Page 4 of Burned Alive to Be His

XVITAR

I drag the human behind me, my grip firm on the front of her tattered tunic.

She is a weightless thing, stumbling over the hot, black sand and jagged rocks, her bare feet ill-suited for my island.

I expect her to scream, to beg, to weep.

The lesser races always do when confronted with true power.

It is their nature. But this one is silent.

Her ragged breaths are the only sound she makes, a counterpoint to the hiss of the waves and the distant, hungry rumble of Bloodstorm Peak.

The silence is… intriguing. It is an anomaly.

It is defiance in a form I have not encountered before.

Her body is a collection of sharp, fragile bones and sun-burnt skin, yet she holds herself with a rigid stillness that is anything but weak.

I can feel the frantic, terrified beat of her heart through the thin fabric of her tunic, a wild bird’s panic, but her face, when I glance down, is a mask of grim resolve.

Her scent is a confusing thing. Underneath the salt, the filth of the sea, and the sharp tang of her fear, there is something else.

Something clean and warm and uniquely… female.

It is different from the scent of the dragon females of my clan, which is always laced with the scent of ozone and pride.

This scent is softer, like sun-warmed earth after a rain.

It stirs a low, possessive hum deep in my blood, a primal instinct I have not felt so keenly before.

It is the instinct of a dragon finding a new, rare gem for its hoard.

As we leave the beach and begin the ascent toward the settlement, the ground becomes hotter, the air thicker with the sulfurous breath of the volcano.

She stumbles, her knees hitting the sharp volcanic rock.

A small, pained gasp escapes her lips, the first sound I have heard her make.

I yank her back to her feet without slowing my pace.

She does not cry out. She simply clenches her jaw, a flicker of pure, unadulterated hatred in her dark brown eyes as she looks at me.

Good. Let her hate me. Hate is a fire. It will keep her alive longer than fear will.

We reach the outer perimeter of the settlement, a series of crude watch posts carved into the rock. The two guards on duty, young males with horns barely a handspan long, snap to attention as I approach. Their eyes widen as they see the creature I drag behind me.

“Xvitar,” one of them says, his voice a mixture of awe and confusion. “What is that?”

“Wreckage,” I say, my voice flat. “Flotsam from the sea.”

I do not stop, pulling her through the main thoroughfare of the settlement.

My people emerge from the mouths of their caverns, their violet and indigo eyes drawn to the strange sight.

The whispers start immediately, a low hiss that spreads like wildfire.

A human. He has brought a human to the island. Alive.

They part for me, a clear path of respect and fear. I am not the Eldest, but my power is undeniable. They know my strength. They know my temper.

Grakar appears from the training circle, his face a thundercloud. His lip is swollen and split from our spar earlier, a dark purple against his grey skin. He blocks my path, his massive arms crossed over his chest. His cronies flank him, their expressions a mixture of challenge and unease.

“What is the meaning of this, Xvitar?” he demands, his eyes flicking from me to the human. “You bring this… filth… into our home?”

The human flinches at the word, her body tensing in my grip. I expect her to cower, to shrink away as any sane, lesser creature would. Instead, she lifts her chin, and a voice, raw and quiet but shockingly clear, cuts through the tension.

“This filth survived the sea,” she says, her dark eyes fixed on Grakar. “A sea that broke your kind’s ships, I’d wager.”

A stunned silence falls over the clearing. Even I am taken aback. The sheer, suicidal audacity of it. She does not shout. She does not posture. She simply states a truth, a challenge wrapped in a quiet statement. It is not a question of strength, but of survival. And she is the one still standing.

Grakar’s face contorts with rage. He takes a step forward, his hand raising as if to strike her. Before he can move, a low growl rips from my chest, a primal sound of warning that promises death. “Touch my prize, Grakar, and you lose that hand.”

I tighten my grip on her, a surge of possessiveness so fierce it startles me. Her small act of courage has stoked a fire within me. She is not just a piece of wreckage. She is a survivor.

“I bring what I please into my home,” I snarl, my eyes locked on Grakar. “This is my island. My kill. My prize. And she has more fire in her than you’ve shown all day. Step aside, before I decide to finish what we started in the circle.”

His eyes narrow, the red in them glowing with fury. “She is a weakness. A parasite. The lesser races bring nothing but disease and corruption. She should be gutted and left for the razor birds.”

“Then you should feel right at home with her,” I retort, my voice dangerously soft.

Before Grakar can respond, a new voice, sharp and melodic, cuts through the tension. “He is right, Xvitar. She is disgusting. Look at her. She will foul the very air we breathe.”

Phina stands at the entrance to her cavern, her arms crossed, her expression one of pure revulsion.

She is beautiful, as all our females are, her scales a shimmering silver, her platinum hair braided with polished obsidian.

She looks at the human as if she is something scraped from the bottom of a boot.

I am about to deliver a scathing reply when a deeper, more commanding voice silences us all.

“That is enough.”

Vorlag emerges from the Great Cavern, his movements slow and deliberate. The clan falls silent, their heads bowing in respect. Even Grakar gives a grudging nod. The Eldest Dragon approaches, his old, wise eyes taking in the scene. He does not look at me or Grakar. His entire focus is on the human.

He circles her, his gaze analytical, intense. The human stands utterly still in my grasp, her head held high. She does not cower before him. She meets his ancient gaze with her own, her small, defiant chin lifted. I feel that strange, unwelcome surge of pride again.

“The sea has delivered,” Vorlag says, his voice resonating with a power that has absolutely nothing to do with muscle. He turns to the assembled clan. “For generations, we have heard the prophecies. We have waited. The glamour has fallen. And now, the sea has brought us the key.”

A murmur of disbelief and excitement ripples through the crowd. Grakar scoffs openly. “The key? Eldest, it is a half-drowned rat. It is nothing.”

“It is everything,” Vorlag says, his voice silencing all dissent. He raises his hands. “Tonight, we honor the Hearthkeeper! For she has sent us the first candidate! The first human to face the Dragon Bride Trials!”

The words hit the crowd like a war drum. A moment of stunned silence, and then chaos erupts. Shouts of disbelief, of anger, of a desperate, sudden hope. The Dragon Bride Trials. A legend. A myth whispered to hatchlings. A fool’s hope I myself had scorned not hours ago.

And now, it is real. And the catalyst for it all is the trembling, defiant creature in my hand.

Grakar roars in fury. “You cannot be serious! You would stake the survival of our race on this… this thing ? I will not allow it! I challenge this folly!”

“There is no challenge to be made,” Vorlag says, his voice cold as stone. “It is the will of the goddess. The trials will proceed. She must be tested. She must prove her worth.”

My mind races, the political currents of the clan swirling around me.

Vorlag has made his move, using this creature to solidify his power, to give the clan a focus for their fear and restlessness.

Grakar challenges him, offering a path of conquest instead of faith.

And I… I stand in the center, holding the prize.

If she is to be tested, then her keeper will hold immense influence.

Her success—or failure—will reflect upon the one who claims her.

If Grakar or his faction were to claim her, they would ensure she fails, proving Vorlag a fool and seizing power.

If Vorlag’s supporters claim her, they will coddle her, a weakness Grakar will exploit.

A primal, possessive instinct, sharp and undeniable, rises in me. She is mine . I found her. She is my treasure. I will not allow her to be a pawn in their games. I will not allow her fate to be decided by a bitter rival or a fading elder. I will control this. I will control her .

I take a step forward, pulling the human with me, and I speak, my voice ringing with an authority that challenges even the Eldest.

“Then I claim her.”

The word hangs in the sulfurous air, a declaration of war and intent. Grakar’s head snaps toward me, his face a tortured mask of disbelief and rage. Vorlag’s eyes gleam with a calculating light. Phina lets out a small, wounded hiss.

“I claim the right, as her discoverer,” I continue, my voice growling low. “I will be her keeper. I will oversee her trials. Her strength will be forged by my fire. Her survival will be my will. She belongs to me.”

I punctuate the last words by yanking her closer, my arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against my body.

She is so small, so fragile against me. I can feel every line of her ribs, the frantic flutter of her pulse against my scaled skin.

She gasps, her hands coming up to push against my chest, a futile gesture of defiance.

Her scent fills my senses, intoxicating and infuriating.

Vorlag studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “So be it. Xvitar will be her keeper. The trials will begin at dawn. Her first test… is to survive the night.”

He turns and retreats into the Great Cavern, the matter settled. The clan begins to disperse, casting glances at me, at the human pressed against me, their whispers following us. Grakar gives me a look of pure murder before stalking away, his faction trailing behind him like jackals.

I am left alone with my prize.

I gaze down at her. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with a terror she is trying desperately to conceal. She is still pushing against my chest, her small hands flat against the hard muscle and scale.

“Stop,” I command.

She freezes, her hands still pressed against me.

“You are mine now, human,” I say, voice a low rumble meant only for her. “Your life is a gift from me. I can take it back at any moment. Do you understand?”

She does not speak. She simply stares up at me, dark eyes a bottomless well of defiance.

I growl in frustration. Her silence is a weapon, and it is surprisingly effective. I release her, shoving her away from me. “Come.”

I turn and stride toward the outskirts of the settlement, not looking back to see if she follows.

I know she will. She has no other choice.

I lead her away from the main caverns, past the training circle, to a small, isolated cave carved into the base of a volcanic spire.

It is little more than a hollow in the rock, exposed to the elements on one side, the ground nothing but sharp, black grit.

It is a place where we might keep a disobedient beast.

“This is your shelter,” I say, gesturing to the dark opening.

She looks at the cave, then back at me, her expression unreadable.

“You will be brought food and water once a day,” I continue, my voice cold and hard. “If you are still alive. The nights here are cold. The beasts of the island are hungry. Your survival is your own concern. This is your first trial. Do not fail me.”

I turn to leave, to go back to the heat and comfort of my own cavern.

“Why?”

Her voice is a raw, broken whisper, but it stops me in my tracks. It is the second time she has spoken. I turn back to face her. She stands at the mouth of the cave, a small, pathetic figure against the vast, brutal landscape of my home.

“Why what?” I demand.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, her voice gaining a sliver of strength.

I look at her, the dirt on her face, the terror in her eyes, the unyielding spine that refuses to bow. A thousand answers come to mind. For the good of my clan. To spite my rivals. Because it is my right. But the truest answer is the simplest, the most primal.

“Because I can,” I say.

And with that, I leave her alone in the darkness.