Page 4 of Echoes of Fire (Drakarn Mates #2)

THREE

ORLA

The big hulking alien who claimed me as his mate had his claws on my arm the whole way back to his chambers. I stumbled once before he slowed his pace, silently adjusting for my shorter legs.

We practically crossed all of Scalvaris until we entered a building I’d never seen before and he took me down a winding staircase, the air growing warmer with each step.

Frankly, I’d had enough of unfamiliar buildings for one day, or for a lifetime. Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined those Drakarn, their claws slashing at me as they called for my blood, my life.

I shivered, despite the heat.

My shirt was in tatters, and I could use a month-long soak in a tub, but I needed to know what the hell was going on. “Where?—”

“Hush,” he said. “Wait.”

I bristled, but there were other Drakarn watching us, hungry eyes taking in the scene. Questions had to wait until we were behind closed doors.

And what mighty doors they were.

The stone door sealed behind us with a resonant thud, and suddenly it was just the two of us in a chamber that smelled of smoldering embers and something darker—smoke and aged leather. Rath released my arm like I’d scalded him. I pressed my back against the door, its engraved runes biting into my shoulder blades as I cataloged the room with frantic precision.

The air tasted like licking a battery. I cataloged the chamber’s dimensions through shaky breaths—twenty by thirty paces, hexagonal basalt walls striated with bands of volcanic rock. Heat crystals pulsed yellowish light from recessed niches, their fractal patterns mirroring the city’s cooling system I’d observed earlier. It felt like a lifetime ago. Had it been more than an hour? A bed platform dominated the far wall, hewn from a single slab of stone and layered with shimmery silks.

Rath moved to an alcove, his tail trailing behind him. My traitorous eyes tracked the play of firelight across his scaled shoulders—ruby plates shifting from blood-black to fiery crimson with each breath.

“You’ll stay here.” He tossed a clay pitcher onto the table. Water sloshed, beading instantly on the heated surface. “I do not trust Karyseth to respect my claim.”

I pressed harder against the door, its carvings mapping constellations against my spine. “Your claim? What does that make me exactly? A prisoner? A pet?” The words came out sharper than intended. Adrenaline still sang in my veins, mixing dangerously with the tang of his proximity.

I knew what he’d said in the moment, and a desperate need for survival had me following his lead. But now? When there weren’t angry Drakarn breathing down my neck? Things didn’t feel so clear.

The pitcher’s glaze caught the light as it settled—a ceramic so glassy it could’ve been forged in Volcaryth’s core. My fingers twitched with the urge to test its thermal conductivity.

Anything to anchor myself in data instead of this … this thing coiling under my ribs.

Rath’s wings flexed. “You are neither prisoner nor pet.” He didn’t turn as he spoke, claws methodically stripping off his battle harness. Each piece hit the table with a clatter that made my pulse skip. “The claim grants protection.” He paused. “It was the only thing I could think to do in the moment.”

The laugh scraped my throat. I gestured to the bed’s silks—translucent layers in scarlet. “And that ? Part of the protection package?”

His spine stiffened. Scales along his shoulders flared, revealing the softer, opalescent hide beneath. My traitorous brain noted the biological purpose—perhaps thermoregulation during threatening displays.

Stop it. He’s not ? —

“I did not plan to claim a mate today. I apologize for not making my bed. Sleep where you wish.” Rath finally turned, and god, the full force of him nearly buckled my knees.

Firelight sculpted the planes of his chest, catching on piercings that glinted along the ridges of his scales. A silver ring through one nipple. Another through the soft flesh beneath a clavicle plate. Two more in his ears. Where else was he pierced?

My mouth went dust dry. “The silks are heat-regulated,” he continued, oblivious to my internal combustion. “The bathing pool recirculates through geothermal filters. Do not touch the weapons.”

I forced my gaze to the arsenal lining the far wall—blades with crystalline cores, their edges shimmering with residual energy. “Charming decor.”

“Practical.” He stepped closer, and the air thickened with his scent—ember resin and something muskier. My lungs constricted. “The zealots won’t challenge my claim openly. Not tonight, but this affront won’t go unanswered.”

“How was I supposed to—” I cut myself off, edging along the table, putting its bulk between us. You couldn’t argue with zealots. I supposed that was true on any planet.

The journal’s loss ached like a phantom limb.

“They don’t care about mercy.” Rath’s tail lashed, sending a stool skittering. “They want blood for their burnt god.”

“So you just, what, claimed me? Without even knowing my name?” The words cracked.

“I know your name, Orla Mitchell.” Rath stood motionless by the weapons wall, his silhouette haloed in crystal-light. Moonlight from a sky tunnel shaft cut across his scales, turning them to liquid mercury. I counted seven blades within his reach, each more lethal than the last.

“Right.” My voice was too loud in the hollow space. “So this … claim . It’s a loophole in your laws? Why would claiming me do anything?”

He turned slowly. “Death is the penalty for outsiders who witness the sacred rites. The claim binds your life to mine; as my mate you are … mine. They cannot harm you without challenging me.”

“And if we don’t … click?” Me and relationships hadn’t exactly gone places back on Earth. I couldn’t see how it would work out between me and someone who wasn’t even human.

His nostrils flared, the heat-crystals dimming as if the room itself held its breath. “That is not an option. The zealots are patient hunters.”

A shiver skated down my spine. I stepped toward the table, like it could act as some sort of shield. “You didn’t answer my question. What am I to you now?”

The silence stretched, thick with the creak of leathery wings adjusting.

“A problem,” he said at last.

I barked a laugh. “Charming.”

“One I will solve.” He moved closer, claws still glinting. My pulse stuttered—an autonomic response, I told myself. Nothing more. “You will stay here. Keep out of trouble. When the threat passes …”

“You’ll unclaim me?” My thumb rubbed the DNA helix tattoo on my wrist, the ink gritty with ash. “How convenient.” Was I angry about that? Wasn’t it what I wanted? I was still shaking with residual fear and couldn’t get control of my feelings.

His growl vibrated in my molars. “There is no unclaiming . The bond is … permanent.”

The word buzzed between us like a live wire.

I gripped the table’s edge. “You didn’t think to mention that before tongue-bathing me in front of your entire cult?”

“Would you have preferred the pyre?”

Yes , part of me wanted to snap. The part that still smelled burning journal pages. But the larger part—not the scientist, but the woman—was blisteringly grateful to be saved. And curious.

What did Rath look like under those leathers?

I did not look back to the sleeping slab.

Rath stepped closer, each footfall thundering through the volcanic stone. The heat radiating from him intensified, warping the air between us. My traitorous pulse quickened as his shadow engulfed me, the ridges of his scales catching the firelight in fractal patterns that danced across my skin.

“Convenience and survival are often at odds,” he rumbled, his voice lower than the geothermal hum in the walls. His claw traced the table’s edge beside my hand, black talon scoring a hairline fracture in the stone. “You’ll adapt.”

“Adaptation requires time. You’ve given me nothing but vague threats and …” My gaze flicked to the bed platform, its silks shimmering with invitation. Damn it. “Theatrics.”

His nostrils flared, the piercings along his brow ridge glinting as he leaned in. “You want data, scientist?” His breath scorched my temple. “Your pulse is elevated. You’re sweating. And your scent …” A low growl rumbled through my shoulder where his claw brushed my tattered sleeve. “Betrays more than your words.”

I jerked back, the table’s edge biting into my thighs. “It’s about a thousand degrees in here.”

“Liar.” His tail lashed. “You reek of …” His tongue flickered out, tip grazing my collarbone. My knees almost buckled at the sensation—a thousand nerve endings igniting under that brief contact. “Curiosity.”

An echoing knock shattered the charged silence like a stone through glass. Rath’s growl vibrated through me once more as he stalked toward the door, his tail lashing a warning pattern against the tiles. I sagged against the table, my fingers trembling as I pressed them to the spot his tongue had touched—skin still buzzing as though he’d branded me with electricity.

He wrenched the door open with a snarl. “This is not?—”

Terra stood framed in the archway, her green eyes sharp as broken bottle glass. She didn’t flinch at Rath’s bared fangs, her gaze sliding past him to lock onto me before she pushed past him and entered the room. “You’re alive. Good.”

I straightened, tugging my shredded sleeve over the scratch marks on my arm. “Mostly.”

Rath tried to further block her path, wings flaring. “Leave.”

“I just spent a half hour listening to my mate describe in detail what he plans to do to you. Do not test me right now.” Terra cocked her hip, hand resting near the plasma pistol at her thigh. “We need to talk.”

The standoff crackled—two predators sizing each other up. I edged around the table, hyper aware of Rath’s scales flushing crimson along his spine.

“It’s fine,” I said.

His claws flexed. “She’s?—”

“My friend. Let her in.”

Rath’s pupils narrowed to slits, but he stepped aside with a hiss that made the heat crystals dim. Terra strode in, her boots leaving ashen prints on the polished stone.

“Cute love nest,” she said, surveying the weapon-lined walls. “Very … dungeon-core chic.”

I choked back a laugh. “He’s going for murderous hermit aesthetic.”

Rath made a rumbling sound in the back of his throat. “As I said, this mating was unplanned.”

I looked over at my … mate. The word felt strange in my head. “Can we have some privacy?”

He opened his mouth, and I could almost hear the denial. Then he nodded. “Anything for you, shyrarva. I shall go see that your things are moved here.”

“Don’t call me that.” But I was speaking to his retreating wings and then the closed door.

That left Terra and I alone.

“So they’re all like that,” she muttered. “Karyseth’s work?” she asked, nodding towards my torn shirt. Her voice stayed neutral, but the set of her jaw betrayed her anger.

“Priestly hospitality.” I forced a smile, leaning into the familiar routine of banter—Terra’s no-nonsense words, the faint citrus scent of her soap. Grounding. Human.

She clicked her tongue. “I expect Selene will be breaking down that door as soon as she hears. You’ve still got cracked ribs that never fully healed. And this—” Her fingers brushed the crescent marks on my wrist where Rath’s claws had gripped too tight. “The Drakarn aren’t gentle, even when they try. I don’t like this.”

I stared at the wall of weapons, their edges catching the light in prismatic shards. “It kept me breathing.”

“For now.” Terra stepped back, her gaze sharp as a scalpel. “It wasn’t just Rath that Darrokar was yelling about. This situation with the Forge Temple could get bad. Some on the council are far more sympathetic than they are to us.” Her tone softened. “He called you shyrarva . That’s a mating name; he spent time thinking about it. Whatever’s going on with him?—”

The alien word prickled my skin like sunburn. “It’s just part of the act.”

“You think this is an act? Is that what he said?” She launched herself up so she was sitting on Rath’s—our?—table.

“You think he’s for real?”

There is no unclaiming.

“Drakarn don’t fake bond-marks. That tongue thing he did?” She fanned herself exaggeratedly. “Hot damn.”

I hated how my cheeks flamed.

Terra’s boots swung inches above the floor, the casual motion at odds with the tension in her voice. “The Blade Council tolerates us because Darrokar’s mate-bond gives me standing. But Karyseth’s faction?” She tapped her fingernails against the table, each click echoing like a gunshot. “They’ve been itching for an excuse to purge ‘weakness’ from Scalvaris. You just handed them a flamethrower.”

I traced a fracture in the stone, my nail catching on microcrystalline edges. “So the solution is … what? Let Rath keep pretending we’re soulmates?” The word tasted absurd, like trying to swallow a neutron star. “There have to be protocols for cultural misunderstandings. Mediated dialogues?—”

“This isn’t a UN summit.” Terra hopped down, boots scraping against the floor. “This is their holy law. Either the bond’s real, or it’s heresy. No third option.” She gripped my shoulders, her callouses catching on torn fabric. “If the Forge Temple can prove this is a sham? They’ll execute you. Then they’ll come for the rest of us, arguing humans corrupt their warriors’ honor.”

“Rath said the claim was permanent. That there’s no undoing it.”

“Because there isn’t.” Terra’s gaze drifted to the silks pooled on the sleeping slab. “Drakarn bonds aren’t human. Darrokar nearly ripped a warrior’s throat out for brushing against me during the monsoon feasts.” Her eyes raked over the fresh scab on my lip. “When Rath tasted you …”

Heat flooded my cheeks again. “It was nothing.”

“Bullshit.” She released me to pace past Rath’s arsenal, fingers trailing over a curved blade.

The memory of his tongue flicking my collarbone ignited phantom static across my skin. “He called me a problem.”

“And stared at you like you’re a damned supernova.” Terra spun a dagger, the edge catching firelight. “Bond-marks are … physical. Biological. Believe me; I know. The council could demand proof.” Her gaze dropped to my neck, where Rath’s tongue had left invisible burns. “If they test you?—”

“ Test ?” The word curdled in my stomach. I pressed a hand to the scar below my ear, still humming with phantom heat. “What kind of test?”

The door groaned before she could answer. Rath filled the archway, his scales dulled to burnt umber in the low light. A leather satchel hung from his claw, spilling familiar items—my scanner, a bundle of rock samples, the cracked remains of my field goggles. And some clothes. He set it down with surprising care, the contents clinking.

“Your possessions,” he rumbled. “Including this.” From his belt, he produced my journal—singed but intact, its pages warped from fire.

I lunged forward, snatching it before logic intervened. The leather cover was a bit scorched. “You stole this from the pyre?”

His tail twitched. “Salvaged. Before the final blaze.”

The admission startled me. I flipped through crackling pages—sketches of ventilation shafts intact, soil pH tables legible beneath soot stains. My throat tightened. “Thank you.”

Rath inclined his head, the gesture almost courtly. “Of course, shyrarva .”

The alien word pricked like a splinter. “I have a name.”

“We’ll talk about this more later,” Terra said before Rath and I could get into it. “Just stay strong. Sell this bond.” She turned toward the door and paused before looking back. “If you need someone to talk this out, you know where I live.”

“My mate can speak with me,” Rath growled.

Terra and I both rolled our eyes.

“Thanks,” I told her. “I’ll think about what you said.”

As if I could think about anything else.

I needed to sit. The adrenaline crash had settled into an ache in my skull. I crossed the room, wanting distance from him, and dropped onto the corner stone bench. The basalt was cold beneath me despite the warmth radiating off the chamber walls.

I gripped the edge of the bench and pressed my palms tight against its rough surface. My mind played the scene from the temple again, unspooling every scream and snarl until I winced. The memory of Karyseth’s claws swiping inches from my chest made my pulse race. My body ached from running, from falling, from everything.

“You should take the bed,” Rath’s voice broke the silence. It carried low and steady, like the rumble of distant magma.

I looked up. He was standing near the platform, his tail coiled tightly behind him, his claws flexing in and out. The lines of his face were rigid—the air of a creature used to commanding obedience—but his tone had softened. “You need rest.”

I shook my head, trying for a semblance of control. “I’ll make do here.”

“You aren’t fine.” He stepped closer, his broad shoulders tense. The weight of his presence filled the room like a flame creeping closer, heating everything in its path. “You’re bruised.”

I laughed, bitter and quiet. “Don’t worry about me. You’ve done enough already.”

He looked startled at my words, like I’d struck him. His chest expanded with a sharp inhale, faint embers lighting beneath his scales. “Do not mistake necessity for—” He stopped, his tail lashing against the floor. “The claim was to save your life. But it is my responsibility now to see to your health.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“No,” he admitted, the single word scraped raw. “But you are.” He stepped closer still, heat rolling off him in waves. “And I protect what is mine.”

The word mine sent a shiver through me. I tried to suppress it. Failed. I stood, the aching protests of my body ignored, and faced him—one hand gripping the edge of the bench for steadiness, the other clenched into a fist by my side. “I am not yours. I am my own person. And I can take care of myself.” Not that I was doing very well at that right now.

If my defiance rattled him, he didn’t show it. His slitted pupils narrowed further, the faintest growl vibrating from deep within his chest. “You can barely stand.”

I glared at him. “Yeah? Whose fault is that?”

The growl cut off, his jaw tightening as heat flared briefly along his scales. He didn’t respond.

I forced myself to break eye contact, grabbing the nearest folded blanket from edge of the sleeping platform. “I’ll sleep over here tonight,” I said, my voice sharp but quieter now. “I've crashed on a couch before.” Of course, those couches had cushions. But the Drakarn were not soft. Apparently, they didn't care about comfort.

“You’re being stubborn,” he replied.

“And you’re being overbearing.”

A long pause stretched between us. Eventually, Rath exhaled a sharp breath. It came out like a hiss, his tail flicking the edge of the floor. “Fine.” His voice was cold, the diplomacy gone. “Do what you want.”

The space between us rippled with tension. I sat heavily on the couch, wrapping the blanket around myself stubbornly. My ribs flared a fresh complaint, but I ignored it.

Rath settled onto the stone platform across the room. His movements weren’t loud, but every scrape of claw against obsidian battered my senses. He sat rigidly, his broad back facing me. The glow of the heat crystals cast faint, pulsing patterns over his wings, which drooped slightly now, less tension in the sinewed muscles around them.

We didn’t say anything else. I pulled the blanket tightly around my shoulders and propped a pillow between the wall and my aching ribs. My body begged for stillness, but my mind wouldn’t quiet.

The events of the day looped through my thoughts like a jagged-edged film reel. Karyseth’s accusing snarl, the hissing crowd, the sensation of Rath’s claws tearing through the zealots’ ranks to claim me—each memory spiraled into the next. My fingers drifted to my neck where his tongue had left an invisible brand, heat still radiating beneath the skin every time I thought of the phrase, “She is mine.”

I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to focus on the pain—more tangible sensations. My ribs, still tender, resisted when I shifted positions. My palms stung where I’d scraped against jagged rock while fleeing. My shoulders cried out from hours of tension. The couch was too hard to offer relief, no matter how I contorted myself.

Sleep didn’t come easily. My mind stayed alert, cataloging every sensation, every flicker of uncertainty crawling over my skin. The warmth of the chamber wrapped around me like a smothering blanket, layering atop the press of Rath’s invisible gaze. I doubted he’d turned to look, but I could still feel him—could hear his steady breaths above the ambient noise of the city. There was something about his proximity that made it impossible for me to relax, no matter what position I shifted into.

My ribs rebelled again, a sharp ache cutting through my chest. I groaned and bit back a curse.

“You’re still awake.” His voice broke the quiet, startling me.

"I'll sleep eventually."

I didn't.