Page 17 of Fire’s Resonance (Hearts on Fire #1)

My hands glow with copper light. The books freeze in midair, suspended in a shimmering field of energy that extends from my palms.

“What the fuck?” I gasp, staring at the floating books, then at my glowing hands.

“Extraordinary!” Bramwell exclaims, rushing to my side. “Telekinetic flame manipulation! That’s a rare Guardian Bond ability!”

The glow around my hands intensifies as my concentration wavers. I feel the weight of the books pressing against the energy field, growing heavier by the second.

“I can’t hold them,” I grit out, arms trembling with the effort. “Too heavy.”

“Focus on the flame inside you,” Bramwell instructs urgently. “Feed it your intent. Direct it.”

I try to concentrate, to channel whatever this power is, but it’s slipping. The books begin to descend, the energy field flickering.

Suddenly, a wave of heat washes over me from behind. Large hands cover mine, silver-gray scales glimmering against my skin. Raak’s chest presses against my back, his much larger frame enveloping me completely.

“Together,” he growls in my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

Silver-gray flame merges with my copper glow, strengthening the energy field. The books stabilize, then slowly rise back toward the shelf.

“Focus,” Raak murmurs, his voice a deep rumble I can feel through my entire body. “Direct our flame.”

Somehow, I know what he means. I visualize the books returning safely to the shelf, and our combined energy responds, guiding the tomes back into place.

As the last book settles, the energy field dissipates. I sag back against Raak’s chest, suddenly exhausted. His arms wrap around me, supporting my weight effortlessly.

“How did you know?” I whisper, turning my head to look up at him. From this angle, with my back pressed to his front, the size difference between us is even more pronounced. I feel small, protected.

His silver eyes glow faintly as they meet mine. “I felt your distress. Felt your power awakening.” His expression is a mix of pride and concern. “The bond is growing stronger.”

I should pull away. Should reestablish some distance. Instead, I find myself leaning into his strength, allowing him to support me while my trembling limbs recover.

“That was...unexpected.”

A rare smile curves his lips, transforming his harsh features. “First awakening of Guardian ability. Earlier than expected.”

“Is that a good thing?” I ask, still not moving from the circle of his arms.

“Very good.” His approval rumbles through his chest into my back. “Shows bond strengthening. Shows your power.”

Bramwell clears his throat loudly, reminding us we’re not alone. I pull away from Raak then, missing his warmth immediately.

“That was remarkable,” Bramwell says, eyes wide with academic excitement. “The spontaneous manifestation of power, the instinctive coordination between you—it’s everything the ancient texts described about Guardian pairs.”

I glance down at my hands, now back to normal with no sign of the copper glow. “I could feel you,” I say to Raak, struggling to find words for the experience. “Not just physically. I could feel your energy, your... intent.”

“Mental connection forming.” Raak’s expression is solemn, but his eyes gleam with something like excitement. “Second stage of bond.”

“Already?” Bramwell gasps. “That’s unprecedented. The bond is developing much faster than historical records indicate.”

“Is that bad?” I ask, suddenly anxious.

“Not bad.” Raak’s hand finds the small of my back again, warm and steadying. “Urgent. Needed.”

I feel it then, as his skin connects with mine through the thin fabric of my shirt—a flicker of emotion that isn’t my own. Determination. Protectiveness. And beneath those, something deeper, warmer.

I’m feeling his emotions. This is really happening.

“I think I need to sit down,” I murmur, my legs suddenly unsteady.

Before I can take a step, Raak sweeps me into his arms, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. I yelp in surprise, hands automatically clutching at his shoulders for balance.

“What are you doing?” I demand, face flushing at the sudden intimate contact.

“Carrying my female.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, already striding toward the library exit. “Need to conserve strength after power manifestation.”

“I can walk,” I protest, though my traitorous body has no desire to leave the secure cradle of his arms.

“Yes.” His silver eyes flick down to mine, something almost playful in their depths. “Don’t need to.”

I should argue. Should demand he put me down immediately. Instead, I find myself relaxing against his chest, my head coming to rest in the crook of his shoulder.

Just this once. Just because I’m tired.

The journey back to his quarters passes in a blur of staring faces and whispered comments.

I’m too exhausted to care what the other dragons think of this display.

Raak’s steady heartbeat beneath my ear and the gentle rhythm of his stride lull me into a state of semi-awareness, my eyelids growing heavy.

By the time we reach the Guardian quarters, I’m barely conscious. I register being placed gently on the bed, strong hands removing my shoes, a soft blanket being drawn over me.

“Rest, little flame,” Raak murmurs, his fingers brushing hair from my forehead in a surprisingly tender gesture. “Body needs recovery after first power use.”

I want to say something—to thank him, to question him, to understand more about what happened—but exhaustion pulls me under before I can form the words.

Dreams come vivid and intense—fire and flight, scales against bare skin, silver eyes watching me with hunger. Strong hands gripping my hips, sharp teeth grazing my throat, claiming me completely.

But this time, the dream shifts. I see a young boy with silver-streaked black hair, eyes wide with terror as flames engulf him. Hear cruel laughter as the boy screams. Feel the excruciating pain as silver-gray replaces crimson, forever marking him as different, as less.

I wake with a gasp, tears streaming down my face, heart pounding with residual fear and rage.

“Spark?” Raak is beside the bed in an instant, concern etched across his features. “What’s wrong?”

“I saw it,” I whisper, reaching for him without thinking. “I saw how they reacted to you.”

His expression freezes, silver eyes widening in shock. “What?”

“The ceremony.” My voice breaks on the words. “They hurt you deliberately. Mocked you. Even the adults.”

Raak goes utterly still, not even seeming to breathe. Then his shoulders sag, the carefully maintained facade crumbling.

“How?” he asks, voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it.

“I dreamed it. Saw it. Felt it.” I can’t stop the tears that continue to fall. “Why would they do that to a child?”

Slowly, as if expecting rejection, Raak sinks onto the edge of the bed. “Politics. Power.” His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking beneath his skin. “My bloodline too close to throne. Potential threat.”

“So they ridiculed you?” The protective rage returns, burning hot in my chest. “That’s monstrous.”

“Dragon politics. Brutal.” His expression is carefully blank, but I can feel the old pain radiating from him in waves. “Survived. Adapted. Became warrior instead of leader.”

“And they made fun of you.” I reach for his hand, twining my fingers with his much larger ones. “Called you defective for surviving their cruelty.”

A flicker of surprise crosses his face at my touch, at my understanding. He stares at our joined hands as if they hold some great mystery.

“Never told anyone,” he admits softly.

“I see you.” The words come without hesitation, filled with a certainty I don’t question. “I saw it, Raak. I felt it.”

“Bond shows truth.” His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand, the gentle touch at odds with his warrior persona. “Shares memories. Connects souls.”

Something shifts between us in that moment—some barrier falling away, leaving us both more vulnerable, more real to each other. This isn’t just lust or magical compulsion. This is understanding. Connection. The beginning of trust.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I say softly. “You didn’t deserve it. No child does.”

His silver eyes meet mine, holding something I haven’t seen before—gratitude, wonder, and a fragile hope. “No one ever said that before.”

The simple statement breaks my heart. I shift closer to him on the bed, my free hand rising to cup his cheek. The gesture feels natural, necessary.

“Well, they should have.” My thumb traces the line of his cheekbone, feeling the warmth of his skin, the slight roughness of stubble. “What they did doesn’t make you defective, Raak. It makes you a survivor.”

He turns his face into my palm, eyes closing briefly at the contact. The vulnerability in that small gesture touches something deep inside me, melting another layer of my resistance.

When his eyes open again, they glow with silver light. “My survivor,” he rumbles, voice dropping to that register that sends shivers through me. “My fierce female.”

This time, I don’t protest the possessive words. Instead, I find myself leaning closer, drawn by something stronger than conscious thought.

Our lips are inches apart when a loud knock shatters the moment.

“Silverclaw!” a voice calls through the door. “Emergency council meeting. All warriors required immediately.”

Raak growls low in his throat, frustration evident in every line of his body. “Duty calls,” he mutters, pulling back reluctantly.

“Go,” I say, trying to ignore the disappointment coursing through me. “Do your dragon thing, again.”

He stands, already shifting back into his professional demeanor, but his eyes remain soft as they look down at me. “Stay here. Rest. Recover your strength.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise, surprised to find I mean it.

With a nod, he turns and strides to the door. Just before leaving, he pauses, glancing back at me over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says simply.

“For what?”

“For seeing me.” The words hold a weight I’m only beginning to understand. “Not the flame. Not the warrior. Me.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with a tangle of emotions I’m not ready to unravel.

Night falls in the underground sanctuary, marked only by dimming crystal lights.

I sit on the edge of Raak’s massive bed, waiting for his return.

Hours have passed since the emergency meeting began, and the strange connection between us tells me he’s still there, still engaged in whatever crisis has arisen.

I’ve spent the time examining the changes in my body, watching as the patterns beneath my skin respond to my emotions, flaring brighter when I think of Raak, fading when I focus on other things.

That night, alone in Raak’s quarters, I experiment. Focusing on the heat beneath my skin, I try to call forth the copper flame I glimpsed earlier. Nothing happens at first, frustration mounting with each failed attempt.

“Come on,” I mutter, staring at my palm. “If I’m supposedly part dragon, prove it.”

Still nothing. Just as I’m about to give up, I think of my glass studio. Of the flames I’ve shaped into art for years. Of the patterns that called to Raak across time and space.

My birthmark flares with sudden heat. A tiny copper flame flickers to life in my palm, dancing like a living thing. Not threatening. Not alien.

Mine. Always mine. Just waiting to be acknowledged.

I stare at the small flame, mesmerized by its beauty, by the way it responds to my thoughts, growing or shrinking with my focus.

“I did that,” I whisper, wonder replacing fear. “I created fire.”

The realization doesn’t solve everything. Questions still swirl—about my past, my future, this bond with Raak. But for the first time, I feel a flicker of something new alongside the fear.

Possibility.

I trace the copper patterns spreading across my skin.

They’re beautiful in their own way—alien yet somehow familiar.

Part of me is fascinated, but another part grieves.

Will I still be able to create human art?

Will I still feel the connection to the human world I’ve known?

Every step toward accepting this dragon reality feels like losing a piece of the Spark I’ve always been.

My mind keeps returning to the almost-kiss, to the vulnerability in his silver eyes, to the shared memory that connected us more deeply than any physical touch could have.

This is more than magical dragon bullshit. This is real. Whatever is happening between us, it’s real.

When he finally returns, I’m still awake, sitting cross-legged in the center of his bed, one of my glass orbs cradled in my hands. The piece contains his exact flame pattern, I now realize—created months before we ever met.

Raak pauses in the doorway, taking in the sight of me on his bed. His expression is guarded, shoulders tense with whatever news the council meeting brought.

“Bad?” I ask simply.

“Complicated.” He moves into the room, shedding his formal warrior attire, replacing it with loose sleeping pants. “Politics. Factions. Fear.”

“About us? About the bond?”

“Partly.”

He begins arranging a makeshift pallet on the floor. I’m surprised he’s not pushing to get me into bed.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” I admit, watching the patterns ripple beneath my skin.

Raak’s expression shifts, vulnerability breaking through his warrior mask. “If the bond completes, my flame will change. I’ll no longer be defective.”

“Your flame isn’t defective now,” I insist automatically.

“Clan sees it differently.” His eyes meet mine, unguarded for once. “Only you see beauty in a gray flame.”

The simple truth in his words strikes me deeply. He’s been an outcast his entire life for something beyond his control—something actually beautiful but deemed wrong by others.

Just like my glass art. Just like my heat resistance. Just like the strange dreams I’ve had my entire life.

Maybe accepting this bond isn’t surrendering who I am. Maybe it’s finally becoming who I was meant to be all along.