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Zarvash
They watched us.
Drakarn eyes, calculating, their nostrils flaring as we passed. Some bared teeth; others looked away, hiding curiosity under a veil of unease. I heard the whispers: Zarvash claimed a human .
The Forge Temple acolytes turned their yellow robed backs on us as we passed. Karyseth had already cursed me. But Jalliun, another priest, had invited me to dine at his table. The temple wasn't all fanatics. And not all eyes glared.
When she walked beside me, chin high, shoulders square, worries shrank to nothing.
Our quarters were a fortress against the world. Four stone walls, a heavy door, privacy that was only ours. All that mattered. She moved through the dim light, braid loosening, bruises fading across her jaw. Tired, but unyielding. I watched her, needing the strength she gave me.
Habit took over: strip out of my leathers, assess my still healing wing, gulp water in silence.
The flight from Ignarath had done me no favors, and Mysha had yelled at me for more than an hour when I finally went to see her.
Vega sat on the edge of the sleeping platform, flicking grit from her sleeves.
Light from the crystals painted her skin in gold and red, tracing every bruise. I counted her injuries. I kept score.
One day, Ignarath would pay for every drop of her blood a hundredfold.
“Sit,” she said, voice rough but steady. I obeyed.
My wing throbbed with each heartbeat. She unwound the bandages carefully, her hands stable no matter how I flinched. Over the last week, this had become our ritual.
She shoved a mug of water filled with herbs into my hands. “Drink. Collapse on me, and I’ll leave you where you lie.”
I smirked. “It takes more than this to finish me.” But I tossed back the drink with a grimace. The healing herbs were bitter and made my wing burn even more.
But there was something more than pain, something that had been on my mind since my discussion with Jalliun.
“I want our bond recognized at the Forge Temple.”
I felt her breath hitch, watched her brace as if I’d struck her. Her voice was pure disbelief. “You’re insane. Orla and Rath barely survived the Temple’s games. You want to offer them our throats?”
I wanted to reach out and hold her, to cradle her close, but I knew she needed the space to think. “No trial. No spectacle. Just vows. Public, open. I want all of Scalvaris to know you’re mine.”
She blinked. Something flickered in her eyes. She fought it, swiping at her eyes before looking at me with an expression she would give no one else. “Zarvash, this is so new. We're just?—”
I took her hands in mine. No retreat. “You’re my mate. There is nothing new about it. This is an ancient thing. A timeless thing. You and I. Always. I would have died in Ignarath, in more ways than one without you. I want witnesses. I want every scale in this city to see it.”
Silence still. Then her mouth twitched. “You want them to know you lost a bet to a human?”
I growled. “Be serious. I chose. Fate chose. Anyone who doesn't like it can choke.”
She squeezed my hand, rough as ever, then pulled my face down for a kiss. Not soft. Fierce, like we might devour each other before the city could. Salt, ash, sweat, and need. I drank her in, jaw aching, fists closing around air. Should’ve stopped. Didn’t. This, here, was the only thing that fit.
We pulled apart, breath ragged. Her forehead rested against mine.
She stared, a crooked smile bending her lips. “You think this is easy? You want a Temple oath? We’ll be lucky if Karyseth doesn't burn us.”
I bared my teeth, grinning. “I didn’t limp out of Ignarath for easy.”
She laughed, sharp and defiant. The world outside bristled with rumors and steel. None of it mattered. Not here.
She caught the spikes of my jaw and pulled me closer. “Fine. Your way. Let them try.”
The satisfaction was almost mean. Not hope. That was dangerous.
I pressed my lips to her brow, soft, just long enough to remember it. “I’ll arrange it,” I said. “Let them come.”
She kissed me again, all teeth and need. I let her take everything she wanted, answered with something just as rough.