Page 27 of Fire’s Resonance (Hearts on Fire #1)
EIGHT
RAAK
My nostrils flare, catching scents that don't belong. Not natural stone erosion—something deliberate. Calculated. The collapsed tunnel reeks of scorched stone and... something else.
Fuck.
This is the third "accident" this week. My warrior instincts scream danger. A cluster of dragons stands nearby, their whispers carrying to my enhanced hearing.
"Human corruption," one hisses. "The sanctuary's magic rejects her presence."
My fangs descend. Scales ripple beneath my skin, threatening to emerge. Heat surges through my blood. My cock hardens at the mere thought of my female being threatened, primal protective instincts instantly triggering physical reactions.
Control. Maintain fucking control.
The fools blame my female for these problems when the pattern is obviously deliberate. The timing too precise. The targets too strategic. I run my fingers along the stone edge, feeling unnatural scorching that couldn't have come from simple structural failure.
"Report your findings, Silverclaw."
Orrath's smug voice grates on my already frayed nerves. His ice-blue eyes sweep over me, calculating and cold. My dragon rises closer to the surface, demanding I put the bastard in his place.
I straighten to my full height, deliberately using my size to intimidate. My cock hardens instinctively, my body responding to the challenge with primitive dominance signals.
"Not to you," I growl, the sound rumbling from deep in my chest. "To the council."
Orrath's nostrils flare, scenting my aggression. Smart enough to step back. Not smart enough to hide his contempt.
"Keep your pet female contained, Silverclaw. Her human stink spreads."
My control slips. Gray flames erupt along my forearms, licking across my skin. The dragon claws for release, demanding blood for the insult to my mate.
Mine. My female. MINE.
I step forward, close enough to feel Orrath's body heat. "Say that again, and I'll tear your fucking throat out."
The threat hangs between us, potent and real. Orrath's pupils dilate. Fear-scent spikes in the air. He knows I mean it.
Smart boy. He retreats with a stiff nod, trying to save face.
The dragons watching scatter as I stalk past. Fear. Disgust. Curiosity. The whispers follow me down the corridor toward my room.
The Ashen One. Defective flame. Human corruption.
Let them whisper. Let them fear. Anyone who threatens what's mine will learn exactly how lethal a "defective" dragon can be.
Through our strengthening bond, I feel Spark stir in her sleep. Her consciousness brushes against mine—warm, sleepy, instinctively seeking connection even in slumber. My body responds instantly, cock hardening further, skin heating. The bond grows stronger each day, each night.
Quietly, I step into my room and my breath catches.
Spark sleeps sprawled across our bed. Copper hair spills over my pillow. Her scent—cinnamon, molten glass, and that uniquely feminine essence—saturates my quarters. My territory now marked permanently with her presence.
My cock hardens instantly at the sight of her.
The bond pulses between us, urging me to stay. To curl protectively around her warm body. To wake her with my mouth between her thighs until she screams my name.
I inhale deeply, drawing her scent into my lungs. My female. Mine to protect.
Something more urgent drives me tonight—the need to ensure her safety from whatever threat moves through Emberhold's ancient corridors. These "accidents" grow more frequent. More targeted.
I pause to watch her sleep. The Guardian Bond has progressed rapidly, patterns of opalescent scales now visible across her shoulders and down her spine even in sleep. My mark on her body.
I can't resist touching them. My fingers trace the delicate pattern along her exposed shoulder. The scales warm instantly at my touch, responding to me even while she sleeps. I feel her pleasure—a soft, contented hum that vibrates between us.
Mine to protect.
The thought pounds through my blood as I don tactical gear. Black clothing. Multiple weapons. All to blend with shadows.
Fuck the clan politics. Fuck the whispers. If the council won't take the increasing "accidents" seriously, I'll investigate alone.
I brush my hand across her forehead, drawing comfort from the brief contact. Her skin burns hot against mine—another sign of the bond's progression. Her temperature rising to match a dragon's.
She stirs, amber eyes fluttering open for a moment. "Raak?"
Her voice, husky with sleep, sends heat straight to my groin.
I lean down, unable to resist tasting her lips.
What was meant to be a quick kiss deepens instantly.
Her mouth opens beneath mine, tongue meeting mine with equal hunger.
My hand slides beneath the covers, finding her naked and already wet for me.
Fuck.
It takes every ounce of discipline to pull back. To remember the mission. The threat.
"Sleep, female," I rumble, stroking her hair. "I'll return soon."
She mumbles something incoherent and burrows deeper into my pillow. My dragon rumbles with satisfaction, pleased to see her comfortable in our den. Her scent clings to my skin as I slip from our quarters, driving my determination.
Whatever threatens the sanctuary threatens her.
Nothing that endangers what's mine lives long.
The maintenance tunnels sprawl beneath Emberhold like a massive circulatory system. Ancient stone formations carry thermal energy and magic through the living mountain. Most dragons avoid these passages, preferring the more civilized upper levels with their polished surfaces and adequate lighting.
Weak. Soft. Complacent.
I've always felt comfortable in shadows. Used the neglected pathways for my covert operations. My "defective" gray flame provides just enough illumination without announcing my presence.
The stone here is older, bearing carvings from the first settlers—flame patterns that match those appearing on Spark's skin.
I move silently through the narrow passages, my larger frame requiring careful navigation. The air grows warmer as I approach the thermal core—the beating heart of Emberhold's environmental systems.
Sweat beads on my skin. The heat doesn't bother me. Fire and heat have always been my allies, even when the clan mocked my gray flames.
A faint, wrong scent tickles my nostrils—metallic and synthetic. Out of place in the natural stone surroundings. I follow it like a predator tracking prey, my gray flames flickering around my fingertips where the regular lighting fails.
The passages narrow further. Ancient stone gives way to newer construction around the thermal regulation systems. The scent grows stronger. More distinct.
Not dragon. Not human. Something manufactured.
I drop into a crouch, silver eyes scanning the darkness. There—a small, unusual configuration in what should be standard equipment. My warrior training kicks in, senses heightened as I examine the anomaly without touching it.
Unnatural shapes embedded in natural systems. Extra components where nothing extra should exist.
"Fucking knew it," I growl, the sound echoing in the empty passage.
I crouch beside what appears to be standard thermal regulation equipment. But my trained eye catches the subtle differences—extra components grafted seamlessly into the machinery, drawing power from the core systems.
My fingers trace the ancient technology, a strange sense of recognition dawning as I examine components I shouldn't recognize but somehow do—knowledge flowing through the strengthening Guardian Bond, though still fragmented, incomplete.
These aren't just ordinary malfunctions. They're deliberate power drains.
I pull out my datapad, fingers moving swiftly to document the device. This isn't the first such anomaly I've found tonight. They're everywhere—small, ingenious modifications strategically placed throughout the thermal system.
I examine one more closely, claws carefully extracting it from the wall. The craftsmanship is dragon-made. The technology advanced but aged. Some components show decades of oxidation—since The Sundering, at least.
"This isn't human corruption," I mutter, silver eyes narrowing as pieces start to fall into place. "It's dragon sabotage."
The implications burn through my mind. Someone within the clan has been systematically tampering with Emberhold's infrastructure for years—perhaps decades. And now, with Spark's arrival and our Guardian Bond forming, the sabotage has accelerated.
The timing can't be coincidence.
My muscles tense with the need for action. With evidence this compelling, even the most traditional elders will have to acknowledge the threat. They'll have to stop blaming my female for problems that began long before she ever set foot in Emberhold.
The bond pulses suddenly, sharply. Spark's emotions spike—confusion, discomfort. She's experiencing the bond-fever again. Her body calling for mine, needing my touch to ease the transformation's symptoms.
Soon, female. Soon.
I send a wave of reassurance, hoping she feels it even in sleep. The bond responds, settling into a steady rhythm once more. These episodes come more frequently now as her body changes. As she becomes more dragon with each passing hour.
I continue my investigation, methodically documenting each anomalous device. Mapping their locations throughout the system. A pattern emerges—concentrated around critical junctions. Security systems. Ancient wards that protect the sanctuary from outside detection.
Wherever magic and technology intersect, these parasitic devices drain power in small, nearly undetectable amounts.
But collectively, over time...
Fuck.
The clan's declining power isn't natural deterioration or consequence of The Sundering.
It's deliberate sabotage.
Something larger is at work here, something I can't fully grasp yet. The individual pieces make sense, but the larger picture eludes me. Why would any dragon deliberately weaken our collective defenses? What could possibly be worth such betrayal?
I need more evidence. More concrete proof before I take this to the council. They've dismissed my concerns, blamed Spark's presence for problems that clearly predated her arrival. I need something undeniable. Something they can't ignore.
And I need to understand what these devices are truly designed to do.