Page 18 of Beneath Scales and Shadows (Lost Lunas of Artania #1)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

IGNIS

Ignis woke with a jolt, his immense dragon form tensing at the sound of movement within his chambers. He curled his forelegs tighter around Sora’s small frame, pulling her closer to his chest. A low, warning growl rumbled from deep within him before he’d even fully registered the intruders.

Zalaya stood at the foot of the chamber, feathers ruffled with mild annoyance. Asher hovered beside her in his dragoon form, medical supplies clutched in his hands.

“Control yourself, dragon king,” Zalaya scolded, her harpy voice carrying the sharp edges of one accustomed to dealing with territorial alphas. “We come to check on your Luna, not steal her.”

Ignis exhaled, a wisp of smoke curling from his nostrils as he relaxed his protective stance fractionally. His crimson gaze remained fixed on the healers, tracking their every movement.

“How fares she?” he asked, voice projecting directly into their minds.

Ignis watched Asher approach, every step deliberate as he set his supplies on the nearby table. Logic reminded him they were allies—friends—but instinct growled beneath the surface. The omega in his arms was vulnerable, her scent laced with a trace of her upcoming heat, and they were alone in his chambers.

His muscles coiled, jaw tightening as the urge to shield her surged unbidden. He didn’t move, didn’t speak.

This was Asher—one of the clan’s healers. He knew that.

But recent chaos had sharpened something in him—territorial, possessive, impossible to ignore.

With careful steps, Asher presented his neck—a silent offering of deference. “That’s what we’ve come to determine.”

“Proceed.” Ignis granted permission reluctantly, though he refused to move away from Sora’s sleeping form. He watched as Zalaya joined him, her taloned hands gentle as they examined the embedded scale at Sora’s side.

“The wound closes well,” she murmured, fingers tracing the edge where his ruby scale met Sora’s silver-tinged skin. “The corruption is neutralized. Your scale has taken root—a physical manifestation of your bond.”

Asher placed his palm on Sora’s forehead, eyes closing in concentration. “Her life force strengthens, but slowly. The injury occurred when her transformation was nearly complete—her body must recover that progress while also healing the wound.”

“And after?” Ignis demanded, his mental voice taut with concern.

Zalaya and Asher exchanged a look heavy with meaning. The harpy’s wings shifted, settling tighter against her back.

“When her transformation completes,” Zalaya said gently, each word chosen with care, “she will enter her first heat. There is no stopping it now—it is inevitable. And the bond you’ve already begun to form with her... it will only deepen the experience, intensify the process.”

“She already showed early signs,” Ignis revealed, remembering Sora’s feverish skin, her scent thickening with sweet need. “A burning sensation. An overwhelming longing.”

“Then it will be any day now,” Zalaya confirmed, her ancient eyes studying him with knowing intensity. “You must prepare for what comes. When it begins, the pull between you will be... overwhelming.”

Ignis shifted slightly, scales rustling against stone as he adjusted his position around Sora’s sleeping form. “I will not take advantage,” he stated firmly, offended that she thought he needed the reminder. “Even with our lives bound together, the choice remains hers.” His tail coiled protectively around the perimeter of their shared space. “But I will allow no other near my treasure.”

The possessive growl that accompanied his declaration resonated through the chamber, vibrating the very stones beneath them. He lowered his head, inhaling Sora’s sweet scent—moonflowers now laced with cinnamon and the faintest hint of ash, a promise that she still lived.

Zalaya’s beak curved in what might have been a smile. “I can see how her heat will present quite the challenge, given your possessiveness.”

“No one would be foolish enough to approach her as a potential mate,” Asher added, packing away his examination tools. “She clearly bears your claim mark now. But with your life forces tied together, the situation grows more... complicated.”

Ignis sobered at the reminder. Their lives were now one—a choice he had made while she lay unconscious, unable to consent. A choice that might earn her hatred when she woke. He would face whatever wrath she unleashed, would bear her anger if it meant she lived.

A movement at the balcony entrance drew his attention. Blaze and Enixa stood there in their dragoon forms, waiting for acknowledgment.

“Enter,” Ignis granted, his posture relaxing slightly at the familiar presence of his Wing Leaders. They were mated—and would give him an update on his army.

“We bring news of the aftermath, my king,” Blaze reported, voice steady despite the exhaustion evident in his copper-scaled face.

“No losses,” Enixa continued, her emerald eyes gleaming with relief. “Though thirteen suffered injuries from essence-poisoned arrows through their wings.”

Asher nodded. “We’ve treated them all. Each should make a full recovery, though the healing progresses slower than normal due to the tips of the arrows being tainted with a substance made with corrupted essence.”

Relief swept through Ignis, cooling the constant simmer of rage he’d carried since Sora’s injury. No losses. His clan remained intact despite Celestoria’s treachery.

“And Ember?” he asked, noticing his personal guard’s absence.

Zalaya’s feathers drooped slightly, her gaze sliding to Enixa. “She suffered the worst of the thirteen injured. The arrow barely missed her heart. Yet she stubbornly refuses proper rest, choosing instead to guard the human prince.”

“She’s been interrogating him,” Blaze added, a hint of grudging admiration in his voice. “Demanding answers about Coal’s treatment, about how they could allow such evil to spread across their kingdom. It’s like some personal vendetta for her.”

Ignis extended his awareness, reaching for the familiar consciousness of his oldest friend and most loyal guard. “Ember,” he called through their mental connection. “Report when you are able.”

“Soon, my king,” came her weary reply. Then, after a pause: “The Luna... does she live?”

Ignis gazed down at Sora’s sleeping form, at the steady rise and fall of her chest, at the silver scales along her sides now regaining their lustrous sheen. Through their newfound bond, he sensed her spirit—wounded but fighting, strengthened by his sacrifice.

“She lives,” he confirmed, the simple truth carrying the weight of everything he had risked to make it so.

Ember’s relief flowed through their connection like cool water. “Then not all is lost.”