Page 22 of Fire’s Resonance (Hearts on Fire #1)

SEVEN

SPARK

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I rip off my third sweat-soaked shirt of the day. The damp fabric clings to my skin like a desperate lover, reluctant to let go. Six hours. Six fucking hours since Raak left for warrior training, and my body’s in full rebellion.

Steam rises from the stone floor beneath my bare feet. Heat marks evaporate seconds later. My temperature’s skyrocketed to what should be fatal levels, yet instead of dying, I just feel... desperate. Aching. Empty.

Need him. Need him now. Need to be filled.

No. I crush the thought. I don’t need anyone. Especially not some oversized, domineering dragon shifter I barely know.

Liar. Our male. Our mate.

The stone walls of Guardian quarters close in around me. Weapons mounted everywhere. Minimal furniture. Everything in shades of black and steel. Nothing soft except the bed I refuse to lie in because it smells like him, and that makes the ache worse.

I pace. Five steps one way. Turn. Five steps back. My hands shake. My skin burns.

Unbearable heat pulses through my veins like molten metal. My skin feels two sizes too small, stretched tight over bones that seem to be rearranging themselves. My breasts ache, nipples tight and sensitive against the fabric of my bra. Between my thighs, an insistent throb demands attention.

I press my forehead against the wall, seeking relief. The stone warms instantly beneath my touch.

Useless.

I grab the water pitcher by the bed. My trembling hands slosh liquid over the sides. I raise it to my lips. The water boils before it reaches my mouth.

“This is insane,” I mutter, pressing my thighs together against the persistent throb. “I’m not some animal in heat.”

But my body disagrees. Every cell screams for him

And that’s the final straw. My body’s betrayal. The complete hijacking of my will by this… this thing they call a bond.

Fuck that. And fuck him. I am Spark Dekker. I survived the foster system, built a business from sand and fire, and made a life for myself. I am not a broodmare, a "female" to be claimed. I am not a magical battery for a clan of arrogant, flying lizards.

Raak is gone, off to whatever passes for dragon boot camp. This is my chance.

My hands shake as I pull on my clothes—the same ones I wore when he dragged me here. They smell faintly of the human world, of exhaust and rain and freedom. I grab the small, heavy glass orb from my bag—the first piece that pulsed in my hands, the one that started it all. A reminder of who I was.

I slip out the door, my heart hammering against my ribs. The main corridors are surprisingly busy. Dragons in various forms move with purpose, barely glancing at the small, insignificant human in their midst. Good. Underestimate me. Everyone always has.

I stick to the shadows, trying to retrace our path from memory.

But the farther I get from Raak's quarters, the worse the "symptoms" get.

The low-grade fever I've been fighting flares into a raging inferno.

Sweat streams down my back. My vision begins to swim, the crystal lights of the corridor blurring into painful streaks.

A sharp, agonizing ache blossoms in my core. It’s not just desire anymore; it's a physical pain, a tearing emptiness, as if a vital part of me has been ripped away. My body is screaming for him, for the proximity of its mate, and the separation is pure torture.

I stumble into a deserted side tunnel, pressing my forehead against the cool stone. It does nothing to quench the fire in my blood. My legs tremble violently, then give out. I slide down the wall, gasping for breath, my body convulsing with a wave of agonizing need.

"No," I whimper, clutching my stomach. I can't leave. The bond won't let me. It's a leash, a chain, and I've just found its limit.

A shadow fills the tunnel entrance. I look up, expecting a hostile warrior, and find Raak.

He’s not smug. He’s not angry. The look on his face is something far more terrifying: pure, unrestrained fury. But it's not directed at me. It's the fury of a predator whose mate has been endangered.

He crosses the distance in two silent strides, his massive frame radiating heat and rage. He crouches before me, his silver eyes blazing.

“What were you thinking?” he growls, the sound vibrating through the stone floor.

I can’t answer. I can only tremble as he reaches for me. The moment his skin touches mine, relief crashes over me in a wave so potent it feels like a drug. The burning fever recedes, the agonizing ache in my core eases, the world stops spinning.

He pulls me into his lap, his arms wrapping around me like steel bands, and buries his face in my hair, inhaling deeply.

"You are never to leave my protection again," he orders, his voice rough with an emotion I can't name. "Do you understand me, female? Never."

And as I collapse against his chest, defeated not by him but by my own treacherous body, I finally understand. There is no escape. My old life, my human life, is over. This is my reality now. And I can either fight it and suffer, or learn to survive in it.

I choose survival.

He drops me in the room, and he’s gone again. He’ll be back soon, he said.

My reflection catches in one of Raak’s mounted blades. Copper hair wild around my face. Amber eyes glowing in the dimness. Actually fucking glowing.

I grab one of his black tanks from a drawer and pull it over my head. It hangs to mid-thigh, smelling like him—smoke and cedar and male. My nipples harden instantly against the fabric, tips pushing against the thin material like they’re seeking his touch. My thighs clench at his scent.

Traitors.

Worse than the physical symptoms are the dreams. Every time I manage to doze off, I’m assaulted by visceral, erotic visions.

In the latest, I was on all fours, Raak’s massive body covering me from behind, his fangs grazing my shoulder as he thrust into me with punishing force.

His growled “Mine” echoing in my ears as he filled me completely, stretching me to the point of delicious pain.

I’d woken gasping, embarrassingly wet, so close to climax I could have tipped over with the slightest touch.

Need to be filled. Need him inside. Need to be claimed.

“Stop it,” I hiss to myself, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.

I catch sight of my forearms. Opal-colored scales shimmer beneath the skin before disappearing like heat mirages. The once copper color has been swapped out with this new iridescent.

I drop onto the edge of his bed, surrendering to the need to breathe in his scent from the sheets. It provides minimal relief, like a drug addict getting a whiff of their substance without the actual hit. My hand slides unconsciously between my thighs, pressing against the ache there.

Not enough. Never enough.

The door crashes open.

I spin toward it, yanking my hand away, ready to unleash days of pent-up frustration on whoever’s interrupting my misery. The words die on my lips.

Raak fills the doorframe. All six-foot-four of him.

His massive body silhouetted against the corridor lights.

Shirtless. Torso gleaming with sweat from training.

Silver-gray scales catch the light along his shoulders, down his spine, across the rippling muscles of his abdomen.

His tactical pants sit low on his hips, revealing a cut V-line that makes my mouth go dry.

The bulge behind his zipper impossible to miss.

Mine. My male. Finally. Take him.

My dragon. Not me. It’s my dragon thinking these things.

Relief floods my system the moment he steps inside.

My temperature drops from unbearable to merely uncomfortable.

The painful clenching in my core eases slightly, replaced by a different kind of tension as my eyes track a bead of sweat sliding down the center of his chest, through the dusting of dark hair that narrows to a tantalizing trail disappearing beneath his waistband.

His nostrils flare as he scents the air between us. Silver eyes darken to gunmetal. I watch his claws extend slightly before he curls his fingers into fists.

“Female smells like need,” he growls, his voice deeper than usual. Rougher. “Like heat.”

The word “heat” sends a fresh surge of wetness between my thighs, my core clenching in response.

“Fuck you very much,” I retort, but the heat in my voice has nothing to do with anger.

His silver eyes devour me—his shirt barely covering my thighs, my hair wild, skin flushed. His gaze feels like a physical touch, leaving trails of fire wherever it lands. His jaw clenches when he notices a muscle ticking beneath the skin.

“You’re in pain.” Not a question. His nostrils flare again. He can smell it on me. Can smell the arousal, the need, the slick readiness between my thighs.

“No shit.” I cross the room, closing the distance between us in three quick strides. My nipples brush against his bare chest as I stop too close, sending jolts of electricity straight to my core. I step back instantly, shocked by the intensity of the sensation.

“You need to tell me what the fuck is happening to me.” I thrust my forearms toward him. The opal-like scales shimmer beneath my skin before vanishing. “Why the change in color? And this morning I spat fire when I sneezed. Actual fire, Raak. Am I going to grow a tail?”

My voice cracks with barely controlled panic. I hate the weakness in it.

“My eyes glow in the dark. I can hear conversations three rooms away. And I—” I stop, unwilling to admit the embarrassing wetness between my thighs, though by the way his nostrils flare, he can probably smell it.

He knows. He knows how wet I am for him. How ready. How needy.

Heat floods my cheeks at the thought.

His expression remains guarded as his silver eyes track the shifting scales beneath my skin. A muscle ticks in his jaw. His massive chest rises and falls with controlled breaths. The barely restrained power in him makes something deep inside me clench with want.