Page 14 of Fire’s Resonance (Hearts on Fire #1)

FIVE

SPARK

“This is fucking insane.”

I pace the length of Raak’s quarters for the twentieth time. My bare feet slap against the cold stone floor. The sensation grounds me when everything else feels like a fever dream.

Dragons.

Actual fire-breathing, scale-covered dragons living beneath a mountain in some hidden sanctuary.

And apparently, I’m magically “bonding” with the most intimidating one—a six-foot-four wall of muscle with silver eyes that follow my every movement like I’m particularly interesting prey.

This can’t be happening. Not to me. Normal glass artists don’t suddenly discover they’re part dragon and get kidnapped to underground lairs.

I tug my hands through my tangled copper hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. “I’m human. I have a social security number. I pay taxes, for fuck’s sake!”

No answer from the dragon-man currently brewing tea across the room. Just that infuriating silence that makes me want to throw something at his stupidly perfect head.

The heat in this room is stifling. Or maybe it’s just me.

My skin feels too tight, like something’s trying to claw its way out from beneath.

Every hour, my temperature climbs another fraction of a degree.

By human standards, I should be dead from fever.

By dragon standards, apparently, I’m just “transitioning.”

Bullshit. All of it.

I stop pacing long enough to take in Raak’s living space for the hundredth time.

The quarters are sparse and utilitarian—a warrior’s domain with weapons mounted on the stone walls and minimal furniture.

Everything in shades of gray and black. No personal touches except for a shelf containing several of my glass pieces.

The contrast is jarring—my vibrant, fiery creations against his monochromatic space.

The massive bed dominates one wall, covered in dark sheets that look barely used. The attached bathroom is equally minimalist, though the shower is big enough for three people.

Or one very large dragon man.

Stop thinking about him naked. Stop it right now.

My core clenches traitorously.

The man himself is currently shirtless, because, of fucking course, he is.

Raak moves around the space with predatory grace, preparing some kind of herbal tea that I absolutely do not want but apparently need “for the transformation.” His torso ripples with muscle with each movement, occasionally revealing patches of silver-gray scales that appear and disappear along his shoulder blades and spine.

I hate how my mouth goes dry whenever I look at him.

I hate how my nipples tighten painfully against my borrowed shirt.

I hate how I can’t stop looking.

“Could you put on a fucking shirt?” I snap, the words harsher than intended.

Raak turns. One eyebrow raises. His lips curve into a knowing smirk. “Does my bare skin bother you, female?”

Female. Not Spark. Not even “little flame.” Just female. Like I’m some breeding stock.

“You know damn well it does,” I mutter, looking away as heat crawls up my neck.

He approaches with the steaming mug. His nostrils flare slightly, and his silver eyes darken, pupils expanding. A subtle glow emanates from them, illuminating his harsh features in the dim room.

He can smell me. Smell my arousal. Fucking dragons and their enhanced senses.

“Stop sniffing me,” I demand as he gets closer.

“Can’t help it.” His voice rumbles from deep in his chest, the sound vibrating through me and settling between my thighs. “Your scent changes when you want me. Gets sweeter. Hotter.”

A growl punctuates his words.

The sound sends an involuntary shiver through me, my body responding like it’s been conditioned to react to his primal noises. My thighs clench together, seeking pressure where heat pools between them.

“I don’t want you,” I lie, taking the mug and stepping back quickly. My hands look tiny wrapped around the large ceramic cup, a stark reminder of our size difference.

His knowing chuckle makes me want to throw the tea in his face. Instead, I take a sip and immediately regret it. The taste is bitter and earthy, with an underlying heat that spreads through my chest.

“What the hell is in this?” I grimace, looking at the murky liquid.

“Dragon herbs.” His answer is clipped, minimal. “Drink.”

Bossy asshole.

I roll my eyes but take another sip. “You’re awfully commanding for someone who kidnapped me.”

“Rescued.” His silver eyes narrow, jaw clenching. “They would have killed you.”

As he speaks, tiny scales flicker briefly into existence along his jawline, silver-gray and gleaming. They disappear almost immediately, but not before I notice how they catch the light.

“Right. The mysterious ‘they’ who wanted to hurt me because of my magical dragon connection that I didn’t even know about.” I finish the tea in one long swallow, wincing at the aftertaste. “Still feels like kidnapping when I can’t leave.”

“Can leave anytime.” His muscles tense, biceps flexing as he crosses his arms over his massive chest. The movement draws my eyes, and I find myself staring at the defined contours of his pectorals, the rippling abdominal muscles that taper into a V at the waistband of his pants. “Won’t survive. Your choice.”

The heat from the tea spreads through me, intensifying the already uncomfortable warmth of my skin. Sweat beads along my hairline despite the coolness of the stone room.

Something’s wrong with me. I shouldn’t be this hot. Shouldn’t want him this badly. Shouldn’t feel like my skin is trying to molt.

“And what exactly is happening to me, Raak?” I ask, voice quieter now. My fingers tremble slightly as I set the empty mug down. “Because I’m pretty fucking terrified, if you want the truth.”

Something flickers across his face—concern, maybe even tenderness—before the stoic mask returns.

“Guardian Bond awakening.” He moves closer, into my personal space. His heat radiates outward, calling to something inside me. I have to crane my neck to look up at him, the top of my head barely reaching his shoulder. “Dragon half emerging.”

“I don’t have a dragon half,” I insist, but the words sound hollow even to me. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. The patterns beneath my skin seem to pulse in time with it, appearing and disappearing with each beat.

“Explain scales.” He gestures to my arms, where faint opalescent patterns shimmer beneath my skin before disappearing again. “Explain heat. Explain fire resistance.”

I have no answers.

I’m changing into something else. Something not human. Should I be terrified or thrilled?

I fall back on sarcasm. “Maybe I’m mutating from all the chemicals in my art supplies. Ever think of that?”

“Take off your shirt.”

The sudden command makes me blink. “Excuse me?”

“Shirt. Off.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but his eyes... there’s something vulnerable there, something almost pleading.

“Why?” I cross my arms over my chest protectively, suddenly aware of how my hardened nipples must be visible through the thin fabric.

“Need to see your skin.” He steps even closer, towering over me. His scent fills my nostrils—smoke and cedar and something uniquely male that makes my mouth water. “Need to know how far transformation has progressed.”

“And what exactly am I transforming into?” I lift my chin, refusing to back down despite having heard the answer a thousand times already.

“Mine.”

The same word rumbles from deep in his chest, possessive and primal. His silver eyes flash, pupils dilating until only a thin metallic ring remains.

“My female. My Guardian. Mine.”

My breath catches. Body responding instantly to his claim. I hate my reaction. Hate how right it feels when he calls me his.

His hand dwarfs the side of my face, fingers long enough to tangle in my hair at the nape of my neck. The size difference between us should be awkward. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through my body.

I should step back. I should slap his hand away and tell him to fuck off with his mystical soul mate bullshit.

Instead, I stand frozen, caught in his silver gaze like a rabbit before a predator.

“Show me proof,” I whisper finally, not even sure what I’m asking for.

His eyes darken further. A muscle in his jaw ticks. Slowly, giving me time to refuse, he tugs my borrowed shirt up and over my head. The cool air hits my overheated skin, raising goose bumps despite my elevated temperature.

I stand before him in just my bra, feeling more exposed than if I were completely naked.

What am I doing? Why am I letting him undress me? Why does it feel so right?

“Look.” His voice softens as he turns me toward the full-length mirror on the wall.

I gasp at my reflection.

Holy fuck.

Copper-red patterns spread across my shoulders and down my arms like elaborate tattoos, but they move beneath my skin, appearing and disappearing with my pulse.

They’re beautiful and terrifying, alien yet somehow familiar.

Around my collarbone, tiny scales catch the light, glimmering with iridescent fire.

“What is this?” I whisper, reaching up to touch the markings. They feel warm beneath my fingertips, almost alive.

“Your true self.” Raak stands behind me, his massive frame dwarfing mine in the mirror. His eyes glow slightly in the reflection, the silver illuminated from within. “Dragon blood awakening to bond.”

His chest nearly touches my back, his heat enveloping me like a physical caress.

In the mirror, the contrast between us is stark—his massive, muscled form behind my much smaller frame, his tanned skin against my paler complexion, his silver-gray scales beginning to emerge in response to my proximity.

“I can’t be part dragon. My parents were human.” But even as I say it, I remember that I never knew my birth parents. Orphaned as an infant, bounced between foster homes—I have no idea who or what my biological family might have been.

The patterns pulse more rapidly as my heart rate increases. Each beat sends a wave of heat through my body, settling low in my belly, between my thighs.