “Gods. Fuck me, Zayn. Please,” I moaned into his mouth. He growled—a deep, feral sound that vibrated through my entire body.

Then—A soft knock. The door creaked open. Yara. Kalista.

Zayn set me down instantly, grabbing his shirt and turning slightly to adjust himself. My cheeks flamed.

“Oh my,” Yara gasped, shielding her eyes and spinning Kalista around. “We will leave you two to…” She didn’t finish. Yara was flustered.

Kalista’s jaw dropped. She grinned as her eyes flicked from Zayn’s half-dressed form to mine. “Well… damn.”

Zayn cleared his throat. “No need to leave. I was just leaving.” He smirked at me—cocky, wicked, devastating.

Fuck me, I thought.

He froze. His back was turned to me.

“I plan on it,” his voice echoed… not aloud. In my head, leaving me speechless.

He nodded to the girls as he walked out. “Ladies.”

Kalista turned on me like a storm.

“Oh my gods, Elara! First the Prince and now… The prince’s guard?! Really?! You lucky bitch!”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

Yara stepped forward gently. “Alright, enough brooding and blushing. Elara, why don’t you go freshen up? Kalista and I will get you ready for tonight.”

Kalista rolled her eyes. “You make her sound like a meal waiting to be feasted on.”

I smirked. “Oh, I plan on exactly that.”

Kalista squealed.

Yara gasped. I kissed the top of her head and slipped into the bathroom.

After splashing icy cold water on my face, I gazed into the mirror and couldn’t help but smile.

I lightly traced my lips, still aflame with the lingering sweetness of Zayn’s kiss and his words.

Dragonic. Elementara Fae. Peach. Mine. Gods, all I wanted right now was Zayn.

He was like a drug, coursing through my veins with every fleeting glance and lingering touch.

The way his fingers brushed against my skin sent electric shocks through my body, igniting a fire that blazed deep within me.

Every time he touched my skin, it was like a knife to my soul, sharp and intoxicating, carving out space for longing and desire.

He was like a magnetic pull that left my heart racing and my breath catching.

I ran a brush through my hair, each stroke grounding me as my heart raced with the memory.

Then, taking a deep breath to steady myself, I turned and made my way back into the room.

“I told her not to open it!” Yara said, eyeing Kalista.

Kalista held up a black dress—stunning and sinful. “He left you a note,” she said with a smirk.

I snatched the parchment and read.

Peach,

Wear this tonight.

Let them wear snow and frost. You were forged in fire.

Let them see you—not the version that makes them comfortable, but the one that survived.

The one with the scars.

I’ll be in black too.

—Z

I bit my lip to stifle my smile.

Clutching the note to my chest, I slipped into the bathroom. I tucked it inside my breast leathers, close to my heart. Then I stripped off my clothes and slipped on my robe.

When I returned, Yara pointed to the chair. “Sit.”

“I’ll do her makeup,” Kalista said. “She needs to look like a goddess of Hel—not some fragile princess.”

Were we… friends?

They got to work. Yara curled and pinned my hair. Kalista gave me dark, smoky eyes and stained my lips crimson, like fresh blood.

When she stepped back, Kalista grinned. “Perfect. You look like you could conquer the fucking world.”

Yara smacked her hand and frowned, “Kalista! That language is not ladylike!”

Kalista laughed, “Wanna hear me say it again?” She teased, and Yara chuckled. I think I was starting to like Kalista.

I looked in the mirror. And gods, she was right. “Wow. You guys made me look… beautiful.”

Yara gently stroked my cheek, “No, dearie. We didn’t make you look like this. This is all you.”

I blinked back a tear.

“What are you wearing tonight?” I asked Kalista.

She shrugged. “Nothing that’s as beautiful as your dress.”

I had an idea; I pulled open the armoire and took out Fintan’s blue gown he gave me and wanted me to wear tonight. “Here. From the Prince himself.” Kalista gasped.

“I—I couldn’t possibly—actually, yes. I absolutely could!” She grabbed it and twirled. “It’s stunning!”

Then she paused. “You and Fintan…?”

I stopped her. “Not a thing anymore. I… I think my heart’s elsewhere.” My cheeks flushed.

“He may be a good fu—”

“AHEM,” Yara cleared her throat and gave Kalista a look.

“I was going to say, a good fun time,” Kalista winked at Yara and continued, “But I have my eyes set on someone else.”

“Ooooh, and who might that be?”

Kalista pursed her lips, then made a show of zipping them shut, dramatically tossing away an invisible key over her shoulder.

Yara beamed. “Well then. Let’s get you both dressed.”