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KHORLAR

Two days.

A lifetime trapped in shared quarters. Her scent—alien sweetness, sharp and clinging—wasn't just in the air. It had burrowed under my scales, sunk into the ancient stone, woven itself through the stifling silence between us.

I spent two days watching her move. She had quick, contained energy. A predator penned. Each clipped step was a friction against my fraying restraint. Her voice rang deep in my bones. It clawed its way inside and took root where I couldn't dig it out.

Two days. And the lies piled between us like a slag heap, heavy and foul.

The stone floor offered no peace beneath my back through the endless, watchful nights.

Sleep?

It was a forgotten luxury. Darkness only sharpened it all. The whisper-rustle of silk as she shifted on her sleeping platform. The soft huff of her breath across the chamber. Her. Her nearness was a physical pressure. A brand against my senses.

Mine.

The word wasn't a thought. It was a blood-beat. A marrow-deep certainty. My fangs throbbed —not a dull ache, but a searing, insistent pulse keeping rhythm with her breathing. It was a fire smoldering behind my eyes.

I had claimed her before the Blade Council, the Temple, Plaktish. A public declaration, witnessed by the Old Bloods.

But not to her .

The deception coiled, cold and scaled in my gut. Was it necessary? Protective? The excuses were thin as cooled lava crust, cracking under the weight of truth. She didn't understand. Couldn't understand the primal power in her scent, a call threatening to shatter hard earned Drakarn control, tradition, everything .

So I lied. I used omission and misdirection. I let her believe this was protection. Politics. Nothing more.

Ash and lies.

I watched her prepare for the day. She moved with ritualistic efficiency. She laced worn boots tight. She checked the knife at her hip—always the knife, loose in its sheath, ready. That close-cropped hair, dark as volcanic glass, was smoothed back with quick, practiced swipes. Her skin caught the glow from the heat crystals, a rich and warm brown compared to my own ridged, gray hide.

She looked up. Caught me watching her. Her eyes narrowed—not fear. Never fear with her. She showed calculation. A challenge simmered just below the surface.

"Staring again, Stone Fist." Her voice was low, cutting. She used the old warrior name.

Was it deliberate provocation?

I didn't deny it. I couldn't seem to look away. "Duties," I grated instead, the word rough, ill-fitting in the charged air.

"Then let's move." She straightened. All coiled muscle and lethal grace. "No more cage. I'm going with you today, Khorlar, or I find my own way back."

My wings stirred against my back, involuntary. The membranes tightened like drum skin. "That is unwise."

News of my claim had no doubt rung out through the city. If we were observed, there would be … expectations. Expectations I could not meet with the rules my Hawk had given me.

"So is ignorance." She stepped closer. Fearless. Too close. My chest tightened, a painful clench around my core. Her scent spiked—that clean, sharp sweetness fogging my thoughts, clouding judgment. "I'm going stir-crazy in here, Khorlar."

My name. The curve of her lips around the syllables sent a jolt straight through me. It was primal, an ancient hunger that stirred deep in my mind's bedrock. Control. I was losing this battle. Had been losing it since the moment I’d pulled her from the falling rock, felt her impossible warmth, a shock against my scales.

"Very well," I conceded, the words forced past the constriction in my throat. They were raw-edged. "But you stay close. No wandering."

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. It was rare. Transforming. It hooked something vital inside me, pulling tight. "Deal."

* * *

Central Scalvaris seemed more crowded than usual. Warriors were heading for the training caverns, their scales gleaming dully. Craftsmen hauled geodes and obsidian shards. Merchants hawked spiced meats and woven fire-grass near the banks of the river. It was a familiar rhythm. Now jarring. With her beside me.

Conversations choked mid-word as we passed. Gazes snagged on Hawk, then skittered away when they met mine. Space opened around us. A sudden vacuum in the crowd. Each reaction was a hammer blow against my composure. Claimed. They knew. Everyone knew.

She didn't.

Hawk noticed. Of course, she did. Those sharp eyes missed nothing. She was cataloguing the whispers, the averted faces, the sudden tension thick as geyser steam.

"Problem?" she asked, a low murmur, pitched only for my ears. "Or does everyone usually flinch when the great Stone Fist walks by?"

"They show respect," I lied. The words tasted bitter.

"Bullshit." If she had wings, they'd be twitching. "This isn't respect." She tilted her head back and met my gaze with narrowed eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"

"We are investigating Ignarath movements," I deflected, forcing my gaze forward. "Focus."

Her jaw tightened. A muscle jumped beneath the smooth skin of her cheek. "Fine. For now ." The promise of future confrontation hung heavy, unspoken. "Where to?"

I gestured ahead, upward. The central path carved its way through the city's vertical layers, toward the peaks. "The High Overlook. Ryvik has a scheduled aerial patrol. He'll give us a report."

We climbed in silence that stretched thin as spun glass. The path steepened. The air thinned, carrying the scent of sulfur and distance. Her breathing deepened, audible now, a counterpoint to the thrumming in my own chest. Still, she matched my stride. No complaint. No weakness. Determination was etched in every line of her. She was unshakeable as the mountain itself.

The Overlook. A wide stone tongue thrust from the rock face. It was panoramic as we looked outside of the city and onto the desert that surrounded us. Brutal beauty under the harsh glare of the twin suns. Molten gold light splashed across the crimson deserts below, illuminating the distant, angry shimmer of magma rivers snaking across the blasted land.

Hawk moved past me. To the very edge. Her steps slowed. The sheer vastness hit her. I watched her profile, etched sharp against the unforgiving light. She was staring out. Something shifted in her expression. It softened. Almost fragile.

"Beautiful," she breathed, the wind snatching the word away. "Terrible beauty."

I came to stand beside her, careful to keep my distance. It was the space she demanded. "Yes."

"From up here …" Her eyes traced the distant scars of old lava flows, the jagged peaks of the Crystal Mountains where Ignarath territory clawed at the horizon. "I can almost forget the danger." A pause. "Almost."

"Volcaryth is unforgiving," I agreed. "But there is something special out there, for those brave enough to look."

She glanced at me, something unreadable flickering deep in her eyes. "I miss the sky." The admission seemed to surprise even her. A crack in the armor. Vulnerability slipping through. "Before … on Earth … flying was everything. Freedom. Perspective. Being grounded here …" Her voice trailed off, roughened.

"You were a warrior of the skies." It wasn't a question. I'd seen how she watched the Drakarn wheeling high above Scalvaris. There was hunger in her eyes. A desperation I'd only seen in Drakarn after terrible accidents and shattered wings.

"The best." It was flat certainty. No pride, just fact. "A fighter pilot. Combat-trained. I could make a jet dance on thermals you wouldn't believe." A short, sharp laugh. It was utterly devoid of humor. "Fat lot of good those skills do me here. Just another grounded, useless soldier."

Something tightened deep in me. Pressure. An unnamed ache. "You were born for the sky," I heard myself say, the words emerging unbidden, raw from my throat. "It's in you."

Her head snapped toward me, surprise widening her eyes. For a heartbeat, she just stared. Seeing me? Truly seeing past the scales, the wings, the tail?

"Let me take you," I offered, the words tumbling out before reason could catch them. "Flying."

She froze. Naked longing warred with deep-seated caution across her expressive features. "You mean …?"

I extended my wings slightly, just enough for the membranes to catch the unseen currents rising from the city far below. The iridescence caught the light. "I am strong enough. To carry you safely."

Her gaze locked onto my wings. She examined the intricate webbing. The powerful musculature beneath. Her breath hitched. A small, sharp sound, audible even over the wind's sigh. There was a spark in the charged air between us.

"Wouldn't that be …" She hesitated, searching for the word. "Isn't that too … personal ?"

"A warrior-carry," I clarified quickly, desperately grasping for the flimsy excuse. "For evacuation. Rescues. It's a standard technique." The lie felt hollow, brittle, even as I spoke it. There was nothing standard about this.

Nothing standard about the fire her nearness ignited.

She should refuse. She should see through the pathetic justification. She should recognize the danger—not just of falling, but of being held so close to me, of trusting her fragile human body to my strength, my straining control.

"Yes," she said instead, the word breathless. Defiance? Trust? Madness? "Take me flying."

My heart slammed against my ribs, a violent drumbeat that surely she must hear, feel. "Now?"

Her smile bloomed then, sudden, fierce, transforming her face. Alive. "No time like the present, Stone Fist."

"Khorlar," I corrected, the rough syllables of my name raw in my throat.

"Khorlar," she echoed, softer this time.

The sound of it settled deep in my bones. Like finding home after centuries adrift.

I moved to the very edge of the platform, letting my wings extend to their full, vast span now, catching wind as it battered them. Turning to face her, I held out my arms.

"You'll need to hold on tightly." My voice sounded strange to my own ears—rougher, deeper than usual. Thicker. "Arms around my neck. I'll secure you with one arm around your waist, but I need the other free for balance."

She approached slowly, her eyes never leaving mine, that fierce determination written in every line of her body. She stepped inside my guard, into my space. She was close enough that her scent enveloped me, a wave threatening to drown me. Making my fangs pulse with white-hot need.

"Like this?" Her arms slid around my neck, warm and tentative against the cool scales.

Not tentative enough. The touch burned. Not nearly enough space between us.

"Higher," I managed, my voice a strained rumble from deep in my chest. "And tighter."

She adjusted her grip, pressing herself against me, her slight weight warm and solid against my chest plates. My arm encircled her waist, claws carefully angled away, retracted, from her fragile human skin, holding her securely against me.

I wrapped my tail around her thigh, and she gasped.

"Only an anchor," I assured her.

Too close. Her heartbeat hammered against my scales, a frantic rhythm echoing my own. Her breath, warm and quick against the sensitive ridge of my throat. I could feel every tense line of her body, the subtle tremor of anticipation—or fear?—running through her.

"Ready?" I asked, the word choked, barely intelligible through the sudden tightness in my throat.

She nodded, her face turned up to mine, those remarkable eyes wide with something caught between terror and raw exhilaration.

I stepped off the edge.

Wings spread wide, catching the updraft. We didn't fall. We plummeted .

Just for a terrible second. Her grip tightened convulsively, a small, choked sound torn from her throat—not quite a scream, more a gasp of pure shock. Then my wings bit the air, found purchase, and the plummet became a powerful glide, a surge that carried us away from the mountain face and out over the vast, terrifying expanse of Volcaryth.

Her face buried itself against the hardened scales of my neck ridge, her arms clinging with desperate strength. I could feel her rapid heart-hammer against my ribs, her quickened breath misting against my skin. Beneath the sharp tang of fear rising from her, something else bloomed—pure, unadulterated excitement. Wonder.

"Open your eyes, Hawk," I murmured, my voice a low vibration that hummed between us. "See what I see."

Slowly, tentatively, she lifted her head. I watched her expression transform—fear melting away, replaced by stark awe as she took in the world spread beneath us like a wrathful god's tapestry. The city of Scalvaris fell away behind, a sprawling monument of dark stone and flickering crystal carved into the mountain's bleeding heart. Before us stretched the endless crimson deserts, the distant shimmer of lava flows etching fiery, incandescent veins across the tortured landscape.

"Oh my god," she breathed, the words catching on the wind, ripped away. "It's … it's incredible."

I banked, riding the thermal currents higher, giving her a broader, more devastating view. She laughed—a sound so unexpected, so pure and unrestrained, that it struck something deep within me, cracking it open. Her body relaxed fractionally against mine, fear forgotten, burned away in the raw rush of flight.

For a precious, stolen moment, nothing else existed. Not the looming Ignarath threat, not the corrosive lie festering between us, not the burning, consuming need that gnawed at me day and night. There was only the wind whistling past, the immense sky arching above, and Hawk secure in my arms, her face alight with a joy so radiant, so fierce, it defied the desolation below.

Mine.

The word echoed through the chambers of my mind, inescapable and absolute. It was a truth branded onto my soul.

All too soon, inevitably, I banked again, beginning our reluctant return arc toward the Overlook. Her grip tightened instantly, a silent, desperate protest against our descent.

"Not yet," she said, the words half-lost, whipped away by the wind. "Please."

I shouldn't. Every second with her pressed against me like this was torture—exquisite, brutal torture. My control was fraying, shredded thin by her scent, her warmth, the terrifying, unconscious trust she'd placed in me. A blade twisting deeper with every beat of my wings.

But I couldn't deny her. Not this. Not when flight had returned something essential to her spirit, something the grounding had stolen.

"Hold on," I rumbled, the sound deep, resonant. I felt her arms tighten around my neck again, her body molding closer still as I caught another powerful thermal and soared higher, carrying us in a wide, sweeping arc that revealed the distant Crystal Mountains, their faceted peaks glittering like cruel diamonds in the harsh sunlight.

Her laugh pealed out again, wilder this time. It was freedom itself given voice. The sound burrowed into me, taking root somewhere deep and vital, somewhere I couldn't reach, couldn't protect.

Eventually, inevitably, gravity and duty pulled us back. I landed with precision honed over the years. But I was frozen. I couldn't let her go. She remained in my arms, her face flushed with exhilaration, her eyes bright, shining with an emotion I couldn't decipher but felt reflected in my own turbulent core. Potent. Dangerous.

Then, slowly, reluctantly, she unwound her arms from my neck. The loss of her warmth was a physical pain, a sudden, hollow ache that gaped open as she stepped back, putting crucial space between us once more.

"Thank you," she said, her voice softer, huskier than I'd ever heard it. Her scent had changed subtly, heightened by adrenaline and something deeper, sweeter, more fundamentally her . It was intoxicating.

My tongue felt thick, hypersensitive, burning with the taste of her lingering on the air between us. My vision narrowed, focused laser-sharp on the pulse hammering visibly in the delicate curve of her throat, the slight parting of her lips as she caught her breath.

The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring drawn to its limit. It was vibrating with unspoken tension. I could step forward. One step. I could tell her the truth. I could claim what was already mine in all but name, seal it there under the unforgiving eyes of the twin suns.

Her gaze dropped. Lingered on my mouth. On my fangs, visible now as my lips pulled back fractionally in a silent snarl of need. Something shifted in her expression—awareness flickered, heat kindled deep in her eyes, confusion warring with something else. She swallowed hard, the movement drawing my focus with agonizing precision to the vulnerable line of her throat.

Mine. The word roared through me, a furnace blast drowning all reason, all centuries of hard-won restraint.

Then she stepped back again, decisively this time, breaking the moment. Breaking the connection. Her arms crossed over her chest, an unconscious, immediate barrier. "We should get back," she said, her voice steadier now, though a subtle tremor still vibrated beneath the surface. "You had business with Ryvik, right?"

Duty. The mention was a cold shock, dousing the internal fire. I forced my wings to fold completely, forced my stance to relax, though every muscle fiber screamed with coiled tension, with thwarted instinct.

"He will find us if it's urgent," I managed, the words rough-edged, scraped from my throat. "We should return to the city."

We walked back down the steep path in silence. But it wasn't the same silence as before. This one crackled, thick with unspoken words, with the ghost of flight, with the dangerous heat that had flared between us. Her scent had irrevocably changed, carrying notes of exhilaration and spice and something uniquely, terrifyingly Hawk that hadn't been there before the flight. It drove me toward the edge of madness with each shared breath.

As we reached the lower levels, the familiar bustle of the city surrounded us again—too many scents vying for attention, too many clashing sounds grating on over-stimulated nerves. It was overload. I was drowning in sensation, in the crushing weight of restraint, in the lie that felt heavier, more poisonous with each passing moment.

I couldn't do this. Not now. Not with her so close, her altered scent clinging to my scales, the memory of her warmth branded onto my skin, the image of her face alight with joy seared into my mind.

"Return to our quarters," I said abruptly, the command harsher than intended, cutting through the street noise.

She stopped dead, tension rippling through her small frame like a shockwave. "Excuse me?"

"There are matters I must attend to. Alone." I couldn't look at her, couldn't risk her seeing the raw hunger, the fraying control in my eyes. "Return to the quarters. Wait there. I will join you later."

"That wasn't the deal," she countered immediately, anger flaring hot beneath her words, sharp as obsidian shards. "I'm not going back to being locked up while you?—"

"Please." The word tore from me, raw, exposed. Utterly unlike me.

Her breath caught, a sharp intake of surprise flashing across her face, silencing her mid-sentence. I had never begged. Never pleaded. Not until now. For this.

Something in my expression, my voice, must have revealed too much. Shown the crack widening in the dam of my control. Because she hesitated, the anger faltering, replaced by a flicker of … understanding? Caution? Then she gave a slow, reluctant nod.

"Fine," she said quietly, the fight draining out of her, leaving behind a weary tension. "But this conversation isn't over, Khorlar." A promise.

I watched her turn and walk away, each retreating step driving the knife of deception deeper into my own chest. The lie between us had never felt more vast, more damning. But telling her the truth now … after the deception, after the intimacy of flight, after seeing that spark ignite in her eyes …

I couldn't bear to see the fragile trust, the exhilaration, twist into betrayal. Revulsion. Not yet. Not until I could offer her a choice that wasn't merely the lesser of two evils.

So I turned away, forcing myself in the opposite direction, heading deeper into the city's labyrinthine core. Away from her scent. Away from temptation.

Away from the truth roaring in my blood, rapidly becoming impossible to deny—that I was bound to her, claimed by her as surely as if the Sacred Flame itself had forged the chain between us.