Page 10 of Echoes of Fire (Drakarn Mates #2)

NINE

ORLA

It was instinctual—messy and unplanned, like something breaking through a dam you’d ignored was cracking all along. My hands had moved without permission to brace against his chest, my fingertips instinctively brushing the heat rolling beneath his tunic. His skin, warm like heated stone, burned against me in a way that made my stomach twist.

I barely registered the way his breath stopped short, the faint hitch of it ghosting across my cheek. And still, I couldn’t stop.

Everything ground to a halt. Rath didn’t move, caught mid-instinct and undecided about which way to fall. His hands hovered in that uncertain space between grasping and retreating, claws curling tight against his palms. For a second, I wasn’t sure if I’d gone too far, crossed a line I didn’t fully understand, until?—

Until he moved.

Slowly, deliberately, Rath leaned into the moment with a care that bordered adoration. If the kiss was meant to break him open, it did so in increments—his lips firm but measured, like he was unlearning and relearning the world in the span of seconds. He tilted his head faintly, matching me, and just when I thought the storm between us was only a distant rumble, his hand found my waist.

The sharp heat of his claws, even through the protective layers of fabric, sent a shiver racing across my body. His grip was firm but careful, aware that the strength he carried so effortlessly could crush if miscalculated. The other hand came up too, fingers grazing my jaw with a touch so tender it left a trail of fire.

For all his capacity for destruction on the field, Rath kissed like he was holding something fragile. It undid me completely.

An involuntary sound escaped me—a quiet tremble fought and failed to be smothered. Rath stilled for only a heartbeat before a low hum rumbled deep in his chest, that faint growl a visceral reaction that spoke more than words ever could. The weight of it pressed against me, made every small tether anchoring me to reality snap.

There was no disguising the hunger threaded into his kiss—the way his lips moved more firmly now, with just enough edged desperation to make my heart stutter and spiral all at once. His grip tightened against my waist as his other thumb grazed just along the edge of my face. The warmth radiating from his skin enveloped me completely.

Time didn’t exist between us. There was no measured counting of breaths, no acknowledgment of anything beyond the persistent, magnetic pull binding me irreversibly to him.

When Rath finally pulled away just enough to breathe, the space between us felt fragile, the air charged with something that hadn’t yet settled. His forehead brushed lightly against mine, unwilling to pull back completely, and for a fleeting moment, we both stood frozen in that sizzle. His eyes burned with something unreadable, raw and unguarded in a way that tightened and softened my chest all at once.

He exhaled, the hint of warmth in his breath lingering against my lips. “ Shyrarva ,” he rasped, that word catching somewhere low in his throat, vulnerable and rough-edged.

I couldn’t respond. Couldn’t move. Because the look he gave me wasn’t just intense—it was exposing Rath’s inner soul, daring me to step into the chasm I’d just forced open.

“I—” The syllable was barely audible; a ghost of a word that dissolved the moment I uttered it.

My voice had betrayed me, my thoughts racing too fast to form anything coherent. I tried again, but the tightness in my chest stifled any clarity, leaving me breathless and trembling in a way I couldn’t control. My hands slipped from where they’d been clutching at his tunic, retreating awkwardly to my sides.

Rath didn’t speak. He stood motionless for a moment, caught between moving closer and pulling away entirely. His gaze dropped to my lips again before sweeping back upward, catching and holding mine with the same intensity that had turned my pulse inside out moments ago. When he finally stirred, his hand didn’t fall away. Instead, his thumb lingered at the edge of my cheekbone, brushing the curve of my skin with an unexpected gentleness that made my core clench.

He leaned in slightly—just enough for his lips to ghost across my temple in a gesture so soft it was almost imperceptible. The whisper of contact was there and gone, but it left a weight in its place. His claws flexed once at his side before stilling again.

“You …” His voice, rough and deliberate, dropped low. “Taste sweet.”

It wasn’t flirtation, not really. Rath wasn’t posturing—he was simply delivering an unfiltered truth. A fact, delivered the way one might observe a shift in the wind or the steady glow of a distant star. And yet, those three words sunk their claws into me with far more force than anything practiced or contrived ever could. They left me reeling, tangled in sensations I hadn’t quite found the nerve to name.

I swallowed hard, helpless against the flush that crept up my neck. My head dipped slightly, instinct pulling me away from the direct line of his gaze in a feeble attempt to collect myself. “It’s the candy,” I muttered, the excuse spilling out too quickly, too obviously, as if the absurdity of it could dissolve the gravity of what had just happened.

“The candy,” Rath repeated, his tone edged with faint amusement, but it wasn’t dismissive. If anything, his voice sounded lighter now, less hesitant. He watched me steadily, his head tilting slightly to the side. A faint curve played at the corner of his mouth, subtle but unmistakable—less a grin and more the shadow of something that might’ve been softness, had it belonged to anyone else.

“Yes, the candy,” I insisted like it mattered. “Artificial sugar, weird additives. Science, or … something.” My hands gestured vaguely, but even I didn’t believe the excuse as it left me.

His breath left him in a quiet huff—not an outright laugh, but close enough to trail warmth through the space between us. He took a step back, the movement so measured it felt less like retreat and more like careful consideration. His eyes didn’t stray from mine, still holding steady in that way that sent sparks tracing along my nerves, even as the distance afforded me some scrap of relief.

The return of the background noises—whispered murmurs from lingering Drakarn nearby—felt abrupt, like the outside world had forced itself back into focus before either of us was ready for it. I wasn’t sure what was worse: the crowd’s judgement-lined gazes or the lingering hum in the air from Rath’s proximity, charged despite the subtle distance now between us.

“Let’s get out of here,” Rath said, voice quiet but resolute. “The stares will only grow heavier.” His hand, still steady even as mine trembled faintly by comparison, extended forward—an invitation rather than an assumption. “Away from this.”

For all my hesitation, my fingers brushed against his without thinking, drawn forward more by the weight of his presence than any conscious decision on my part. His touch was steadying, a quiet guide away from the turmoil still echoing through the arena.

In a swift motion, Rath stepped closer, his arms and tail wrapping securely around me as his wings spread wide. The rush of movement that followed—the leap into the air—stole my breath as the ground disappeared below us. His strength, the sheer solidity of him beneath and around me, was grounding in a way I hadn’t expected.

As the city’s sprawling depths gave way to the open expanse of sky, a new kind of quiet settled around us—thicker, calmer, where the muted roar of the wind carried no judgment or expectation. I leaned into him, the warmth of his scales blocking out the cool bite of the wind, and my stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with the flight.

It wasn’t until we began aiming for the soft, glowing light of a familiar space nestled high above the city that I understood where he was taking me.

“Your sanctuary,” I murmured, my voice tinged with something quieter than awe but no less full of wonder.

Rath tilted his head slightly, glancing back at me just as the sanctuary’s crystalline shimmer began to catch and reflect the light. “Yes,” he said softly, matter-of-fact as always, but with a deeper purpose stitched into the single word. “It is what you need.” His wings flexed once as we descended fully, slowing to land gracefully on the secluded cliffs below.

When my feet found solid ground again, he didn’t step away, not immediately. Instead, his gaze lingered, searching for something—I wasn’t sure what—but finding some answer all the same.

I didn’t look away.

The air in the sanctuary shifted the moment we landed inside. It looked the same as before—the light filtering delicately through the overhead openings, scattering soft reflections across the pools dotting the cavern floor. But there was something different about it now, some newfound weight in the silence, heavier and more profound than the first time I’d been there. I stood just past the entrance, my fingers skimming the rough stone, and let the space breathe around me. The tension in my chest eased.

Rath moved farther inside, his wings pulling tight against his back, steps uncharacteristically careful. He didn’t look back at me, at least not right away. Instead, he let out a breath, the sound carried away by the quiet.

Here, in this place, his usual sharpness seemed muted. Not absent—Rath was never truly at ease—but less rigid, his presence more thoughtful and drawn inward. He paused near one of the pools, his back to me, his head tilting slightly in the way it did when he was weighing something unspoken.

I hovered near the entrance, reluctant to disturb the fragile peace unfolding before me. My hand lingered on the stone for a moment longer before I forced myself to step forward, movements slower than his, less sure. The sanctuary’s beauty pressed softly into my awareness, an ache of something I couldn’t quite name settling beneath my ribs.

“Rath,” I murmured, his name slipping through the quiet.

At the sound, he turned to face me. He didn’t speak immediately, studying me with that unyielding intensity that seemed to see too much. His tail flicked slightly against the ground, a motion that betrayed whatever storm lingered beneath the surface. When the silence stretched just enough to become awkward, I forced myself to step closer, drawn forward as much by the heat of his gaze as by some need to fill the void.

I stopped a few paces away, my arms crossing over my chest as I tried to steady the unease knotting between my lungs. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” I admitted, the words emerging unpolished, trembling slightly on their way out. “Why you care so much.”

Rath’s posture shifted, but his expression didn’t falter. If anything, his gaze softened slightly, though it carried the same depth. He said nothing for a long moment, his head tilting faintly, weighing whether I was truly ready to understand the answer.

His claws flexed absently at his sides before his voice broke the stillness. “Your world,” he began, his words deliberate, unhurried. “Your people. You’ve lost much. I see it in you. The way you carry it.”

His honesty sliced through me, sharp and unavoidable. My breath hitched slightly, and I tightened my arms across myself. Rath had always been direct, but this felt different—less like an observation and more like a confession.

“I know what it means to lose,” he continued, his tone quieter, a faint roughness creeping into its edges. His gaze shifted, no longer fixed rigidly on me but staring somewhere past the pools that flickered faintly with light. “My sister … she was fierce. Brilliant. Everything I was not.” A pause lingered between his words, thick and heavy as memory pressed against them. “And then she was gone.”

My throat tightened. Rath was standing there, unraveling pieces of himself in a way that left me breathless. My voice was thready when I found it again. “I’m sorry.”

He shifted his gaze back to me then. “Sorry won’t bring anything back,” he said softly, though there was no anger in the words—only a quiet kind of resignation. “But I am sorry too, for what you carry.”

The rawness in his voice undid something in me. In the span of heartbeats, the carefully constructed barriers I’d built around my grief wavered, threatening to collapse entirely. I took a small step closer, unsure of what I was reaching for but needing to close the gap between us all the same.

“You don’t have to shoulder that alone,” I said, surprising even myself with the quiet conviction in my voice. The words felt foreign on my tongue, unfamiliar but true.

Rath’s claws flexed again—a small motion, but one I recognized now as a sign of his restraint cracking. “I will not lose this,” he said finally, his voice rough, his gaze steady as it pinned me in place. “Do you understand?”

I swallowed hard, his words—and the meaning behind them—settling heavy in my chest. “Rath,” I started, the syllables too small for the enormity of what surrounded us. “I?—”

But Rath shook his head, cutting me off with a look rather than words. “Stop running,” he commanded, the simplicity of it unraveling me in ways I hadn’t thought possible.

My heart twisted painfully at the honesty etched across his face.

How long had I been doing just that—running? From losing my future, from the shattered remains of what I’d left behind, from the truth of what existed between us now? The enormity of it settled around me, and I didn’t know how to answer; didn’t know how to step into the space he’d so carefully made for me. But I wanted to try.

Rath’s hand found its way to my waist again, not gripping but resting there in a way that tethered me to him, grounding me when my thoughts threatened to spiral. It was steady, solid, and patient. “May I?” he murmured, voice low and edged with hesitation as his eyes flickered briefly downward, lingering on my lips before meeting my gaze once more.

“I want to kiss you now. When no one else is looking.”

I nodded, a small motion that sent everything else tumbling out of the way.

When his lips found mine again, it wasn’t with the same urgency as before. His warmth spilled into me as his claws skimmed along my side, careful and reverent. I let him in, let the storm of everything that had bound me up dissipate in the face of quiet, unrelenting truth.

Whatever this was, I wasn’t running anymore.