Page 3 of Ashfall (Firebound #1)

CHAPTER 2

DAX

S he’s mine.

The word doesn’t rise—it detonates. A single, blinding truth that scorches through every cell in my body the second my boots hit the ground. I’ve waited centuries for this. Lifetimes. I watched other dragons fall into the bond, watched them claim and be claimed, while I fought my wars, buried my dead, and told myself fate had passed me over.

But now—now she’s here. Real. Breathing. Smart-mouthed and fire-eyed and standing in my territory like she belongs. My dragon doesn’t just recognize her. Every part of me starved for meaning, anchor, and her flares up like dry brush ignited.

My dragon doesn’t growl or stir. He erupts. A wildfire behind my ribs, clawing for release, roaring one word over and over through my blood like a chant forged in flame.

It’s not just attraction. It’s elemental. It sears through every layer of me with the quiet ruthlessness of inevitability. I feel it in the coil of my muscles, the ache behind my teeth, the tightening in my chest like I can’t take a full breath until she’s under my protection. Claimed. Marked. Mine.

My dragon circles inside, snarling, wrapping itself tighter with every second she remains untouched by me. The bond doesn’t whisper. It commands . It ignites fast and merciless, threading heat through my skin and dragging every buried instinct screaming to the surface, telling me to take her, keep her, burn for her. And still—I hold the line. Barely.

The moment I set down, I knew. No hesitation. No doubt. Just the quiet, brutal clarity of instinct: my fire recognizes hers. Not just a flicker of interest or attraction. It’s deeper. Ancient. My dragon doesn't whisper; he bellows. His voice echoes through my bones, a primal demand that drowns out logic.

She's here, she's real, and every buried hunger I've silenced for centuries claws to the surface in a single breath. There's no easing into this. No negotiation. Just a truth I feel in every cell: the wait is finally over.

Except she isn’t dragon-forged. She’s human. It’s all grit, tempered in tragedy and sharpened by suspicion. And it calls to me, anyway. Hard.

Ember Vale. Arson Investigator. Civilian. A complication I didn’t ask for but can’t ignore. My dragon surges beneath my skin the second she looks up at me—head tilted, chin up, eyes defiant like she expects a fight and isn’t remotely afraid of it.That alone makes my breath hitch.

I tap my comms unit. “Kade, Rafe—report in. Perimeter grid north and west. Full scan, 300-foot radius. Check for fire signatures with abnormal fuel behavior.”

“Copy,” Kade’s voice crackles through. Cool, efficient, reliable. “Already tracking them. We’ve got three hot spots showing acceleration beyond natural thresholds.”

Rafe breaks in a beat later. "That eastern ridge line's moving too fast. There's no natural source for the spread rate. You thinking arson again?"

"I'm thinking worse," I reply. "Keep your heads on a swivel. If you see anything out of place—glyphs, burned patterns, runes—I want it flagged and logged."

"Copy that," Rafe says, his tone suddenly sharper. "If this is like the last one, we might not be dealing with just fire."

"Exactly," I say. "And stay alert. We’ve got a fed on-site."

"Understood," Kade says. "What about her?"

"She’s with me," I say, voice low and final. "Eyes open. No mistakes."

Ember’s got a mouth on her, I’ll give her that. Intelligent with enough bite to draw blood if I let it. She talks like she’s fireproof. And gods help me, I want to believe she is. I shouldn’t find this amusing. My focus should be elsewhere. But my beast purrs at the challenge like he wants her beneath him and roaring.

I grit my teeth and lock down the urge to claim. Not yet. Not with her still trying to figure me out, still skeptical and human and beautifully defiant. My dragon roars inside me, snapping against my control like a beast denied a feast it's waited over a thousand years for. He doesn’t understand caution. He doesn’t care about consent or pacing. He just sees her—sees that she’s ours. I shove him down, jaw tight. The instinct to mark her, to press her to the ground and brand her with heat and power, is a razor under my skin. But I won't be that monster... not yet anyway.

Behind me, the rest of Blackstrike is dropping into the valley, one by one. Silent shadows in fire-resistant tactical gear—dragons in human form, each one a weapon tempered by centuries of control and pain. To the outside world, they’re just elite firefighters. Legends. Ghosts. But if the truth ever got out? Humanity wouldn’t thank us for saving them. They’d hunt us to extinction.

My men trust me to lead. To hold the line. To keep our secrets buried beneath smoke and ash, our enemies burning in the wake, and our beasts leashed just enough to walk among the humans without losing control.

But mine hasn’t been in check since the moment I saw her.

That fragile grip I’ve kept on my instincts, on my dragon, on the fire itself—it snapped the second I locked eyes with Ember. I’ve held the line through blood, battle, and betrayal. But the bond doesn’t care about discipline. The dragon doesn’t care about consequences. He only cares that she’s here—and that every second I don’t claim her feels like burning alive from the inside out.

I glance sideways. She’s studying me like I’m a lab sample she’s not sure won’t explode. Smart woman. She’s not wrong.

“The base camp commander indicated you don’t play well with others,” she says dryly, falling into step beside me without asking permission. Her stride is quick, confident. No flinch, no hesitation. “Should I be flattered I’m the exception, or worried I’m next on your hit list?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” I don’t look at her. I can’t. The scent of her—smoke, adrenaline, and something clean and female underneath—crawls over my skin and makes my control slip another inch.

“Charming,” she mutters, but her tone has teeth. “Are you always this friendly, or am I just lucky enough to bring out your sunshine-and-rainbows side?” Her words are laced with sarcasm, but there’s curiosity beneath them too—like she’s poking at the surface to see what cracks open underneath.

“I don’t do friendly.” I stop walking, turn to face her fully. “I do results.”

She blinks once. Doesn’t back down. “You sound like a recruitment poster for an emotionally unavailable cult.”

That gets me. A snort slips free before I can stop it. Her mouth tips up at one corner—smirk, not smile. My dragon paces inside me like he’s decided she’s not just mate worthy—she’s our fated mate. And if I don’t keep a tight leash on him, he’ll make that very clear in very public ways.

"You poke hard enough, you might just find a soft spot," I say, voice low, rough. “Although you can probably expect to burn your fingers in the process.”

I break eye contact first, forcing my focus back to the wildfire. We’re standing near the edge of a ridgeline overlook. Below, the flames chew through old-growth pine with surgical intent—too direct, too focused. This isn’t a natural spread. It’s a fucking strategy.

“Smoke pattern’s wrong,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes as the fire creeps in unnatural lines.

The column rises too clean, too symmetrical, like it's obeying something. I've flown over enough hellscapes to know the difference between wildfire and warfare. This is something else. Someone is guiding this, designing it. The smoke curls like it's following orders—sharp edges where there should be chaos. And every instinct in me screams this wasn't just lit. Someone planned it.

“Yeah.” Ember steps closer, shielding her eyes with one hand as she scans the burn. “It’s moving in deliberate vectors. Controlled intensity. Like it’s skipping trees.”

“It is.” I gesture toward the map display being projected via my wrist device. “There. There. And there. Same acceleration curve. That’s not wind. That’s ignition zones spaced for maximum spread.”

“Which would mean… multiple ignition points,” she finishes, voice lower now. “Shit..”

I nod once. “We’ve seen similar signatures upstate and in Colorado, Oregon, and Montana as well. Whoever’s behind this is moving fast.”

“You think it’s one guy?”

“No. I think it’s one dragon.”

She laughs. Short. Bitter. “Right. Let me guess—‘dragon’ is your code word for ‘ruthless ex-military with a god complex and a flamethrower fetish’?”

If only. That would be easier than the truth. But there’s no world in which I tell her what I really mean. No one outside Blackstrike knows what we are—and keeping it that way is the only reason we’ve survived this long. She wouldn’t believe it, anyway. Not yet.

Just to make damn sure she doesn't start putting pieces together the wrong way, I add, "No code. Just means this guy knows what he’s doing. That kind of precision? It’s surgical. Too clean to be random." I watch her face, measuring. She nods, skeptical but accepting. Good. Keep it simple. Keep her safe. For now.

I glance at Ember and tap my comms again. "We need to keep eyes on the fed. She’s not just any fed. I ran a quick background on her. She comes from a prestigious line of firefighters. I imagine she has ash and soot flowing through her veins.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then: “Better than fire and brimstone. I guess I didn’t know we were babysitting.”

“Not babysitting,” I growl. "Keeping what's mine safe."Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that over an open channel. “Someone assigned her to the unit specifically to shadow me.”

Dead silence on the comms. Then Rafe, ever the smartass, cuts in: “Copy that. Watching the… asset. Closely.”

I kill the channel.

Ember squints at me, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and challenge. “I heard that. ‘Keeping what’s yours safe’? That’s how you see me? Like I’m some… thing now? Something you have to protect? Seriously?”

She’s not yelling, but there’s an edge in her voice that wasn’t there before. She doesn’t like it—this possessive streak I haven’t even tried to hide. And she doesn’t trust what it means. Not yet.

I turn back to her slowly, letting the heat in my gaze meet the challenge in hers. “Not a thing,” I say, voice low. “Not property. Not baggage. But you're in this now. You're in it with me... with my unit. That makes you mine to watch over, whether or not you like it.”

Her eyes narrow, color rising in her cheeks as she nods. “I don’t—but only because I’d rather you focus on containing this fire. Your unit has a reputation. People say when Blackstrike shows up, it’s the last real shot at stopping a wildfire.”

I step in, just close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. The change in proximity tugs something low in my gut. Her scent hits me—smoke, heat, and something feral underneath that makes my breath hitch. She might not trust me, but she’s not afraid. Not of me. And damn if that doesn’t make her even harder to ignore.

Her pupils flare. She’s not backing down, but her pulse flutters at her throat, betraying her. That tiny give—subtle, instinctive—hits me harder than it should. My dragon shudders beneath my skin, coiling tighter, teeth bared. He wants to lunge, to claim, to throw her down and brand her with fire and truth and dominance until she forgets how to breathe without him.

But this isn't the time.

She deserves a choice. Understanding. Not to be swept into the inferno of my hunger without knowing what she’s stepping into. I clench my fists at my sides, forcing the beast back down, grinding against every ounce of instinct that screams take. My hunger is so intense that it’s a miracle I haven’t scorched the air between us merely by standing still. The restraint isn’t noble. It’s war. And I’m losing.

She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t run either. Just watches me with something sharp and electric in her eyes. Her jaw sets, not in fear—but in defiance, curiosity, maybe even interest, she doesn’t want to admit. I see the gears turning behind those eyes, weighing whether I’m a threat or something worse: a truth she doesn’t want to name yet. The part of me that wants to step closer—bridge the distance and make her see—fights the part that knows this moment isn’t for taking. It’s for waiting. Watching. And letting her choose.

Gods help me, I want to kiss her and set the world on fire at the same time. The need claws at me, ragged and relentless, stoked by every breath she takes too close to mine. I want to press her against me, burn my name into her skin, taste the heat rising in her blood. But we don’t have time. Not now. Not yet. The fire calls, and as much as my dragon wants to make her ours, duty still holds the leash—for now.

The wind catches, carrying more than just heat and ash. It curls around me like a warning, sharp and fast. My senses spike—heat signature, air density, vibration underfoot. The change is subtle, but the message is clear. The fire isn’t just spreading. It’s being directed. Something’s changed. Something’s coming . My dragon goes still, listening. Watching. Every instinct I’ve buried sharpens in a flash of heat.

Something’s wrong. Very wrong. My dragon senses it before I fully register the change—a movement in the smoke, the air pressure, the rhythm of the fire. There’s another flare in the distance—too far from the primary burn line to be random. Too soon, too clean, too calculated. Another ignition. A deliberate one. And that means someone’s not just setting fires. They’re sending a message.

“Get back to base,” I bark. “Now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I said so.” My tone leaves no room for argument. "You're not equipped to go where I'm going. I'll circle back for you later."

She opens her mouth, probably to argue—but I’m already moving. I can feel her frustration crackle behind me, but this isn’t a debate. This is war.

Once I'm out of eyesight, I sprint for the cliff line, tearing off the tactical harness as I go, the gear falling forgotten into the dirt. Fire pulses under my skin, scales pushing to the surface like they’ve been clawing for release since the second she arrived.

Heat explodes from my chest outward, a violent surge that rips through every nerve ending with a fury that’s more instinct than thought.

Flames coil around my body in a spiral of gold and red, engulfing me in a blaze so intense it steals the breath from the air.

I lift my head to the heavens and roar—a sound that cracks across the canyon, ancient and unrelenting—as wings burst free, searing, and scaled.

Fire surges from within, not just around me. There’s no pain, only the familiar rush of supremacy igniting through every cell—a surge of power as fire becomes form, and human becomes dragon. It’s not transformation. It’s revelation. It strips away the human shell without tearing, without breaking. There is only heat. Light. Truth.

The fire folds over me, golden and alive, cloaking who I was and unveiling what I am.

A dragon—ancient, unbound, and unleashed.

The sound that tears from my throat scatters birds from the trees, sends tremors through the earth. It’s not just a cry—it’s a warning.

I charge from the cliff’s edge, limbs coiling, releasing. One bound. Then another. My wings flare wide, catching the heat- thick air as ash and cinders swirl around me. In an instant, I’m airborne—scales gleaming, wings slicing through the wind. The updraft lifts me higher, faster. The ground falls away. Fire below. Sky above.

And in between? Me. Exactly where I belong.

Wings tearing through ash, eyes scanning for the source of the newest threat. Below me, Ember is still on the ridge—shielding her eyes against the light and smoke, completely unaware of what just took to the sky. She sees the heat signature maybe, a dark, unknown shape. She may hear the roar, but not the truth.

Not yet. The fire will keep my secret—for now.

But it won’t hide me forever. The moment she sees the truth, everything changes.

And gods help anyone who tries to come between me and what’s mine.