Page 11 of Davoren (Dragon Master Daddies #1)

C onsciousness returned in stages, each one more luxurious than the last. First came the silk against my skin, so soft it felt like floating in warm water.

Then the scent—smoke and spice and something wild that made my mark pulse before I'd even opened my eyes.

Finally, the light: not harsh morning sun but a gentle golden glow that seemed to emanate from the very walls themselves.

I lay still for a moment, cataloging my surroundings without moving.

The bed beneath me was beautiful. It was an ocean of midnight blue silk and black velvet, large enough to hold a small dinner party.

When I finally turned my head, I saw why the light seemed so alive—veins of gold ran through the obsidian walls like frozen lightning, pulsing with a rhythm that matched my heartbeat.

Or maybe matched the mark's heartbeat. The distinction was already blurring.

My body felt different. Not dramatically—I still had all the same parts in the same places—but there was a strength in my muscles that hadn't existed yesterday.

When I stretched, the movement felt more fluid, more controlled.

My feet, which should have been agony after yesterday's abuse, only ached dully.

I pulled back the silk sheet to examine them and found most of the cuts already closed, leaving behind thin pink lines that would probably fade by evening.

Dragon constitution, he'd said. Even incomplete, the bond was already changing me.

The knock at my door was perfunctory, three precise raps that announced Scarlet's presence before she entered.

She moved through my chambers—and when had I started thinking of them as mine?

—with the same measured efficiency I'd witnessed yesterday.

This morning she wore deep purple, the color making her amber eyes seem almost gold.

"Good morning, Lady Lyris." She set a copper tray on the table near the window with a soft clink. "I trust you slept well?"

"Like the dead." I sat up, pulling the sheet around myself, though modesty seemed pointless after yesterday. "Is that common? After the mark manifests?"

"The bond requires a great deal of energy to establish itself." She began uncovering dishes with practiced movements. "Your body needed rest to integrate the changes. Come, you should eat. The ceremony tonight will demand strength."

The casual mention of tonight's ceremony sent heat pooling low in my belly. I wrapped myself in the sheet and padded to the table, trying not to think about what 'demands' might entail.

The breakfast spread belonged in a palace, not a volcanic fortress.

Honeyed dates that glistened like gems, their sweetness so intense one bite made my teeth ache.

Quail eggs prepared with saffron that turned them golden, their flavor rich and somehow wild.

Bread so light it barely seemed solid, more cloud than crust, that dissolved on my tongue like a whisper.

But it was the tea that nearly undid me. The first sip sent cinnamon across my tongue, familiar and warming. Then came the something else—a flavor I couldn't name that made my mark flare to life, sending tendrils of heat down my spine and pooling between my thighs.

"Dragon's mint," Scarlet supplied, watching my reaction with what might have been amusement. "It encourages the bond's development. Master Davoren has it specially cultivated."

Of course he did. Everything here was specifically designed, deliberately chosen. Including me, apparently.

"Where is he?" I tried to sound casual, but the mark betrayed me, pulsing with obvious longing.

"Attending to territory disputes at the northern border. The Drake Lords grow restless when the mating season approaches—territorial challenges increase." She poured herself tea with economical movements. "He'll return by sunset for the binding ceremony."

There it was again—that casual reference to tonight that made my insides liquify. "What exactly does the ceremony involve?"

Scarlet's smile was knowing. "That's between you and Master Davoren. But I can tell you this—dragon binding ceremonies are unlike anything humans practice. They're more . . . comprehensive."

Comprehensive. What a delightfully vague way to describe what would happen to me tonight.

"The keep has seven levels," Scarlet continued, clearly changing the subject.

"You're on level four, the guest quarters—though that designation will change after tonight.

Level three houses the libraries, should you wish to research dragon customs. Level five contains the gardens, though I'd advise caution—not all the plants are friendly to the unbonded.

Level two is servants' quarters and kitchens.

Level one is the great hall and receiving chambers. "

"And levels six and seven?"

"Master Davoren's workshop occupies level six. His private chambers are on seven." She paused, setting down her teacup with deliberate precision. "You're free to explore any level. Though some doors only open to those who bear the completed bond."

The way she said it suggested those doors hid things I both desperately wanted and feared to discover.

"I'll leave you to prepare," she said, rising with that same fluid grace. "Clothes have been provided." She gestured to a wardrobe I hadn't noticed, its doors slightly ajar. "Master Davoren selected them himself."

My cheeks heated at the implication. He'd chosen clothes for me. Decided what would touch my skin, what would display or conceal my body. The thought shouldn't have affected me so strongly, but my mark practically purred at the evidence of his attention.

After Scarlet departed, I approached the wardrobe with the caution of someone expecting snakes.

Inside hung a single dress. Midnight blue silk that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, with a neckline that would frame my mark perfectly.

The fabric was so fine I could see my hand through it, though somehow when worn it would probably be more suggestion than revelation.

Beside it sat soft leather slippers that looked like they'd been made for my feet specifically. Knowing Davoren's attention to detail, they probably had been. There seemed to be no end to his knowledge and capabilities.

I held the dress up to myself, studying my reflection in the volcanic glass that served as a mirror. The woman looking back seemed a stranger—wild-haired, mark glowing faintly on her shoulder, holding a dress that belonged to someone who'd accepted their fate rather than fighting it.

But hadn't I already accepted? I'd taken his hand. Ridden him. Come for him. And I’d agreed to tonight's ceremony before I even knew what it entailed.

I dropped the sheet and reached for the dress, silk sliding over my skin like water, like the first taste of a transformation I was only beginning to understand.

The library doors stood twice my height and opened at my approach without sound or visible mechanism, as if the keep itself had been waiting for me to seek its secrets.

Inside, the air tasted of old paper with an undertone of sulfur that reminded me where I was—inside a volcano, looking at books meant for no human eyes.

The shelves stretched up beyond sight, disappearing into shadows that seemed too thick for natural darkness.

Some books chained themselves to their shelves with locks that looked more like living creatures than metal.

Others floated freely, orbiting each other in slow patterns that hurt to track with human eyes.

I reached for one that seemed safe—bound in simple leather, no visible teeth or warning signs—and immediately regretted it.

The text swam before my eyes, symbols reshaping themselves every time I blinked.

One moment they looked like ancient draconic script, the next like mathematical equations that described concepts my mind couldn't grasp.

The harder I tried to focus, the more the words seemed to crawl off the page and burrow into my brain sideways.

"Temporal dynamics of geological shaping," I read aloud, and tasted copper in my mouth. The next line made my nose bleed. I shelved the book quickly, wiping away the blood with fingers that trembled slightly.

So. Dragon knowledge came with a price. Good to know.

The gardens on level five proved equally treacherous in their beauty.

Here, Davoren had created an impossibility—a thriving botanical paradise inside a volcano.

The air hung thick with perfume and humidity, steam rising from thermal vents that had been cunningly directed to create microclimates.

Roses made of living crystal chimed when the heat-breeze touched them, their music almost forming words.

Vines moved without wind, reaching toward me with an intelligence that made me step carefully.

It was the tree that caught me, though. Its fruit glowed like captured starlight, each one perfectly round and no bigger than my thumb.

They smelled like every good thing I'd ever tasted—my mother's cardamom buns, spring water after a hard ride, the wine from my coming-of-age celebration. My mouth watered.

Scarlet had warned me about the plants, but surely one small taste couldn't hurt. The fruit came away easily in my hand, its skin warm and slightly yielding. I bit into it before I could think better of it.

The world exploded.

Not pain—pleasure. Every pleasure I'd ever felt condensed into a single moment that lasted .

. . and lasted. My first kiss behind the summer pavilion, age fourteen and trembling.

The perfect silence of dawn over the mountains.

My mother singing while she brushed my hair.

The moment yesterday when Davoren's scales had pressed just right and I'd shattered apart in the sky.