Page 22 of Beast of Blood and Ash (Drakarn Mates #6)

REIKA

I forgot pain could feel good.

My muscles screamed victory after the training session with Omvar. Every step was a triumphant agony. And the triumph lasted until we got to a small staircase and a whimper escaped me.

Yeah, this pain only felt good in theory. In practice, it still sucked.

For a moment, I tried to power through, but the burn in my thighs turned molten, and when my foot hit the first upward step, I lost the battle.

The sound that escaped was a half-whined gasp, barely human, and nowhere near the kind of badass I’d hoped to be after taking on a Drakarn champion for an hour without dying.

Omvar stilled at my groan. He’d been off ever since we left the caverns, looking over his shoulder like he expected a ghost to jump out of the shadows.

“Is everything all right?”

He jerked his head toward me, eyes tracking every breath I took, movements just a little too watchful. The question might as well have been chiseled out of stone. There was a brittle edge to it, tension vibrating through his bulk, as if he were walking into an ambush he half expected.

He answered himself before I could open my mouth. “It’s fine.”

Funny how “it’s fine” in that tone of voice meant exactly the same thing as it did back on Earth, even though we were hundreds, if not thousands, of light-years away.

I forced a smirk, jaw clenched because any bigger movement made my neck spasm.

“You’re in pain,” he said.

“Letting a gigantic Drakarn throw me around for an hour will do that.” There was a spark in the words, a flicker of humor and just a bit of pride even though my body had become a graveyard of aches, each bruise a souvenir.

I looked up at him, studying the way his jaw ticked, the way his wings hunched tighter.

He wasn’t just watching me, he was tracking everything: shadows, echoes, the unseen violence always lurking one stone corridor away.

His scales caught the heat crystal’s light, reflecting gold and blood-red, dangerous and battered, every line of him honed to the edge.

He reached over, slow enough for me to see the intent in every movement, and touched my arm. The contact sent a thread of fire down my nerves, his claws trailing lightly over my skin, delicate, measured.

The scrape wasn’t pain, but the prick of purpose: not restraint, not a threat. Each claw tip barely skimmed my flesh until goosebumps erupted across my bicep.

He stopped, as if giving me every chance to pull away. I didn’t. My body had learned to brace for pain, but his touch was a different kind of shock.

“I know what you need,” he said.

I should have found that ominous. Instead, I felt the knot in my gut loosen a little.

He cocked his head, a silent order to follow, and turned into a side passage I hadn’t noticed before: a narrow arch nearly hidden behind a spill of mineral-veined rock.

The city’s noise dulled as we slipped through, the world shrinking to the echo of our steps bouncing off slick, curving walls.

I realized, with a flutter that was equal parts thrill and fear, that I’d never walked this path with anyone before.

The air thickened, humid and strangely perfumed, carrying not just the scent of Drakarn but metallic steam and something almost sweet.

Omvar’s steps were confident, predator’s steps, calibrated for silence and dominance. Every so often, he glanced over his shoulder, reading my face, my every flinch, as if he needed proof I was still with him.

The tunnel opened abruptly, into light.

At first, I couldn’t see. Steam rolled over the threshold, thick and curling in sheets off a pool so wide I couldn’t find the far side through the haze.

The scent hit me: minerals, copper, a sharp tang that stung my nose and made me think of old blood, but laced with something cleaner, restorative.

The water was alive, its surface fractured by heat and shadow, reflections rippling across the glossy, volcanic stone.

Crystals embedded in the walls pulsed with a constant, mellow radiance, bright without glare. The light bent through the steam, painting everything in honey and bronze. No lamps, no harsh white light, just an endless warmth, as if the planet itself was holding its breath.

It felt like a secret world, carved by fire and time, meant for no one but us.

For once, I didn’t crack a joke. Words felt too flimsy in the face of all that heat and shadow. I just stood there, heart hammering, aware I was trembling under Omvar’s gaze.

I didn’t have a swimsuit. Not that swimsuits were even a thing in Scalvaris.

The way Omvar was looking at me made me realize just how good that might be.

He watched me, not as a conqueror or a guardian, but as someone who wanted. The hunger in his eyes was raw, primal, but checked, a question, not a demand. My cheeks warmed, sudden and traitorous, but I didn’t look away. Not now.

I slipped off my tunic and pants quickly, flinching against the muscle soreness and pretending I was braver than I felt. Every movement was an effort, pain zinging through my traps, my thighs. But I made it through, shoving away the old instinct to hide every inch of flesh.

I didn’t cover myself. Not anymore. Not with Omvar.

I approached the pool, each step over slick stone careful, my old armor falling away. Heat hugged my bare skin, the air so thick it clung to me, carrying the faint, metallic lick of minerals, the ghost of Omvar’s scent tangled in the mist behind me.

The hot water was bliss.

The heat seeped into my skin and melted the tension from my bones. Every ache, every knot, every old ghost of pain burned away, replaced with an almost unbearable pleasure. I groaned, letting the sound escape for once, not caring how it might echo in the cavern.

I let my head fall back against the smooth rock ledge, my eyes drifting shut.

For four perfect seconds, I floated. The world shrank to the pulse at my neck, the way the water enveloped me, made my body feel weightless and possible again. The gentle slap of waves against my shoulders was the only sound, everything outside suspended.

The surface rippled as Omvar climbed in.

I almost opened my eyes, eager to see him, but the luxury of the heat was too much. I felt him settle behind me, the displacement of water, the pulse of something wild coming closer.

His hands, the ones that could crush stone, were impossibly gentle as they found my aching feet.

“Better?” he rumbled, his thumbs working circles into the knots of muscle there.

The touch sent a shiver up my spine. Not just from pleasure, but as a deep, animal memory flickered, warning me that hands could always become weapons.

But Omvar’s touch was measured, reverent, each pass of his thumbs learning my limits, listening to the tension in my body and working with it, not against it.

I didn’t know he could be so gentle. I didn’t feel even a hint of his claws.

“Mmm,” was all I could manage.

The sound vibrated in my chest, a surrender and an invitation.

He chuckled, rough and low. “Not so tough now, are you?”

I snorted, forcing my eyes open enough to squint at him through the haze. His face was shadowed by the steam, scales gleaming in the golden glow, eyes half-lidded but sharp.

“Are you kidding? I bested you at least twice today.”

Omvar’s brows lifted. “I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

I wiggled my toes in his grip, trying not to moan as he worked a particularly stubborn knot. “Only because you’re the size of a cargo hauler. I barely dented you.”

His thumb pressed a spot that made me see stars. “You dented me, thravena ,” he said, voice dropping a register. “I’ll walk with the imprint tomorrow.”

I bit my lip against a smile. It felt dangerous, letting pleasure and pride coexist, but I wanted to see how far I could push him. “Maybe next time I’ll aim higher.”

He grinned, wide and toothy. “If you aim higher, I’ll have to retaliate.”

“Promises, promises.” I couldn’t believe how easy this teasing was, how natural. How my body, so often a battlefield, felt like something worth fighting for.

He let go of one foot and picked up the other, his claws tracing idle, delicious lines over my arch. The roughness of his skin contrasted with the water-softness, a scrape edging toward tickle, but never crossing the line.

“You humans bruise like fruit,” he said. “How do you survive anything?”

I laughed, breathy, the sound echoing oddly in the steamy air. “Belligerence and coffee. Too bad this planet’s only got the first.”

He made a soft sound, halfway between a growl and a laugh. His hands slid higher, up my calves, fingers lingering at my knee. His eyes tracked the progress, watching my breath, my reaction.

The touches became less therapeutic and more exploratory, turning into tender caresses and then hungry, water-slicked kisses.

He moved closer, the heat of his body a wall behind me. I caught the scent of him and let the water support me as I leaned back, my shoulder resting against his chest—his scales smooth and just barely yielding.

The room felt even more private now, the steam pressing in like a blanket, hiding us from the world’s sharp edges.

Banishing the last shred of doubt, I reached for him.

I felt bold. Powerful. I wanted to taste him, to claim this moment, this feeling, as my own. I pulled his head down, my mouth finding his in the steam.

“I need you, Omvar. All of you.”

His mouth was fire, open and searching, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips before slipping inside. The taste of him was heat and honey, made my head spin. His hands framed my face, tilting me up, a reverence in every movement.

He seemed to hesitate for a beat. His muscle tensed under my palms, as if holding himself back. But then, giving me plenty of time to pull away, he started to let his tail crawl up my leg while we kissed again.