Page 34 of Fire’s Resonance (Hearts on Fire #1)

TWELVE

SPARK

Istretch languidly across the rumpled furs, every muscle in my body deliciously sore. My skin tingles where Raak’s teeth marked my neck, my breasts, my inner thighs. Evidence of a night spent being thoroughly, repeatedly claimed.

Sunlight filters through crystal formations in the ceiling, casting rainbow patterns across my naked skin.

I trace a finger along my ribs where copper-red scales now shimmer—no longer alien intrusions but beautiful, natural extensions of me.

The transformation has accelerated since we completed the bond.

My hair blazes a more vibrant copper, catching fire in the light.

My eyes—I glimpsed them in a reflective crystal this morning—now permanently ringed with gold.

I run my tongue over my canines, feeling their newfound sharpness.

No fever burns through me now. The constant, maddening heat that plagued me since meeting him has settled into something manageable—embers banked but ready to flare at his touch.

A scent hits me—cedar, smoke, male musk. My body responds instantly, nipples tightening, core clenching.

“Stop looking so fucking smug,” I murmur without turning. I feel him watching from the doorway, the weight of his silver gaze hot on my bare skin. “It’s unbecoming.”

His laugh rumbles through the chamber, the sound vibrating inside my chest like it belongs there.

“Can’t help it, little flame.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “You look thoroughly claimed.”

My feminist principles should be screaming.

Instead, heat floods between my thighs, my body clenching with renewed interest despite how thoroughly he wore me out.

Memory flashes: my nails raking down his scaled back, his teeth at my throat, the way he growled “Mine” when he finally claimed me completely.

I roll to my feet, unashamed of my nakedness. His eyes track my movement, pupils dilating, nostrils flaring to catch my scent. I smell different now. Spicier. More dragon. His.

But work first. The discovery of Varen’s betrayal can’t wait, even if my body begs for another claiming.

I pad across the stone floor toward the security displays where Raak stands. His muscles tense as I approach, his control visibly straining. Good. Let him suffer a little. My hips sway more than necessary, a small payback for the smug satisfaction radiating from him.

The equipment Raak had set up as a security system now streams data—ancient defense protocols displaying on holographic screens throughout our sanctuary. Runes and symbols scroll across glowing projections. I stare at one sequence, expecting incomprehensible gibberish.

Instead, perfect clarity hits me.

“Holy shit.” I jab a finger at the display. “That’s a breach detection algorithm for the eastern tunnels. And that’s a power distribution matrix for the sentinel statues.”

How the fuck do I know that?

I glance at Raak, finding his silver eyes widened slightly in surprise, then narrowed in concentration.

“Your training.” The realization hits me. “Your military background, your security knowledge—it’s in my head now.”

Not like memories exactly. More like... skills. Abilities. Knowledge that feels like it’s always been there, just waiting for me to access it.

His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking beneath his skin.

“And I’m seeing... patterns. Connections in the system I would have missed before.

” His fingers trace a sequence I recognize as a basic flame composition matrix—something I’d know from my glasswork.

“Your artistic perception. Your spatial awareness.”

Holy fuck. Not just shared emotions or heat or whatever the hell this bond was supposed to be. We’re literally in each other’s heads, sharing skills, knowledge, abilities.

My hand goes instinctively to my throat, where his mark throbs gently against my pulse point. “Is this... normal? For a Guardian Bond?”

“No records exist.” His voice roughens. “The last Guardian pair died centuries ago. Before detailed documentation.”

A flash of possessiveness hits me, surprising in its intensity. This is ours. Something unique and powerful and ours alone.

“Look.” Raak points to a secondary display, cutting off my thoughts.

Surveillance footage plays in fragmented sequences, the images crisp despite their obvious age.

“The sanctuary’s systems have been recording automatically since we activated them.

Not just current footage—accessing historical archives. ”

I lean closer, studying the images of Varen and his conspirators meeting in what looks like a war room. The elder dragon appears younger, less gaunt, but unmistakable with those amber eyes that occasionally flash with unnatural darkness.

My heart rate spikes as I realize what I’m seeing. “They’ve been planning this for decades.” The footage shows Varen displaying historical data to a human—a fucking human hunter—wearing a Purity Force insignia. “Since The Sundering.”

The evidence plays out across multiple screens—an elaborate conspiracy to sabotage what they call the Ancestral Flame Protocol. A system designed to restore dragon magic and power that had been weakening for generations.

“Blaze’s father.” Raak’s growl vibrates through me, his anger hitting my senses like a physical force. Scales ripple beneath his skin, silver-gray with hints of crimson. “The current Clan Leader’s own father has been working with human hunters to destroy us from within.”

My brain makes connections faster than should be possible—his tactical analysis blending with my pattern recognition.

“The Sundering wasn’t an accident.” I jab at footage showing a younger Varen sabotaging a central power core. “It was his first attempt to disrupt the Protocol.” The pieces click into place. “He lost his mate in that ‘tragic accident,’ giving him the perfect cover for his vendetta.”

“Why?” I shake my head, struggling to understand betrayal at this level. “Why would a dragon work with human hunters against his own kind? What could possibly—”

The answer appears before I can finish the question. On a smaller screen, the sanctuary’s historical archives display records of bloodlines, political alliances, ancient conflicts. The images scroll past until one stops me cold.

“That’s Varen.” I point to the younger dragon in the image. “But who’s—”

A woman stands beside him. Human. Blonde. Beautiful. Her hand rests protectively over a slightly swollen belly.

The caption below the image hits me like a physical blow: “Elder Varen Zraa and human mate Serena Ellis before the Purification Edict.”

“The Purification Edict.” Raak’s voice roughens with realization. “The council’s ban on human-dragon mating after several offspring went mad with power imbalance.”

“She was pregnant.” The words barely make it past the tightness in my throat. “And then the council banned human-dragon pairs.”

The implications slam into me like a freight train.

“They forced him to give her up.” Raak’s anger burns hot against my senses, his scaled fists clenching. “Or eliminate her.”

“And instead, he chose vengeance.” My voice sounds hollow in my own ears. “A decades-long plan to punish dragonkind for separating him from his human mate and their child.”

The parallels to our situation hang in the air between us, unspoken but impossible to ignore. Another human-dragon pair. Another potential threat to dragon purity.

Raak’s scaled hand closes over mine, his heat seeping into my skin. “We’re different,” he growls, answering my unvoiced fear. “The Guardian Bond is sacred, beyond council authority.” His fingers trace the copper scales shimmering along my forearm. “And you’re becoming dragon, not remaining human.”

The reassurance helps, but doesn’t erase the knot of unease in my gut. How many others? How many pairs torn apart by dragon politics and prejudice? How much pain lies beneath the sanctuary’s glittering surface?

A piercing alarm cuts through my thoughts. Red light pulses from crystal formations overhead. The sentinel statues—massive dragon warriors carved from stone—shift position, massive heads turning toward the eastern tunnels with mechanical precision.

“Fuck.” Raak’s body tenses, instantly alert. “Proximity alert. Multiple intruders in the outer tunnels.”

I don’t ask how he knows. The information hits my consciousness directly—threat assessment, tactical analysis, identification protocols. I move with newfound efficiency, yanking on clothing designed for movement rather than modesty, checking the small flame daggers Raak insisted I carry.

The main security display shows heat signatures moving through the eastern tunnels—not randomly searching, but moving with coordinated precision directly toward our position.

My vision sharpens, focusing with inhuman clarity on the lead figure. “Orrath.” My voice drops to a hiss as I recognize the security chief’s distinctive profile, the scar tissue distorting the left side of his face. “And those are elite warriors with him—I can tell from their movement patterns.”

How do I know that? The knowledge simply exists in my mind, tactical assessment flowing into my awareness unbidden.

“Classic containment formation.” Raak slides weapons into sheaths with practiced efficiency, each movement precise, controlled. “Acting on Varen’s orders, not Blaze’s authority. Not a sanctioned operation.”

I feel his strategic assessment like it’s my own—we’re outnumbered, potentially outgunned, our position compromised. But the ancient sanctuary provides advantages the approaching warriors don’t know about.

“We need to get this evidence to Blaze.” I grab a crystal storage device, downloading the surveillance data with instinctive ease, my fingers flying over controls I shouldn’t know how to operate. “He needs to know what his father is planning.”

Raak nods, his silver eyes calculating distances, angles, escape routes. “I’ll create a diversion. Lead them away while you find Blaze.”