Page 9 of Echoes of Fire (Drakarn Mates #2)
EIGHT
ORLA
The combat arena vibrated with an energy that sank into my bones, an undercurrent of heat and expectation that made the air feel electric. It wasn’t just noise or movement—it was this pulsing vitality, as if the cavern was alive, fueled by the clash of blades and the rhythmic pacing of trained warriors.
I leaned forward on the rough-hewn stone bench in the observation area, the grit beneath me scraping against the thin fabric of my tunic. My presence here felt wrong—a guest in a moment that wasn’t mine—but I was too curious to resist.
That, and Rath had asked.
“Here, try this,” Eden said, pressing closer to my side as she handed me something wrapped in foil. “Earth candy. Save me before I scarf it all down myself.”
The cheerful, fluorescent colors on the wrapper were almost outrageous in this environment—like smuggling daylight into shadows. I lifted an eyebrow at her, but her grin was irrepressible, her dark brown eyes bright with the kind of humor that disarmed you before you knew it. Eden’s energy was like standing too close to a sparkler, irritating and charming all at once.
“Your heroism knows no bounds,” I replied dryly, taking the candy. The foil crinkled as I unwrapped it. The candy hit my tongue like a slap of concentrated sweetness, the fake fruitiness coating everything in a way that felt nearly alien after weeks of consuming krysfruit and slabs of burnt meat.
“You’re welcome,” Eden said, popping a second piece into her mouth with a dramatic snap. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees as her gaze swept over the warriors below. “Which one’s Rath?”
I scanned the pit, my eyes darting from winged figures to shimmering scales, searching for that particular sharpness that had become so familiar. Swaying tails twitched, claws glinted, and blades thick with heat refracted dim light until finding him in the crowd felt impossible.
Then it wasn’t.
That moment when I spotted Rath was like swinging a door open too fast and catching a blade of sunlight. My thoughts snagged because this wasn’t the Rath I was used to—not the watchful, tightly-coiled man who spoke with clipped words and calm truths. No, this figure moved with an effortless swagger that made something deep inside of me tighten with want.
Oh, hell.
“How could you miss him?” I heard myself mumbling. His imposing frame cut through the chaos. Other warriors were strong, brutal even, but Rath’s presence was something distinct, an unfamiliar language of danger and grace—power in its rawest form. His scales reflected light like shards of glass, catching every flicker of motion in a way that created a halo of shimmering, restless energy around him. His wings unfolded slightly; not wide, but calculated, like a wolf showing just enough teeth to let you know it wasn’t interested in playing nice.
“Never mind,” Eden said in awe, her voice breaking my spell as she zeroed in on him. “Found him. Seriously, though, your guy could probably walk into a room and set it on fire just by existing.”
Heat crept up my throat, uncomfortable and unwelcome. “He’s not my guy.” I wasn’t sure if the words were meant to rebuff her or convince myself. Feeling Eden’s sidelong glance, I sighed and forced a casual shrug, but the movement felt unnatural, wrong. “He just … knows how to make himself seen. That’s all.”
Eden turned her half-smirk my way for just a second too long. “Sure,” she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. Her posture instantly melted back into something more casual as she leaned forward again, resting her chin on one hand. “But seriously, that presence. Like, if someone so much as looked at me the way Rath looks at you …”
I groaned, cutting her off as she dragged the words out like each one had worth in its own right. “Eden. Please.”
She smiled, lifting her hands in a playful gesture of surrender. “Fine. Commentary off. But the fact that you’re still red? Not my fault.”
In the arena below, Rath advanced on his sparring partner—a warrior whose movements began with confidence but quickly transformed to hesitation. Rath’s blade didn’t move like the others, didn’t try to impress. It sought efficiency.
Watching him was like watching the beach grind down stone: violent and inevitable but removed from petty emotion. Even the air around him seemed different, a slight stillness in the invisible space between moves that put spectators on their heels.
It wasn’t theatrical. It was purpose built for destruction.
“Doesn’t hold back, does he?” Eden asked. Her earlier levity had dimmed, replaced by something quieter.
“No,” I replied, swallowing hard. My hands clutched the edge of the bench. “He never does.”
The arena’s collective breath sharpened, a break in the rhythm below turning all focus toward the latest fight. A new challenger stepped forward, taller and sharper-edged than the others—his scales jagged and mismatched, singed in a way that made him seem more like something built imperfectly than born.
Krazath.
Eden stiffened at my shoulder instantly, her fingers curling into fists. “ Him ,” she hissed before exhaling sharply. “That asshole.”
I knew. Recognized him from the corridor, from the temple, from the tension Rath had worn like armor since. My pulse stuttered, uncertainty and rage colliding somewhere too deep for me to untangle. Despite myself, I leaned forward.
“No,” I breathed, watching Rath turn to meet Krazath’s gaze—a fire already sparking in his eyes. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch. He entered the space of Krazath’s challenge like it was inevitable, like this confrontation had always lived in their bad blood.
Krazath’s first move was a sweeping strike, the kind meant to intimidate and overwhelm—a predator testing the weak points of his prey. His blade arced through the air, but Rath was already moving, his form a blur of red and shadow, slipping to the side with a fluidity that made Krazath’s lunge look clumsy by comparison.
Rath’s counterattack came swiftly, his blade slicing upward in a motion so precise it seemed choreographed. Krazath twisted away just in time, the edge nicking one of his jagged scales instead of cleaving through flesh. The sound of it—a sharp, metallic scrape—sent a shiver down my spine, and I gripped the bench under me so hard my knuckles ached. Or maybe it was the fight itself, the suffocating tension coiling tighter with every traded blow.
Eden’s voice dropped lower. “He’s claiming you. That’s what this is, right? Showing everyone that you and him …?”
Her words knocked against me sideways, almost disorienting. “That’s … insane.” Part denial, part something that sounded a bit too much like hope.
“Isn’t it?” she said, but her focus was unwavering. “And yet, here we are.”
Rath’s style was deliberate, measured—a predator who wasted no energy. Every flick of his claws, every step forward or back seemed calculated to expose Krazath’s weaknesses. Krazath fought like a storm, wild and frantic, each strike more aggression instead of strategy. His scales caught the dim light, flashing like broken glass as he swung again and again, trying to break past Rath’s cold precision.
When Rath ducked beneath a violent downswing, his wings snapped outward in a sudden motion. It was a feint, but Krazath took the bait, stepping left where Rath’s foot was already planted. Rath spun, low and fast, his tail whipping around to strike Krazath’s shin with bone-cracking force. Krazath stumbled, snarling in frustration and pain as he caught himself on one knee.
“Come on, Rath,” I whispered under my breath, my voice lost in the roar of the arena.
I hated this. I hated watching what looked like a car crash. My throat felt raw already, like I’d been screaming even though I’d been biting those yells back as hard as I could. But beneath my concern, there was a dark, treacherous part of me that wanted Rath to humiliate Krazath, to crush him so completely that whatever thread of malice still tied him to Rath would snap. I wanted—I needed Rath to win, because losing wasn’t an option. Not here. Not with Krazath.
Krazath recovered with a roar, his jagged claws swiping at Rath in a wide arc that forced him back a step. But Rath immediately surged forward again, blade aimed for Krazath’s ribs. The two were locked in close combat now, claws and fangs snapping as their bodies twisted in a brutal struggle. Rath locked one of Krazath’s wrists in a vice-like grip, twisting with a sharp motion that forced his opponent to drop the secondary blade he’d been brandishing. It clattered to the ground and skidded away into the dirt.
For a heartbeat, Rath’s face tilted upward, and our eyes met.
It was only for a fraction of a second, but the ferocity in his gaze hit me like a tidal wave. It wasn’t hesitation or desperation—no, Rath wasn’t just here to survive. He was here to finish this, to make an example of Krazath.
I couldn’t look away even as my hands trembled, my nails digging into the stone beneath.
“Damn,” Eden’s voice was almost inaudible. “He’s … something else.”
But my attention was back on the pit, my chest tight as Krazath fought back with a vicious headbutt, the crown of his jagged scales slamming into Rath’s cheek. Rath staggered, and Krazath surged forward like a wounded beast sensing weakness. My heart jumped into my throat as Krazath’s blade lashed out, aiming for Rath’s unguarded side.
Rath’s wings flared wide at the last possible moment, snapping him back and away from the attack. Krazath’s blade sliced only air as Rath rose into the space above their clash, hanging there like some radiant, damnable god of war. Then he dove, his descent like a meteor aimed directly at Krazath’s chest. The impact landed with a deafening crack as Rath’s claws wrenched Krazath’s weapon from his hands and sent it spiraling away. The crowd roared, their voices blending into a singular chaos as Rath’s blade pressed to Krazath’s throat.
The fight was over. Everyone knew it. Even Krazath.
It took another few minutes for Rath and Krazath to observe the formalities. Krazath limped away towards a bronze scaled Drakarn who was glaring at Rath. But I couldn’t care about that. Not right now.
I jumped out of my seat and scrambled down the steps towards the floor of the arena like I was some fan at a hockey game back on Earth.
“Rath!” My voice rang out, rebounding faintly off the stone walls of the arena.
Ahead of me, his steps faltered. I watched his tail dip in its usually measured sway, the movement slower now, as though the storm of emotions from the fight below was still rattling inside him. His shoulders remained stiff, wings tucked tightly against him, but tension rolled off him in waves.
I pushed forward, quickening my steps until I’d almost caught him. My fingers brushed the dark fabric of his sleeve—a fleeting touch that made him freeze instantly. His wings twitched, the faint, sharp motion betraying that coiled energy he barely contained.
Slowly, he turned to face me.
And then there were his eyes.
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected—anger maybe. But when Rath looked at me, it wasn’t fury I found crackling behind his gaze. It was something softer, quieter, but no less powerful. A tension of a different sort tightened across the planes of his face, his jaw locked like he was holding back a torrent of words he couldn’t quite put to shape. The intensity of it sent a surge of heat traveling up my spine.
“You were …” I faltered, shoving the words around in my head before one finally fell out into the silence. “Incredible.”
I felt the weight of the admission as soon as it left me—a truth I couldn’t take back even if I wanted to. My face burned under his scrutiny, the heat of my words hanging awkwardly between us. But I held his gaze, hoping somehow my honesty would cut through whatever wall he was throwing up right now.
Rath watched me like he was studying every fragment of my face, looking for cracks in my reasoning. Then, slowly, his expression softened—not a lot, but enough that the hard lines of his features eased, and the tension in his shoulders bled away just a fraction. His hand moved—just slightly—as though he wasn’t sure whether to reach for me or retreat, claws flexing faintly before settling by his side.
“You are unharmed?” he asked at last, his voice rasping like sandpaper scraping over stone.
The question caught me off guard. “I—you’re the one who was fighting! Not me.”
His jaw twitched as he exhaled slowly through his nose, a dark and indecipherable flicker passing behind his eyes. But then he shifted slightly closer—a small movement, enough that I could feel the faint warmth of his skin, even through the layers that separated us.
“It was for you,” he said simply. “They needed to see.”
Something inside me wavered. The world felt too small all of a sudden. The sharp edge in Rath’s voice didn’t match the softness of his gaze as he studied me. His quiet admission—words that rang with pure honesty, untempered and raw—coiled in my chest, making breathing inexplicably difficult.
“I—” Words failed me as my thoughts got all tied up. My lips parted in an attempt to say something—anything—but before coherent language could rally itself, some shared thread between us tightened and snapped clean through.
I kissed him.