Page 17 of Beneath Scales and Shadows (Lost Lunas of Artania #1)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

IGNIS

Ignis dived from the sky, Sora’s limp form clutched tightly against his chest. Wind screamed past his scales, but all he heard was her ragged breathing, growing fainter with each passing moment. The princess’s blade had pierced more than just armor—it had carried corrupted essence directly into Sora’s blood.

“Asher, Zalaya—my chambers, now!” he commanded through their mental link, his thoughts lashing across the mountain with desperate fury. “Life hangs in the balance.”

He tucked his wings closer, increasing his speed as the mountain stronghold grew larger below. Blood—her blood—slicked his scales, hot then cooling against the rushing air. Too much blood for such a small frame to lose.

A bronze blur shot past him—Ember, clutching the struggling Celestorian prince in her talons. She banked sharply, adjusting her trajectory to match his.

“A royal captive?”

“Insurance,” Ember spat. “They took Coal, we take—”

“Not now,” Ignis cut her off. “Place him in the east guest chamber under double guard. We’ll deal with him after.”

Ember’s mental acknowledgment carried reluctant acceptance as she veered toward a different entrance.

Ignis crashed through the balcony opening to his chambers, stone cracking beneath his forceful landing. He didn’t waste precious seconds placing Sora down before transforming—instead, he pulled his draconic form inward, scales flowing like liquid fire as he shifted to dragoon form with Sora still cradled in his arms.

Her head lolled against his shoulder, skin ashen where it wasn’t smeared with dirt and blood. The silver scales that had shimmered so brilliantly in the dawn light now appeared dulled, tarnished by poison. Her breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps.

“Blaze! Enixa!” he bellowed, knowing the Wing Leaders waited just beyond the balcony. Their presence was unmistakable. Within moments, they appeared in the doorway in their dragoon forms, expressions grim as they took in the sight of their king cradling the fallen Luna.

“Take inventory of our forces,” he commanded. “I want casualty counts, injury assessments, and readiness reports. Prepare for retaliation.”

“Does she live?” Enixa asked, her voice laced with hope as she scanned Sora’s still form.

Ignis glanced down at the female who had stolen his hearts—who dared to believe these weren’t her final moments. And he refused to believe it, too.

“For now.” A low growl rumbled under his scales. “But if her soul flame leaves us, I shall burn their kingdom down to ashes and cleanse the world of their evil. They’ve been left to live far too long.”

“Let’s hope our queen survives,” Blaze murmured, wrapping an arm around his mate in comfort. “We’ll carry out your orders and report back as soon as we can.”

They bowed in perfect unison, backing away without any further questions. This was why they led wings—they understood when explanation could wait.

Ignis carried Sora to her bed, laying her down with a gentleness that belied the storm raging within him. His taloned hand cupped her cheek, finding it cool to the touch—too cool, when she normally blazed like an ember against his palm.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, the words scraping his throat raw. “Not when I’ve only just found you.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, inhaling her scent—moonflowers and cinnamon now tainted by metallic corruption. Her heart fluttered beneath his palm, a frantic fish trapped in a failing cage.

Asher burst through the doorway, medical supplies clutched to his chest, Zalaya following close behind with an ancient wooden chest marked with runes.

“The wound?” Asher demanded, already moving to Sora’s side.

“Princess Jewels. Dagger. Corrupted essence.” Ignis forced each word past the fury threatening to choke him. “She stepped between us.”

Asher’s hands moved with practiced efficiency, gathering healing balms and cleansing cloths. “We must see the wound,” he said, glancing at Zalaya.

The harpy nodded, taloned hands moving toward Sora’s armor. “I must remove this,” she said, also seeking Ignis’s permission with her gaze.

He stepped back, giving her space to work. This wasn’t how he’d imagined Sora would first be openly bared before him—pale, poisoned, life fading with each labored breath.

Modesty meant little to most monsters, but he knew how much it mattered to humans—especially to her. Yet her survival left little room for such considerations. When her life balanced on the edge of a blade, preserving her dignity often came second to keeping her alive.

“Do what you must,” he growled. “You have my permission.”

Zalaya worked methodically, undoing the complex fastenings of the dragon rider armor with deft precision. As each piece fell away, the extent of the damage became clear—a jagged wound along Sora’s side, the flesh around it mottled with sickly purple-black tendrils spreading outward like poisonous roots.

Asher applied cleansing balms, his expression growing darker with each passing moment. The wound hissed at the touch of medicine, corrupted essence fighting the healing properties with unnatural vigor.

“This is beyond conventional treatment,” Asher said finally, looking up at Ignis with grave eyes. “The essence has been altered—enhanced through forbidden alchemy. It refuses cleansing.”

Zalaya finished removing the last of the armor, covering Sora’s naked form with a light silk sheet. “Her transformation has stalled,” she observed, pointing to the silvery scales now dulling to ashen gray. “The poison targets her dragon blood specifically.”

Ignis paced the length of the bed, wings twitching with restrained fury. “What can be done?”

The healer and harpy exchanged a loaded glance.

“Your presence anchors her,” Asher said carefully. “The alpha energy in your aura slows the corruption’s spread. But it cannot reverse it.”

“If only the two of you had completed your bond,” Zalaya said, her voice laced with ancient wisdom. “A joined life force through mating would have given her your strength—your resilience.”

Ignis stopped pacing, tail lashing behind him. “What are you suggesting?”

He refused to force a mating bond on her while she was unconscious.

“There is a ritual,” Zalaya said, opening the wooden chest to reveal compartments filled with crystalline vials, dried herbs, and instruments of polished dark elf metal. “Ancient beyond reckoning. Dragon kings once used it in times of dire need.”

“She speaks of soul binding,” Asher explained, his hands still working to clean the wound. “Not merely the physical joining of mates, but the mystical union of life forces.”

Ignis’s gaze snapped to the harpy. “Once done, it cannot be undone. Am I correct?”

“Correct,” Zalaya confirmed, her feathers rustling as she arranged ritual implements on a small table. “Two become one—forever bound until the Moon Goddess claims both.”

“Will she live without it?” Ignis demanded, his voice barely controlled. “Is there any other way?”

Another exchanged glance between healers—one that didn’t escape his notice. Asher’s hands stilled over the wound.

“Unknown,” he said finally, each word measured. “The corruption spreads despite our efforts. But...” He hesitated, meeting Ignis’s burning gaze. “If she were bound to you, she would live as long as you draw breath.”

Ignis turned away, claws digging into his palms. The choice before him tore at the very core of who he was—king, protector, alpha. He had sworn never to take her choice from her, to let her come to him willingly or not at all. To make this decision while she lay unconscious, unable to consent…

Yet to do nothing was to condemn her to a second death. After all she had survived—crossing worlds, awakening in a body with dragon blood, embracing a destiny that wasn’t hers by birth—to lose her now to a coward’s poisoned blade…

“She chose to save me,” he said at last, his voice rough with emotion. “Not once, but twice. She—an omega, a Luna—placed herself between danger and her alpha. She stepped into the path of that arrow at the castle. She intercepted the princess’s dagger today.”

He turned back to them, feeling the weight of the choice settle in his chest like forged iron. His jaw clenched, breath steadying as the uncertainty bled away. There was no room left for doubt—only the fire of what had to be done.

“I will not let her sacrifice be in vain. A life for a life—she saved mine, I shall give her mine in return.”

Zalaya nodded, something like approval flickering in her all-knowing eyes. “Then you must prepare. The ritual requires your true form.”

“What must I surrender?”

“A scale from over your heart,” Zalaya replied, selecting a curved obsidian blade from her ritual chest. “A fragment of your heart’s muscle. Blood freely given. And finally, your flame—not the physical fire, but the soul-spark that ignites it.”

Ignis stepped away from the bed, wings unfurling as his form began to shift. The chamber seemed to shrink around him as he expanded into his true draconic glory, scales flowing like liquid fire, tail coiling to avoid destroying the furnishings and his collection of treasure. When the transformation completed, he lowered his massive head to the edge of the bed, the stone floor cool beneath his jaw. Crimson eyes locked on her pale, unmoving face, searching for any flicker of life—any hope that she was still alive.

By the Great Mother, she’s too still.

“Place her between my forelegs,” he commanded. “You said my presence helps her—let her rest under my care.”

Asher and Zalaya worked together to lift Sora’s limp form, carefully carrying her to the open space Ignis created. The silk sheet fell away as they positioned her directly against his chest scales, the contrast stark—her small, pale human form against his draconic ruby body.

“Begin,” Ignis growled.

Zalaya approached without fear, obsidian blade gleaming in her taloned hand. She muttered ancient words in a language even Ignis barely recognized—older than draconic, perhaps dating back to the first creatures shaped by the Moon Goddess herself.

The blade found the juncture where his chest scales overlapped, precisely over his left heart. With surprising strength, the harpy pried loose a ruby scale the size of her palm. Pain lanced through him—sharp and clean—so unlike the agony of watching Sora fade.

Black blood welled from the exposed flesh as Zalaya set the scale aside, the blade moving again with ritual precision. This time, the pain cut deeper as she carved into the muscle beneath, extracting a sliver of his heart no larger than a small gemstone.

Ignis remained motionless, allowing the violation of his body without protest. For her, any pain was bearable. Any sacrifice, acceptable.

He wasn’t only an alpha, but he was their king. The last pure-blood dragon of his royal bloodline.

If anyone could withstand the pain, it was him—especially for her.

Zalaya carried the bloody heart fragment to Sora, chanting as she placed it directly over the poisoned wound. With ritual movements, she pressed the fragment into the corrupted flesh, her magic binding dragon heart to human wound.

Next came the scale, positioned over the embedded heart fragment, creating a living shield. Zalaya’s chanting intensified, feathers bristling with arcane energy as she sealed the scale to Sora’s skin.

“Now,” Zalaya commanded, stepping back. “Breathe your flame upon her, but not the fire of destruction—the flame of creation that burns within your soul.”

Ignis lowered his head, jaws parting. What emerged was unlike his battle flame—instead of roaring destruction, this fire flowed like liquid light, pale blue at its core, shifting to violet at its edges. It enveloped Sora’s form without consuming, bathing her in ethereal radiance.

“Great Mother who watches from the sky,” Zalaya intoned, spreading her wings. “Moon Goddess who blessed our world with your tears—hear this king’s plea. Accept his sacrifice. Bond these souls as one.”

The flame intensified, coalescing around the embedded scale. Sora’s body arched suddenly, a silent scream parting her lips as the magic took hold. Silver light erupted from her skin, racing along the pathways where scales had begun to form, pushing back the dark tendrils of corruption.

Ignis felt the bond forming—a tether anchoring his existence to hers, his strength flowing into her weakened body, his life force merging with her fading one. The sensation was unlike anything he had experienced in his long life—intimate beyond physical joining, vulnerable beyond mere nakedness. His very essence laid bare, offered freely to sustain her.

As quickly as it began, the ritual flame extinguished. Sora collapsed back against his scales, but her breathing had deepened, steadied. The wound no longer seeped corruption—instead, the embedded scale pulsed with ruby light, spreading healing warmth through her veins.

“It is done,” Zalaya whispered, exhaustion evident in her posture. “Your lives are now one.”

Asher stepped forward, checking Sora’s pulse with practiced fingers. “Her heart beats stronger,” he confirmed. “The poison recedes.”

Relief flooded through Ignis, so profound it threatened to unmake him. He curled tighter around her small form, wings creating a protective canopy.

“Leave us,” he commanded softly.

Zalaya gathered her ritual implements while Asher collected his healing supplies. They departed without further word, understanding that what followed was sacred—the first moments of a bond that would transcend mortality itself.

He knew they would soon return to check on her—on them—but with her now stable, their presence was no longer needed.

Alone with her, Ignis allowed his composure to crack. A low, keening sound rumbled from his chest—not quite a growl, not quite a cry, but something ancient and profound.

Dragons don’t cry .

He hadn’t wept at any moment of his life—not even when his parents fell defending their homeland decades ago—but something suspiciously close to tears gathered at the corners of his crimson eyes.

“Live,” he whispered, the word carrying the weight of command and plea alike. “Live, my Luna. My queen. My mate.”

The scale embedded in her side pulsed in rhythm with his twin hearts, a visible manifestation of their bond. Through it, he sensed her spirit—wounded but fighting, strengthened by his offering.

He would face her anger when she woke, would weather her fury at his presumption. Better her alive and raging than lost forever. If the cost was her hatred, he would pay it willingly, even as it tore him apart.

For now, all that mattered was the steady rise and fall of her chest, the warmth returning to her skin, the silver scales regaining their lustrous sheen. His head settled beside her small form, one eye remaining open to watch over her throughout the long night ahead.

Whatever came with dawn, they would face it—together, bound beyond separation, two souls forged into one by sacrifice and necessity.

By choice, if not hers, then his. A choice he would defend with his last breath should she demand it of him when consciousness returned.

As long as she lived…