Page 19 of Fire’s Resonance (Hearts on Fire #1)

The dining hall grows quieter, the crackling of the fire pit the only sound breaking the tense silence. Dragons watch the confrontation with predatory interest, scenting the air for weakness. Any display of submission now will invite more challenges, more threats to Spark’s safety.

Spark steps slightly behind me, her small hand pressing against my lower back in what appears to be a calming gesture. The point of contact burns like a brand, heat spiraling through my body and concentrating in my core.

Holy fuck.

A sudden rush of power floods my veins, different from anything I’ve ever experienced. The sensation starts where her palm connects with my back, spreading outward in waves of liquid fire that race through my bloodstream.

My “defective” gray flames suddenly flare crimson—pure, powerful crimson like a royal dragon’s—engulfing my arms in a display that hasn’t been possible for me since birth.

The flames create a protective arc around us both.

They don’t burn Spark, instead curling around her like a living shield, recognizing her as mine to protect.

“Holy shit,” she whispers behind me, but there’s no fear in her voice—only wonder and a deepening arousal that makes my nostrils flare.

She likes our fire. Our power. Sees our worth.

Through the flames, I feel a new connection forming—a faint echo of her emotions flowing into me. Amazement. Desire. A surge of fierce protectiveness that mirrors my own. The bond strengthening, knitting our essences together.

The gathered dragons fall silent, staring in shock at my transformed flames. Even Orrath steps back, confusion replacing contempt as he takes in the implications.

Crimson flames. Royal flames.

Power that shouldn’t be possible for a mixed-blood “defective” like me.

The flames dance across my skin, stronger and hotter than I’ve ever produced, yet completely under my control.

Guardian flames, I realize with sudden clarity. The bond with Spark is changing me, unlocking abilities that have been dormant.

“Impossible,” Orrath mutters, backing away farther as the heat intensifies. Sweat beads on his forehead, dripping down his temples that have gone pale beneath his bronzed skin.

I meet his gaze steadily, letting the flames speak for themselves.

Challenge me now, my posture says. Let’s see who the real dragon is.

Orrath looks away first, a subtle submission that sends a rush of savage satisfaction through my veins.

The flames retreat slightly, still crimson-tinged but no longer engulfing my arms. The display has achieved its purpose. For now, at least, we’ve established our position.

From the shadows at the far end of the dining hall, a figure emerges that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Elder Varen Zraa, former clan leader and now reclusive council member, his once-powerful frame now gaunt with age or illness.

His amber eyes study us with unsettling intensity, a hunger in his gaze that sets off warning bells in my mind. I notice details others seem to miss—the black veins visible at Varen’s temples, the ashen tone to his skin, the slight tremor in his hands.

Something is wrong with the elder, something no one acknowledges openly.

The flames around my arms flicker in response to the perceived threat, shifting from crimson back to gray, then to crimson again, as if uncertain. Spark presses closer to my back, her heartbeat accelerating against my spine. She senses it too—the wrongness that clings to Varen like a second skin.

“The Guardian awakens,” Varen murmurs, circling us slowly, nostrils flaring as he scents the air around us.

His movements are too fluid for his apparent age, his attention fixed on Spark with an intensity that makes me want to shield her completely from view.

“How unexpected. And in one with the ashen flame.”

The term makes my spine stiffen.

Ashen flame—the old name for the gray fire that marks me as different. Not defective. Ashen.

The distinction feels important somehow, though I can’t place why. It tastes like truth on my tongue, a forgotten knowledge that stirs something deep in my blood.

Varen’s gaze shifts to where Spark’s hand still presses against my back, his lips curving in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“The female is the catalyst,” Varen says, voice low enough that only we can hear. “Fascinating.”

Dragons throughout the hall watch our interaction with the elder, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility. Varen’s interest in us has implications I don’t fully understand, but instinct tells me it’s dangerous.

He sniffs the air between us, his nostrils flaring. “The bond progresses. I can scent it on you both.” His eyes narrow, fixed on Spark with that same hungry calculation. “Tell me, female, do you dream of fire? Of flight? Of joining with your dragon in ways your human mind can barely comprehend?”

Spark stiffens behind me, her pulse jumping. The scent of her embarrassment and arousal mingles into something intoxicating that makes my cock throb painfully. She’s dreaming of me. Of us. The knowledge sends a rush of primal satisfaction through my veins.

My mind flashes to my own dreams—Spark beneath me, copper hair spread across my bed, amber eyes glazed with pleasure as I claim her. Her skin glowing with opal-like scales where my flames have touched her. Her body accepting mine completely as we forge the bond in fire and passion.

Soon. Must be soon.

“My dreams are none of your business,” she replies, voice steady despite her racing heart.

Varen chuckles, the sound devoid of warmth. “Bold little thing.” His gaze shifts back to me. “She’ll need that courage for what comes next, Silverclaw.”

“Come to my chambers,” he continues, voice deceptively gentle as his gaze moves between us. “There’s much you should know that others won’t tell you.” His smile remains cold, calculating. “About what you two are becoming.”

My instincts scream a warning at the elder’s too-keen interest. Every protective fiber in my being rejects the idea of taking Spark anywhere near Varen’s private quarters.

Yet refusing a direct invitation from the former clan leader would create more problems than we already have—it could be considered an insult serious enough to warrant formal challenge or even exile.

Caught between instinct and protocol, I hesitate. The dragon snarls within me, rejecting the idea of placing my female in potential danger. The warrior in me recognizes the political necessity of compliance.

Protect mate. Follow protocol. Protect mate. Follow protocol.

The competing imperatives war within me, tearing at my control. The pain of it manifests physically—a burning sensation beneath my skin, as if my scales are trying to emerge all at once. My temperature spikes, steam actually rising from my exposed skin.

“We would be honored, Elder,” I force out, the words tasting like gravel in my mouth. Beside me, Spark tenses, clearly sensing my discomfort through our growing connection.

Her fingers press more firmly against my back, a deliberate pressure that feels like a question. I reach behind me without looking, finding her hip and giving it a gentle squeeze—reassurance and warning combined.

Stay close. Be alert.

The silent communication flows between us as naturally as breath, the Guardian Bond strengthening with each passing hour. I can almost sense her thoughts, can feel her curiosity warring with caution.

“I want to know,” she whispers, her lips close enough to my ear that her breath sends shivers down my spine. The soft exhale caresses my skin, making the scales beneath ripple in response. “But something’s off about him.”

I nod slightly, impressed by her perception. Most full-blooded dragons miss the wrongness that clings to Varen, yet this half-human female with barely awakened senses has detected it immediately. Pride swells in my chest, followed by a deeper, more possessive emotion I don’t dare name.

Smart female. Worthy mate.

Varen turns, gesturing for us to follow him out of the dining hall. The crowd parts before him, dragons bowing their heads in deference to the elder. I draw Spark closer to my side. Her body heat seeps into my palm, branding me with her scent, her essence.

“This way,” Varen says, leading us toward the eastern corridor—the oldest part of Emberhold, where the elders maintain their private quarters.

Every sense remains on high alert. These passages are older than the main sanctuary, carved from living stone by the first dragon settlers centuries ago.

The air grows cooler, damper as we descend, the normal sounds of Emberhold fading behind us. The scent changes too—less of the communal dragon markers, more of something ancient and musty. Beneath it all, a hint of wrongness that makes my scales itch beneath my skin.

The passage suddenly drops sharply, the ancient stone worn smooth by centuries of dragon feet. Spark stumbles on the unexpected decline. My arms shoot out instantly, catching her around the waist before she can fall.

Time freezes as I pull her against me, her back to my chest, my arms wrapped around her midsection.

Her ass presses against my groin, the perfect curve fitting against my hardness in a way that makes coherent thought impossible.

Her head falls back against my shoulder, copper hair tickling my jaw.

The exposed line of her throat tempts me beyond reason.

Bite. Mark. Claim.

I don’t realize I’m growling until I feel her shiver in response. Not with fear—with arousal. The scent of her desire spikes sharply, filling the narrow passage with sweet cinnamon heat. My hips instinctively push forward, grinding my cock against her ass.

“Careful,” I manage to say, my voice barely recognizable. “The floor drops here.”