Page 16 of Echoes of Fire (Drakarn Mates #2)

FIFTEEN

ORLA

The market’s chaos buzzed against my skin, every scent and shout sharpened by the low thrum of anxiety in my veins. I pressed my back against a stall draped in tapestries, their threads pulsing faintly with captured geothermal energy.

My journal lay open in my lap, half-filled with sketches of festival preparations—flame-blackened meat skewers dripping with alien spices, crystalline lanterns strung between dark pillars, a trio of Drakarn children darting underfoot with stolen sweets clutched in their claws.

I forced my pencil to keep moving, ignoring the way vendors avoided my gaze as I passed. Their slit-pupiled eyes tracked me from behind stalls, whispers hissing through sharp teeth. Outsider. Human. False-mate. The words slithered around me, unspoken but unable to ignore.

With Rath, everything felt … so freaking perfect I thought I might explode. Out here, alone, I was forced to remember everything else .

A familiar laugh cut through the noise. My head snapped up. Selene . There she was, her braid swinging as she walked beside Vega and Eden, their heads bent in conversation. Relief surged hot and sudden in my chest. I opened my mouth to call out?—

They turned a corner, vanishing behind a curtain of smoldering incense.

“Damn it,” I muttered, snapping the journal shut. The movement sent a flock of paperwing moths scattering from a nearby fruit cart. I stood, brushing volcanic grit from my pants, when the air shifted.

A shadow fell across my notes.

Three Drakarn warriors blocked the path, their scales dulled with ash deliberately rubbed into the grooves as if they were trying to disguise themselves. The tallest bared his fangs in a mockery of a smile. “The councilor’s pet requires an escort.”

No chance in hell.

My pulse spiked. “I’m fine.”

The one on the left lunged.

My body moved before my mind caught up—rock-climbing reflexes twisting me sideways, fingers scrabbling for purchase on a vendor’s stall draped in gorgeous silk. The fabric wrinkled under my grip as I swung around the support beam, sending a cascade of tapestries crashing onto the warrior’s head. He roared, temporarily blinded by embroidered chaos.

Sweat stung my eyes as I bolted through the gap between stalls. My boots skidded on spilled spice grains, the air thickening with the reek of singed feathers from a nearby poultry cart. A child’s discarded toy nearly sent me to my knees, and I stumbled, the second warrior’s claws slicing empty air where my throat had been.

“Run, little leech!” someone jeered, met with jagged laughter.

I vaulted over a crate of melons, their skins bursting under my palms. Sticky juice coated my hands as I hurled a shattered fruit at my pursuer. It exploded against his chest in a sweet spray, buying me two ragged breaths.

The third warrior materialized from the crowd’s periphery, net already whirling above his head. I feinted left, then dove right toward a butcher’s stall?—

Too slow.

A weighted net slammed into my back like a meteor strike. Obsidian shards seared through my shirt, etching lines of fire across my shoulder blades. I hit the ground chin-first, teeth clacking together with the taste of copper. The fibers constricted with almost sentient malice, tightening with every thrash.

“Rath will flay you alive!” I snarled. My knee connected with something soft—a gratifying yelp—before four sets of claws pinned me.

“Your fire-heart’s not here,” the leader hissed, his breath reeking like fermented lava beetles. He pressed a talon against my windpipe, not quite breaking skin. “Scream again, and I’ll gift him your vocal cords in a festival box.”

A sack descended—coarse fibers soaked in Volcaryth moss extract. The world dissolved into chemical burn and muffled chaos as they dragged me across sharp gravel. I focused on the pain, mapping turns by the way shards bit into my hipbones. Left at the heated belch of bathhouse vents.

Silent tears cut through the grime on my face. Not from fear.

From fury.

“Don’t worry, human,” the leader purred, hauling me over his shoulder. “You’ll see your mate soon.”

Liar.

They dragged me through the city, but with the bag over my head, I had no idea where we were going. Deeper, I thought. I couldn’t hear the river, and it was almost overwhelmingly hot.

We finally came to a stop, and I heard the groan of metal before the Drakarn carrying me dumped me unceremoniously on my ass.

The cell door clanged shut with finality, its echo swallowed by walls weeping condensation. I pressed palms to rough volcanic stone, mapping fissures through grit-coated fingertips.

I ripped the bag off my head and took it all in.

Three paces long. Two wide. Ceiling low enough to graze my scalp if I stood straight.

Luminescent fungi smeared the walls in sickly green streaks, their light just enough to reveal the room’s cruel geometry. I crouched, cheek pressed to the floor’s single air vent. Sulfur and something floral tinged the stale draft.

I tested the bars, the walls, everything, hoping for some sort of weakness. I yelled for help until I was hoarse and then started again once I’d had time to recover. Hours could have passed; I had no way of knowing.

I yelled again.

“Should’ve gagged her properly,” a guard growled beyond the door, his Drakarn consonants sharp as flint. It was too dim in the cell to get a good look at them.

His companion snorted. “Let the leech wheeze. Karyseth wants the human intact, not comfortable.”

My nails bit into palms. Karyseth. That damned priestess who wanted me dead. This wasn’t random hostility—this was politics. And revenge.

Footsteps approached. I scrambled upright, back flattening against the warmest wall—the one vibrating with geothermal currents. One of the guards came into view.

“Still breathing?” The guard’s slitted eye glinted with malicious delight. “Pity.”

I lunged, slamming my shoulder against reinforced metal. The impact shuddered through my bones. “Tell your coward leader to face me herself!”

Laughter rattled the door. “You’re feisty for prey. We’ll see if you?—”

The insult dissolved into wet choking. Someone new spoke—a voice like smoldering silk. “Run along, pups. The grownups need to chat.”

The guards cursed and fled.

A Drakarn I’d never seen before slouched against the frame, his emerald scales catching the fungal glow in a way that made his entire body seem to smolder with a strange green fire. Unlike Rath’s warrior-straight posture, this one moved with liquid indolence, a half-eaten fruit skewer dangling from his claws.

“Well,” he drawled, eyes raking over me, “you’re shorter than I imagined.”

I pressed harder against the rumbling wall, fingers curling around a loose stone shard. “Who the hell are you?”

He took a deliberate bite of fruit, juices running down his wrist. “Vyne. Rath’s favorite nuisance.” The barbell through his tongue glinted as he spoke. “He’s currently two sectors away chasing false leads, thanks to Krazath’s little friends. Which leaves you with me.”

“Bullshit.” My grip tightened on the shard. “Prove it.”

Vyne sighed dramatically and reached into his tunic. My muscles coiled—until he produced Rath’s mating dagger. My dagger. He flipped it hilt-first toward me, the blade embedding in the floor between my boots.

“He’ll kill me when he finds out I touched that,” he said, licking fruit residue from his claws. “His mate’s blade shouldn’t bear another’s scent. Sentimental fool. I nicked it from your quarters before coming to find you.”

I wrenched the dagger free. “If you’re here to help, get me the fuck out of here.”

“You are feisty. I see why he likes you. Unfortunately, no can do.”

“What?” I surged forward, jerking the knife from the floor and pointing it at him like it would be any help with cell bars between us.

“First, I don’t have the keys. The guards were scared, but they’re not completely stupid. You’ll be let out bright and early tomorrow for the Mating Challenge.” He tossed the skewer aside.

My blade trembled in my grip. “The what?” I remembered Rath bringing it up, but I’d forgotten about that completely. And I’d certainly never agreed to it.

Vyne’s tail flicked, its tip tracing idle patterns on the floor. “The Mating Challenge. It’s the traditional method for weeding out weak bonds. Or disposing of political embarrassments.” He leaned closer, the fungus painting his smirk toxic green. “Guess which category you’re in?”

I clutched the dagger tighter. “Rath wouldn’t agree to this.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Vyne produced a vial from his belt—liquid fire swirling like captured lightning. “The Forge Temple started this; Karyseth is challenging your bond in one of the few ways that can’t be denied. Either you both survive the trial tomorrow and prove yourselves, or …” He mimed an explosion with his free hand.

“So why isn’t he in a cell?”

Vyne rolled the vial between his claws. “He may be by now. No one’s been stupid enough to volunteer for a Mating Challenge in … a decade? Maybe more. We’re all a bit rusty on the formalities. If he finds you before tomorrow, your life and his will be forfeit. But I’m not sure he cares about that right now. I’ve spoken to some of your friends. They say you’re the smart one.”

“What are you getting at?” I didn’t like this man, and I couldn’t trust him. What kind of friend would act this way?

“If you ever want to be accepted in Scalvaris, you need to undergo this challenge and survive. It won’t satisfy Karyseth—nothing but your death will—but she’s only one woman. The rest of the city will fall in line, especially with Darrokar backing you.”

He sounded a lot like Terra had all those weeks ago when this all started. I really wished it was her who was talking to me.

But, damn it all, I saw his point.

My pulse hadn’t stopped pounding. “How does it work?”

“Survive until sunrise. Someone will take you to the testing grounds. You and Rath face the dangers of the test—geothermal vents, shadow predators, the usual fun.” He slid the vial through the bars. “One drop melts steel. Two?” His pierced tongue flicked over a fang. “Don’t be nearby.”

I pocketed the acid, noting how his levity didn’t reach his eyes. “Why are you helping?”

“Rath’s the only one who laughs at my jokes.” He turned to leave, scales rippling with false nonchalance. “Oh, and human? Try not to scream when the skin sloughs off your bones. It’s undignified.”

Alone again, the vial settled against my thigh, its threat as volatile as my thoughts.

Did you know? I silently asked Rath’s ghost. Is this your idea of romance?

My fingers found the dagger’s hilt—Rath’s craftsmanship, Vyne’s theft. Both Drakarn men leaving scars in different ways. I tested the wall’s weak point, volcanic grit raining down as I pried loose a handhold.

I wanted out of this cage more than almost anything else. The vial in my pocket could get me out.

But I hesitated.

The fissure taunted me—a hairline crack weeping steam near the cell’s corner. I crouched before it, Vyne’s vial burning a hole in my pocket. One drop could fracture the volcanic stone. Two might collapse the entire wall.

My thumb caressed the stopper.

Run.

The survival instinct drilled into me screamed for action. Melt the bars. Slip into the steam vents. Let the acidic reek of Volcaryth’s underbelly cloak my escape.

I uncorked the vial.

The liquid fire hissed at exposure to air, its surface swirling with miniature plasma storms. I held it over the fissure, watching light dance across the stone. One trembling tilt would expose the weakness in the rock.

And possibly blow me to bits.

My hand froze.

Coward.

The word slithered through me in a nameless Drakarn’s voice, all gravel and disappointed heat. I slammed the stopper back in place.

“Fuck you,” I whispered to the phantom judgment.

But the truth coiled tighter than Vyne’s acid—escaping wouldn’t stop the challenge. It would only prove every sneering Drakarn right.

Human. Weak.

Unworthy.

I retreated, back pressed against the far wall. The dagger’s hilt bit into my side as I methodically braided my hair—tight, practical, battle-ready. Every tug of the purple strands filled me with resolve.

Survive until sunrise.

The geothermal hum beneath my shoulders carried whispers of the arena. Vyne’s casual horrors—shadow predators, flesh-melting vents—took shape in the condensation dripping down the walls. I imagined hypotheticals, calculating thermal blind spots, drafting escape vectors from half-remembered schematics of Scalvaris’ underlevels.

A rasp of claws against stone snapped my head up.

“Final meal, leech.”

A guard slid a clay bowl through the slot—lukewarm gruel swimming with unidentifiable protein chunks. My stomach revolted. I ate it anyway, trying to remember those honey fritters Rath had brought me.

Vyne’s acid vial went into my left boot. Rath’s dagger claimed a spot in the right.

The cell’s oppressive heat thickened as night deepened. Sweat glued my tunic to my skin. I counted breaths, trying to meditate.

Three hundred twelve … three hundred thirteen …

Eventually, I must have slept.

Metal shrieked.

I jolted upright as the cell door groaned open, revealing silhouettes backlit by blood-orange torchlight.

“The challenge begins when the horn bellows.” The guard’s smirk dripped venom as shackles snapped around my wrists. “Hope you die quickly.”

Somewhere beyond the labyrinth of stone, Rath would be hunting.

And I’d be the prey.