Page 7 of Beneath Scales and Shadows (Lost Lunas of Artania #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

IGNIS

The luminescent pool cast rippling patterns across the dark walls, transforming the bathing chamber into a kaleidoscope of blue and violet light. Ignis watched the play of colors across Sora’s face, memorizing every subtle shift of emotion that crossed her features—wariness giving way to wonder, tension slowly unspooling from her shoulders as she trailed her fingers through the steaming water.

Her scent had intensified in the heated chamber, notes of ember and moonflower unfurling in the air between them. His dragon urges stirred, hunger prowling beneath his scales. Even in his dragoon half-form, maintaining control required a century of discipline.

“I’ll turn away,” he said, voice rough as volcanic stone. “Nudity means little among my kind, but I understand humans have different customs.”

A flush spread across her cheeks. “Thank you.”

Ignis positioned himself at the edge of the pool, wings folded tightly against his back, gaze fixed deliberately on the crystal formations jutting from the ceiling—even though they by far weren’t the very thing he was interested in.

Behind him came the whisper of fabric, the soft thud of shoes against stone.

Every instinct screamed for him to turn, to witness the revelation of what was rightfully his. Instead, he tracked her movements through the gleaming faceted reflections scattered across the chamber walls—fragmented glimpses of pale skin and golden hair that pieced together into a mosaic of his greatest treasure.

Her silhouette wavered in a large amethyst formation—slender limbs, the graceful curve of her spine, hair tumbling past her shoulders. His talons dug into the stone beneath him, carving furrows as deep as his restraint.

The splash of water followed by a startled gasp broke his concentration.

“Are you alright?” he called, turning instinctively toward the sound.

Sora stood waist-deep in the pool, her wide eyes meeting his. For a heartbeat, time suspended—her body partially revealed in the clear water, faint white scales shimmering along her collarbone and shoulders where moonlight from a high, discrete window touched her skin.

“You’re watching me!” She dropped lower, arms crossing over her chest as she sank until the water reached her chin.

Heat surged through him—not merely desire but something deeper, more primal. The need to possess, to claim, to mark. To make her undeniably his.

“I apologize,” he managed, the words scraping past the growl building in his throat. “The reflections—”

Her expression changed suddenly, eyes rolling back as she slipped beneath the surface without warning. Panic overrode every other instinct. Ignis launched himself into the pool, water exploding around him as he dove after her sinking form.

His arms encircled her waist, talons carefully spread to avoid her fragile skin as he pulled her upward. They broke the surface together, Sora gasping and coughing against his chest.

“What happened?” he demanded, cradling her against him, her naked body pressed to his scales.

“The heat—I got dizzy,” she panted, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “The water feels strange—overwhelming.”

“The mineral properties affect those with dragon blood differently,” he explained, treading water effortlessly despite her weight. “Your transformation accelerates in its presence.”

Water streamed from her hair, tracing paths across skin now visibly threaded with silver scales along her shoulders and spine. The dragon in him roared with satisfaction at this evidence of her true nature emerging.

She blinked up at him, confusion warring with something darker, more heated in her gaze. Her hands didn’t retreat from his shoulders; instead, they explored tentatively, fingers tracing the ridges of scales where they transitioned from ruby to obsidian and gold near his collarbone.

“You’re warm,” she whispered. “Like holding fire beneath stone.”

The innocent touch threatened to shatter his control. Her body—soft, yielding, human yet increasingly not—pressed against the hardness of his scaled form. Need coiled tight within him, a serpent preparing to strike.

He could take her now. Claim her in these sacred waters, bind her to him forever. His instincts demanded it.

But his soul refused.

“Let me care for you,” he said instead, voice rough with restraint. Shifting her weight to one arm, he reached out with his mind, calling to his clan’s healer and artificer. “Zalaya, I require cleansing items at my chambers. And appropriate garments for my Luna.”

Sora’s arms tightened around his neck as he carried her to the shallows, settling her on a smooth stone ledge where the water lapped at her waist. Distance helped clear his mind, though not by much.

“Who did you just call?” she asked, perception sharper than he’d anticipated. “I felt something—like a vibration in the air.”

“Zalaya. Another one of our clan’s healers and creator of magical items,” he explained, moving to retrieve a soft cloth from nearby. “She’ll bring what you need.”

The beaded curtain chimed moments later, announcing Zalaya’s arrival. The harpy entered with practiced dignity, her magnificent wings folded elegantly against her back, feathers transitioning from midnight blue to silver at the tips. The silver streaks in her elaborately braided dark hair matched her wing tips, while taloned feet clicked softly against the stone floor. Despite her avian features—sharp eyes that missed nothing, a slightly hooked nose, and delicate feathers in place of eyebrows—her face carried a distinctly feminine beauty, weathered by age but no less striking.

“My king,” she greeted, bowing slightly before turning curious amber eyes to Sora. “And the twice-born.”

Sora sank deeper into the water, discomfort evident in her posture.

“This is Zalaya,” Ignis introduced. “She has served as healer and artificer to the Dralux Clan since the beginning of my reign.”

“The last of my tribe,” Zalaya added, her voice melodic with the faint undertone that all harpies carried. “When humans slaughtered my people for our feathers and magic, King Ignis offered sanctuary. I serve willingly where once I believed I would never bow to any creature.”

She placed a wooden box at the pool’s edge, her taloned hands moving with practiced efficiency as she arranged bottles of various sizes.

“Cleansing oils from our fae allies in the eastern forests,” she explained, uncorking a vial that released the scent of mountain herbs. “And a sleeping robe woven from silk traded with the spider folk of the elves in northern valleys. Your transformation follows the ancient patterns—faster than most, but that is to be expected of the first chosen by the Moon Goddess herself.”

Her head tilted as she studied Sora with centuries of practiced wisdom. “The scale patterns along your shoulders—they match the constellation of the Dragon Mother that appears when the white moon covers the blue. A significant omen.”

“When you’re ready, I should examine you,” she continued. “The transition between worlds can leave... complications. Soul-memories that conflict with your physical vessel, dreams that feel more real than waking life. The mind struggles to reconcile two existences merged into one.”

“Complications?” Sora echoed, glancing between them.

“Later,” Ignis interjected, sensing her rising anxiety. “Rest first.”

“As you wish, my king.” Zalaya nodded, understanding the unspoken command. “Sleep well, Luna.” She bowed once more before departing, the beaded curtain singing her exit.

Alone again, Ignis returned his attention to Sora. “May I?” he asked, holding up the cloth and a bottle of cleansing oil.

Her hesitation was brief but noticeable. “I can do it myself.”

“You could,” he acknowledged, tilting his head. “Or you could allow me to care for what is mine.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I don’t belong to you.”

“Not yet,” he conceded, the words carrying absolute certainty. “But you will. The question is not if, but when .”

Something flickered in her eyes—not fear, but a recognition that ran soul-deep. She studied him for a long moment before sighing, offering a slight nod.

“Just... be careful,” she murmured. “I’m not used to being touched by someone, especially someone with claws.”

Her confession pleased him.

Ignis approached with deliberate slowness, settling behind her on the stone ledge. He uncorked the bottle, pouring fragrant oil into his palm before setting it aside. With careful precision, he gathered her wet hair, working the oil from roots to ends with gentleness that belied his powerful form.

Soft mewls and moans slipped from her lips, stoking the fire in his veins.

“The merfolk trade us these,” he explained, retrieving a loofah sponge from Zalaya’s supplies as he tried to distract himself from her delicious sounds. “They harvest them from coral reefs beyond the eastern sea.”

He worked the sponge across her shoulders, following the emerging pattern of scales with reverent attention. Each stroke revealed more of her true nature—silver scales catching the cavern’s dim light, transforming her skin into living artwork.

“Your heritage emerges more rapidly than I anticipated,” he observed, tracing a particularly vibrant cluster along her spine. “The sacred waters accelerate the process.”

“Is that... good?” Her voice wavered between curiosity and concern.

“It’s inevitable,” he replied simply. “Fighting your nature only prolongs the discomfort.”

Under his ministrations, she gradually relaxed, her body yielding to his touch. When he reached the sensitive skin behind her ears, she made a long soft sound—half sigh, half moan—that sent heat coursing through him anew.

“Dragons are tactile creatures,” he explained, focusing on the task to maintain control. “Touch affirms bonds, establishes hierarchy, expresses devotion.”

“Is that what this is?” she asked, her voice low. “Devotion?”

His hands paused. “This is restraint,” he admitted. “My desire to claim you wars with my respect for your awakening.”

The confession hung between them, heavy with implication. She didn’t respond, but her pulse quickened, the scent of her own desire mingling with the mineral-rich water.

When she was thoroughly cleansed, he guided her from the pool, wrapping her in the silk robe Zalaya had provided. The fabric clung to her damp skin, outlining curves that his hands itched to explore.

“Come,” he said, leading her back through the beaded curtain to the main chamber. “You need rest.”

At the foot of the smaller sleeping platform stood an ornate chest, its surface inlaid with mother-of-pearl and precious gems.

“Zalaya has provided suitable attire,” he explained, gesturing toward it. “Clothing befitting your station.”

Sora ran her fingers over the chest’s surface. “And what station is that, exactly?”

His gaze met hers, unwavering. “Queen.”

Her sharp intake of breath was the only indication of her surprise. She opened the chest, revealing garments in rich fabrics—silks, velvets, and materials unique to Artania, all in jewel tones that would complement her emerging scales.

“I should leave you to your privacy,” he said, though every part of him screamed against it. “My energy wanes. Without the mask, maintaining this form becomes... challenging.”

“You’re returning to full dragon form?”

He nodded. “It’s my natural state. More comfortable, particularly for sleeping.”

“Will you...” She hesitated. “Will you still be able to speak with me?”

“Always,” he assured her, touched by the concern in her voice. “Through the faint dragon blood in your veins, our connection transcends physical form.”

He retreated to the enormous stone slab at the chamber’s center, covered in furs and silks gathered over centuries. No matter how vast his treasure hoard—and it was legendary even among dragonkind—nothing in his collection compared to the woman now standing at the edge of her sleeping platform, watching him with eyes that held the sky.

“Rest, Sora,” he said softly. “Tomorrow will soon be here.”

His form began to shift, scales flowing like liquid fire as his body expanded to its true size. Wings unfurled, stretching to their full impressive span before folding against his sides. The transformation complete, he settled onto his stone slab, curling his formidable body into a comfortable position, tail wrapping protectively around the perimeter of the smaller sleeping platform where she stood.

“Sleep well, my queen , ” he projected into her mind, crimson eyes gleaming in the dimming light.

“I’m not your queen,” she whispered, frowning, but the protest lacked conviction.

“Not yet , ” he responded once again, watching as she slipped beneath silken covers. “But some truths transcend denial.”

As her breathing deepened into sleep, Ignis maintained his vigil. His most precious treasure lay within the circle of his tail, finally where she belonged—in his mountain, under his protection.

After centuries of waiting, the prophecy was unfolding for his clan.

But prophecies carried danger as well as promise. The Celestorian royal family would not surrender their power without a fight. They would come for her, seeking to destroy what they could not control.

Let them come. A low growl rumbled in his chest. Fire awaited any who threatened what was his.

In her sleep, Sora stirred, responding unconsciously to his protective fury. The scales along her exposed shoulder caught the fading light, silver against her pale skin—the mark of her dual nature emerging. Dragon and human. Death and rebirth.

A flash of movement at the chamber’s entrance drew his attention. Ember stood in the shadows, her scarred face unreadable as she observed the sleeping woman.

“Report ,” he commanded softly.

“Our scouts confirm the castle is in chaos,” she responded, her voice barely above a whisper. “The king has called his war council. The queen prepares and gathers her mages, hoping their magic is strong enough to cast old binding spells thought lost to time.”

“And the princess?”

Ember’s expression darkened. “Disappeared into the lower dungeons with the royal alchemist. They took three newly turned omegas discovered at the Selection as prisoners with them.”

Rage flared in Ignis’s chest, smoke curling from his nostrils. The implications were clear—and horrifying. The royal family’s persecution of omegas had always been brutal, but this suggested something worse. Something unnatural.

“Double the border patrols , ” he ordered. “No human crosses our territory without detection.”

“And if they come with armies?” Ember asked, her duty as King’s Guard compelling her to voice the question.

Ignis’s gaze returned to Sora, peaceful in sleep, unaware of the storm gathering around her existence.

“Then they will learn why dragons ruled this land long before humans drew breath , ” he answered, ancient fury lacing his thoughts. “And now we have our queen, they should fear our return.”

As Ember departed to carry out his orders, Ignis settled deeper into his protective coil. Sleep would elude him tonight. Too many threads were being woven together—involving prophecy and politics, ancient magic and new beginnings.

His mountains. His queen. His destiny.

In her sleep, Sora murmured something unintelligible, her hand reaching out as though seeking something—or someone. Without conscious thought, Ignis extended the tip of his tail, allowing it to rest near her outstretched fingers.

Her hand settled against his scales, and she sighed, tension releasing from her body even in slumber.

The connection hummed between them, undeniable even in unconsciousness— her soul recognized what her mind still fought.

Outside the mountain stronghold, thunder rumbled across distant skies—a warning, perhaps, or a promise.

Deep down, he knew her arrival was just the beginning—and he was prepared for what was to come.