Page 15 of Fire’s Resonance (Hearts on Fire #1)

Is this desire part of the change too? This constant, aching need for him?

“Your dragon bloodline is thin. Hidden for generations.” Raak’s hands hover over my shoulders, not quite touching. “May I?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. His warm palms settle on my bare skin, and I bite back a moan at the contact.

Fuck, yes. Touch me. More.

Heat spreads from where he touches, the patterns beneath my skin flaring to vibrant life. In the mirror, I watch as his own silver-gray scales emerge in response, spreading across his chest and arms in mesmerizing patterns.

“Guardian Bond,” he explains, voice rough with restraint. His thumbs make small circles on my shoulders, each movement sending sparks of pleasure down my spine. “Changes us both. We’re stronger together.”

One of his hands slides down my arm, fingers encircling my wrist. The size difference is shocking—his hand wraps completely around my wrist with room to spare. The visual reminder of his raw physical power sends another rush of heat through me.

“What happens if I fight it?” I ask, watching our reflections, fascinated despite my fear. His massive body curls around mine protectively, possessively. In the mirror, we look right together, despite how wrong this all feels to my rational mind.

His grip tightens slightly. A rumble builds in his chest, vibrating against my back. “Pain. Fever. Madness.” The words are clipped, forced out between clenched teeth. “Bond cannot be denied once awakened.”

“So I have no choice.” Bitterness edges my voice. I step away from his touch, immediately missing the contact but needing the distance to think clearly. My skin cools slightly without his touch, the patterns fading to a subtle shimmer.

“You always have choice, little flame.” Raak doesn’t follow, giving me the space I’ve claimed. His expression is solemn, eyes tracking my every movement. “But fighting true nature brings suffering.”

“What if this isn’t my true nature?” I challenge, even as my body leans toward his, seeking more contact. “What if it’s just some magical dragon bullshit forcing us together?”

His lips quirk slightly at my crude description. “Then why draw my flame pattern?” The question hangs between us, heavy with implication. “Years before meeting. My exact signature.”

I have no idea. It’s the question that’s been haunting me since Raak first pointed it out.

It’s a coincidence. Has to be. People see patterns where none exist all the time.

But even my internal argument sounds weak. I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes. Years of my work, containing flame patterns identical to Raak’s—patterns I couldn’t possibly have known.

I retrieve my shirt from the floor, pulling it back on like armor. “I need some air.”

“You’re not safe alone.” He takes a step forward, then stops himself, fists clenched at his sides. “Others not welcoming to human female.”

“I don’t care. I need space to think.” I rake my hands through my tangled hair, tugging at the copper strands in frustration. “This is too much, too fast.”

For a moment, I think he’ll argue. His jaw clenches, silver eyes flashing with something primal and possessive. Then he exhales slowly, visibly reining himself in.

“You can go to the library.” He reaches for a shirt, finally covering that distracting expanse of muscled chest. “Bramwell will keep you safe.”

“Fine.” I don’t thank him. Being allowed to move around shouldn’t require gratitude.

The walk through the sanctuary corridors is tense.

Raak positions himself slightly in front of me, his body language screaming “mine, don’t touch” to every dragon we pass.

And there are many. Some in human form, others in partial shift with scales and claws visible.

All of them stare at me with expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility.

We round a corner, nearly colliding with Blaze. The clan leader’s golden eyes widen slightly as he takes in our appearance—specifically, the way Raak’s normally ashen flame now flickers with hints of crimson where our bodies touch.

“Interesting,” Blaze murmurs, his gaze lingering on the point where our hands meet, where energy visibly transfers between us.

Raak stiffens beside me, his posture automatically formal despite the tension radiating from him. “Clan Leader.”

Blaze seems to catch himself, schooling his features into careful neutrality. But not before I catch something in his expression—not the disgust or suspicion I’ve seen from other dragons, but something closer to... recognition.

“Carry on,” he says abruptly, stepping aside to let us pass. But as we move away, I feel his eyes following us, thoughtful and calculating in a way that raises questions rather than fears.

“What was that about?” I whisper once we’re out of earshot.

Raak shakes his head, confusion evident in his furrowed brow. “Not sure. Not the reaction I expected.”

The encounter leaves me with the distinct impression that the clan leader knows more than he’s revealing—about us, about this bond, about everything happening in Emberhold.

A group of male dragons block our path, their expressions coldly assessing as they eye me up and down. One of them—taller than the rest with ice-blue eyes—smirks as we approach.

“Playing with your pet, Silverclaw?” His gaze slides over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Or just taking it for a walk?”

A low, threatening rumble builds in Raak’s chest. The sound is more animal than human, raising the hair on the back of my neck. His body temperature spikes noticeably, heat radiating from him in waves.

“Move.” Just one word, but loaded with lethal promise. Raak’s hands clench at his sides, and I notice with shock that his fingernails have elongated into wicked-looking claws.

“Easy, Ashen One.” The blue-eyed dragon raises his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk remains. “Just curious about your human... companion. Unusual to see one conscious in the sanctuary.”

“My female. My business.” Raak’s voice drops even lower, the growl underlying his words now unmistakable. “Step aside, Orrath.”

The tension crackles between them, and for a moment, I think they might fight. Then Orrath’s gaze flicks to me, and his smirk widens.

“She smells of you already. Interesting.” He steps aside with exaggerated courtesy. “Enjoy your... bonding time.”

Raak’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me past the group. My traitorous body leans into the touch, craving more.

“That normal?” I whisper once we’re past.

“Territorial display.” Raak’s voice is still rough, the growl not entirely gone. “Orrath testing boundaries. Testing me.”

“Why?”

“Because I claimed you.” His silver eyes glance down at me, still glowing faintly with that inner light. “Claim must be defended or withdrawn. No middle ground.”

“So what, I’m like dragon property now?” I pull away from his touch, anger flaring.

“Not property.” Frustration edges his tone. “Protected. Valued.” He stops walking, turning to face me fully. “Would you prefer I let them think you’re available? Free to approach? To challenge?” he says with nearly full sentences for once. I wasn’t sure he knew how to do that.

The way he says “challenge” sends a chill down my spine.

“What would that mean, exactly?” I ask, already suspecting I won’t like the answer.

“Means they could try to claim you themselves.” His expression darkens. “Challenge my right to you through combat.”

“That’s barbaric.” I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite my elevated temperature. “I’m not a prize to be won in some dragon fight club.”

“Not prize. Partner.” And we’re back to monosyllabic grunts.

He reaches for me, then stops himself, hands falling back to his sides. “Dragon culture different. Based on strength, protection, proving worth.”

“And how do I fit into that? Do I get any say in who ‘claims’ me?”

Something shifts in his expression—a flash of vulnerability quickly masked. “Bond chooses. Not me. Not you. Already chosen.”

Stop making it sound like fate. Like we have no choice. Like this was meant to be.

“Why do they hate me?” I whisper as we continue walking, passing another group whose conversation halts abruptly at our approach.

“Not hate. Fear.” Raak’s voice is low, meant only for me. “Humans destroyed much. History of betrayal.”

“I haven’t betrayed anyone,” I protest.

“Not you.” His hand finds the small of my back again, guiding me past the staring group. “Ancestors. Old wounds.”

The library is a welcome reprieve. Vast and silent, with soaring ceilings and walls lined with ancient texts. The air smells of parchment and leather and time. Bramwell awaits us, his copper eyes lighting up at our approach.

“Spark! I was hoping you’d visit today.” The scholarly dragon’s enthusiasm is a stark contrast to the cool reception elsewhere. “I’ve found some fascinating texts about the Guardian Bond that I think you’ll—”

“She needs space,” Raak interrupts, his voice a low growl. “Watch. Protect. Don’t overwhelm.”

Bramwell’s expression falls slightly, but he nods. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

Raak turns to me, silver eyes intense. “Stay with Bramwell. No wandering alone.” His gaze sweeps over me, lingering on the places where he knows the scales are forming beneath my clothing. “Will return in two hours.”

It’s not a question or a suggestion. It’s a command.

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, ignoring the slight panic that rises at the thought of him leaving. “Go do your dragon warrior thing.”

A rumble builds in his chest, not quite a growl but not quite a laugh either. Without another word, he turns and stalks from the library, the other dragons giving him a wide berth as he passes.

“He’s very protective,” Bramwell observes once Raak is gone.

“He’s very controlling,” I correct, dropping into a chair by a massive wooden table. “There’s a difference.”