Page 11 of Burned Alive to Be His

XVITAR

F rom the heat-hazed entrance of my cavern, I watch the aftermath of the human’s small, vicious victory.

A grim, unwelcome satisfaction curls in my gut, a feeling I immediately crush.

It is not pleasure I feel. It is approval.

Approval of a tool that has proven itself unexpectedly sharp.

The creature’s cunning is a resource, one that might just keep her alive long enough to be useful.

Her humiliation of Phina was a strategic, effective maneuver. Nothing more.

The lie is thin, brittle as cooled lava.

The truth is, the sight of Phina, so perfect and proud, covered in stinking mud while the warriors of my clan roared with laughter, was the most amusing thing I have seen in years.

The human did not use strength. She did not use magic.

She used the weapons of the weak—observation and trickery—and with them, she brought a dragon to her knees.

I turn my back on the scene, the sound of the clan’s laughter still echoing outside.

I stride deeper into the warmth of my cavern, the air thick with the essence of hot stone and my own power.

I should be training. I should be focusing on the growing threat of Grakar and his faction.

Instead, my thoughts are consumed by a slip of a human who smells of the sea and defiance.

She is a complication. A disruption to the natural order of things.

Before she arrived, my path was clear: grow stronger, challenge Vorlag when the time was right, and lead my people through strength, not through clinging to the tattered threads of a dying prophecy.

Now, that path is shrouded in a strange, irritating fog. And the fog has a name. Judith.

A movement at the entrance to my cavern draws my attention.

Phina stands there, a silhouette against the harsh afternoon light.

She has cleaned herself, her platinum hair once again a perfect, intricate braid, her scales shimmering.

But the mud is gone, the fury remains. It radiates from her in waves, a tightly controlled inferno just beneath her skin.

“May I enter, Xvitar?” she asks, her voice a low, melodic purr that does not quite conceal the sharp edges of her rage.

“You are already here,” I say, not bothering to turn fully toward her. I run a hand over the cool, smooth surface of a large, fossilized leviathan bone, one of the prizes of my hoard.

She glides into the cavern, her movements a study in predatory grace. She stops behind me, so close I can sense the heat of her body. “The clan laughs at me,” she whispers, her voice a venomous hiss. “Because of your pet.”

“If you are so easily felled by a creature with no claws and no magic, perhaps you deserve their laughter,” I say, my voice cold.

Her hands come to rest on my shoulders, her claws, sharp as obsidian shards, lightly tracing the lines of my muscles through my tunic. It is a touch that has brought lesser males to their knees. “She is a disgrace. A filthy, weak thing. You shame yourself by keeping her. You shame our people.”

“She survived the Serpent’s Maw,” I state, the fact a hard, undeniable stone. “That is more than some of our own warriors could do.”

“She was lucky,” Phina spits. “A rat’s luck.

It will run out.” Her claws dig in slightly, a warning.

“Cast her aside, Xvitar. Let Grakar have her for his sport, or let me finish what I started. Stand with me. Together, we are the strongest pairing in this clan. Our children would be true dragons, not the half-breed filth this prophecy demands.”

She moves around me, her eyes locking with mine.

With a slow, deliberate movement, she unties the leather cords of her tunic.

The garment falls to the floor, pooling at her feet.

She stands before me, naked and magnificent, a perfect specimen of our kind.

Her body is a landscape of power and grace, her muscles taut, her skin a flawless canvas of shimmering silver scales.

Her breasts are high and full, her hips a warrior’s curve.

She is everything a dragon male is taught to desire. Beautiful. Powerful. Proud.

She steps closer, pressing her naked body against mine. Her skin is cool, her scales smooth against my own. “Forget the human,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against my jaw. “Let me remind you what a real female feels like. Let me burn the memory of that pathetic creature from your mind.”

Her hands slide down my chest, over the hard planes of my stomach, toward the laces of my breeches. Her touch is practiced, skilled, promising a familiar, uncomplicated release. A year ago, a month ago, I would have taken her without a second thought, right here on the stone floor of my cavern.

But as she presses against me, as her scent of ozone and cold pride fills my senses, my mind conjures another image.

Judith.

I see her on the ursain pelt, her body a pale, fragile offering in the darkness.

I remember the shocking softness of her skin, unadorned by scales.

I remember the web of faint, silvery scars on her back, a map of a life I cannot comprehend.

I remember the taste of her, a wild, desperate flavor of fear and a shocking, unwilling sweetness.

I remember the way her body, so defiant in its will, came apart for me, her broken moans a symphony of surrender.

Phina is perfection. She is a flawless statue carved from obsidian and moonlight. But Judith… Judith is a raging, imperfect fire. And in this moment, I find myself craving the burn.

Phina’s perfection feels… sterile. Her practiced seduction feels hollow. Her touch lacks the raw, desperate friction of the human’s.

I grab her wrists, my grip like iron, stopping her hands just inches from their goal. Her eyes widen in shock.

“No,” I say in a low, final growl.

“What?” she hisses, her seduction shattering, revealing the raw fury beneath. “You would deny me? For her ?”

“I would deny you because I am not in the mood for your games, Phina,” I say, shoving her back. She stumbles, her perfect body losing its grace for a moment. I feel a cold, grim satisfaction at the sight.

She recovers quickly, her face a mask of pure, venomous rage. “You are a fool, Xvitar! She has bewitched you! Can you not see it? She makes you weak!”

“She is a tool,” I snarl, my patience gone.

“A means to an end. Nothing more. Her mind and body are required for the trials. They must be unbroken. You will not interfere again. You will not touch her. You will not even look in her direction in a way I do not like. She is mine to test. Not yours to break. Do you understand me?”

My voice is a low, dangerous rumble, a promise of violence that she, unlike the human, understands perfectly. Fear flickers in her eyes, quickly masked by hatred.

“You will regret this,” she spits. She snatches her tunic from the floor and stalks out of my cavern, her pride a shattered, glittering thing.

I stand there, my body humming with a strange, restless energy. The confrontation has left a foul taste in my mouth. I look down at my own hands, at the scales that cover them, and for a fleeting, insane moment, I wonder what it would feel like to have soft skin.

“So the great Xvitar is brought low by a piece of human filth. You defend her honor?”

Grakar’s voice, thick with mockery, comes from the entrance of my cavern. He stands there, leaning against the rock wall, a cruel, knowing smile on his face. He has been watching. Of course, he has.

“I defend my property,” I say, turning to face him. “Something you would understand if you had anything worth owning.”

He laughs, a short, ugly bark. “Property? Is that what you call it? I saw you, Xvitar. I saw the way you looked at her after she made a fool of Phina. That was not the look of a master assessing his tool. That was the look of a male, blinded by a soft body and a strange scent.”

“You see what your ambition wants you to see,” I retort, my voice dangerously calm. “You are looking for weakness where there is none.”

He pushes himself off the wall and takes a few steps into my cavern, his presence a brutish, unwelcome intrusion.

“Am I? I see a warrior who has lost his focus. A predator who has forgotten how to hunt. You spend your days watching a human, providing for her, protecting her from the insults of our own kind. You have not challenged me in the circle since she arrived. You have not led a hunt. Your fire is being banked, Xvitar. And she is the one smothering the flames.”

“My fire is my own concern,” I snarl, my temper beginning to fray.

“It is the clan’s concern!” he roars, his voice echoing in the cavern.

“Vorlag fills our heads with prophecies of salvation through weakness, and you, our strongest warrior, are the first to fall into the trap! That thing,” he says, jabbing a thick finger in the direction of Judith’s cave, “is not our salvation. It is a disease. And it is your downfall.”

He steps closer, his eyes burning with a fanatical light.

“Mark my words. You are becoming obsessed. This obsession will make you weak. And when you fall, I will be there to take your place. I will lead our people down the path of strength, of conquest. I will burn the weakness from this clan, starting with your pathetic human pet.”

He holds my gaze for a long, charged moment, the air crackling with the unspoken promise of a future battle. Then, he turns and leaves, his heavy footsteps echoing his challenge.

I am left alone in the silence of my cavern, the words of both Phina and Grakar ringing in my ears. They are vipers, striking from the shadows, their words coated in the venom of their own ambition. I should dismiss them. I should ignore them.

But I cannot.

Because a cold, hard part of me knows that they are right.

I am becoming obsessed.

This human, this strange, fragile, defiant creature, has burrowed under my scales in a way I do not understand and cannot control. She is a constant, irritating presence in my thoughts, a low-grade fever in my blood.

I stride to the entrance of my cavern and look out. I can see her, a small figure patiently rebuilding the stone windbreak that Phina’s cronies destroyed. She moves with a quiet, determined grace, her focus absolute. She is a creature of immense, infuriating resilience.

Grakar called her my downfall.

I watch her, and for the very first time, I feel a flicker of something other than rage or lust or possessiveness. It is a cold, sharp spike of fear. Not for me.

For her.

Because in this world of fire and stone and predators, I am beginning to realize that I may be the most dangerous thing of all.