Page 35 of Fire’s Resonance (Hearts on Fire #1)

“Split up?” Anxiety spikes through me, sharp and primal. We’ve barely completed the Guardian Bond; separation feels wrong on a visceral level, like tearing a healing wound. “Is that safe?”

“The connection will maintain regardless of physical distance.” His voice stays steady, but I sense the reluctance beneath his tactical assessment. His dragon half doesn’t want to leave me any more than my newly awakened instincts want to leave him.

He pulls me against him, one large hand cupping the back of my neck. Heat sparks between us instantly, my body recognizing its mate despite the danger surrounding us.

“Follow the hidden passage in the western corridor.” As he speaks, information flows directly into my mind—a secret route he discovered years ago during covert operations.

I see it perfectly: the concealed entrance, the narrow tunnel, the path to Blaze’s private chambers.

“It leads directly to the Clan Leader. If anyone can stop this without bloodshed, it’s Blaze. ”

I rise on tiptoe, pressing my lips to his in a fierce kiss.

No time for words, for declarations. Just this—the press of my mouth against his, my body against his, everything I can’t say aloud transmitted through touch.

Fear. Determination. Something deeper that’s taken root in my heart, something I’m not ready to name.

“Don’t you dare get killed,” I demand against his mouth. “I just got used to having you around.”

His rumbling laugh vibrates against my lips. “Not planning on it, little flame.” His silver eyes darken, pupils expanding. “We have unfinished business.”

The heated promise in those words sends another wave of warmth through me despite our dire circumstances. Claimed once, but not enough. Never enough.

We move with synchronized efficiency, preparations completed in minutes. His tactical assessment blends with my pattern recognition, each of us filling the other’s gaps, strengthening the other’s weaknesses.

“Take this.” Raak presses something into my palm. A scale—silver-gray with hints of crimson, clearly one of his own. “For emergencies only. Crush it between your fingers if you’re in danger. It will release a flame signal I can track anywhere in Emberhold.”

The gesture stuns me. Dragons don’t give scales willingly—the gift is deeply personal, almost sacred. I tuck it securely in an inner pocket, close to my heart, the weight of it reassuring against my skin.

In return, I reach up and pluck a single copper-red hair from my head, pressing it into his palm.

“For balance.” His fingers close around it immediately, understanding flowing between us.

In human folklore, freely given hair holds power, connection, the essence of a person.

He tucks it carefully into a small leather pouch at his throat.

The approaching warriors are minutes from our position now, moving deliberately through the outer tunnels. Raak’s mind shifts fully into warrior mode. Scales ripple visibly beneath his skin, silver-gray with crimson edges, his dragon half rising closer to the surface in preparation for combat.

“Go.” He presses one last fierce kiss to my lips, teeth catching my lower lip in a gentle bite that sends heat spiraling through me. “I’ll find you when it’s done.”

I sprint through the western corridor, my feet following the mental map now imprinted in my mind.

The passage appears solid at first glance—just another section of carved stone wall.

But I see what others would miss—the subtle difference in the flame pattern carved into one section, the way the crystal formations above it refract light in a specific sequence.

I place my palm against the pattern, copper-red fire flowing instinctively from my fingers. The flame traces the carved lines, and the stone slides silently aside, revealing a narrow passage beyond. Ancient dragon magic responding to Guardian fire. My fire.

The hidden tunnel forces me to crouch, barely wide enough for my shoulders.

Darkness engulfs me as the entrance slides shut behind me.

I should be blind, terrified. Instead, my vision adjusts instantly, picking out details in the gloom—the crystalline formations overhead, the worn path beneath my feet, the ancient runes carved into the walls at regular intervals.

As I move deeper into the passage, I feel Raak engage the pursuing warriors—his calculated withdrawal drawing them away from my position, leading them into prepared ambush points. His mind remains focused, each movement precise, each decision tactical.

How are you so calm right now? The thought forms instinctively, projected toward him without conscious effort.

His response hits my consciousness with a hint of dark humor. Years of practice being the expendable one. Besides, I’m not fighting to kill—just to distract.

The casual reference to his expendability sends a spike of protective fury through me, so intense it nearly stops me in my tracks.

Not expendable. Not ever again. MINE to protect, just as I am his.

The copper-red scales along my spine flex in response to the confined space, providing unexpected protection against the rough stone walls. Each scale a gift, not a curse.

This isn’t a loss of humanity but an evolution that makes me stronger.

The realization hits with unexpected force.

For days, I’ve viewed the transformation as something happening to me, a process I was subjected to rather than participating in.

Now, as I navigate this ancient passage on a mission to save an entire species I barely knew existed a week ago, the perspective shifts.

I’m not becoming less. I’m becoming more.

The scales that shimmer across my skin aren’t a corruption of my human form but an enhancement—beautiful, functional, powerful.

The heightened senses aren’t an alien intrusion but an awakening to a world that was always there, just beyond my previous perception.

The connection to Raak isn’t a magical compulsion but a completion I didn’t know I was missing.

For the first time, I fully embrace what I’m becoming—not half-human, half-dragon, but something entirely new. Something powerful. Something necessary.

Guardian.

The passage curves upward, following the mountain’s natural formation.

Raak’s presence fills my mind as he engages the first warriors—not fighting directly but setting traps, creating diversions, leading them deeper into the sanctuary’s maze-like tunnels.

His tactical mind works with beautiful precision, each move calculated for maximum disruption with minimal risk.

Orrath’s getting frustrated. His mental voice carries grim satisfaction. Expected an easy capture, not a tactical retreat.

I send back wordless encouragement, my emotions flowing toward him like heat seeking its source. The distance between us seems to strengthen our mental connection rather than weaken it—as if our minds reach more determinedly for each other when our bodies cannot touch.

This mental joining feels most intimate somehow—more so than even our physical claiming.

This complete sharing of self, of thought and emotion and memory, creates a vulnerability and strength unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

No hiding, no masks, no performative emotions. Just pure connection, soul to soul.

A burst of satisfaction hits me as Raak activates one of the sentinel statues, the ancient guardian coming to life at his command. The massive stone construct moves with surprising grace for something so enormous, blocking a key corridor and forcing Orrath’s team to reroute.

Pride surges through me at his ingenuity, at his ability to use the sanctuary’s defenses rather than engaging in direct combat. My warrior. My mate. My equal.

Keep going. On my way to you.

I nod even though he can’t see it. Or maybe he can. This is just too crazy.

The passage finally opens into a small antechamber lined with crystal formations that pulse with gentle blue light.

Ahead, an ornate door stands marked with the clan leader’s sigil—a stylized flame wrapped around a mountain peak.

Blaze’s private entrance, accessible only to those who know of its existence.

I freeze, suddenly aware of the enormity of what I’m about to do. Me—a former human glassblower—about to confront the leader of an ancient dragon clan with evidence that his father is a traitor working with human hunters.

You can do this. Raak’s voice fills my mind, steady and confident despite the conflict I can sense him navigating. You’re stronger than you know, little flame.

The endearment, once irritating, now feels like armor—a reminder of who I am, of what I’m becoming, of the connection that gives me strength beyond my own capabilities.

I straighten my spine, lift my chin, and approach the door with newfound determination. Before I can figure out how to announce my presence, the door swings open on silent hinges.

Blaze Zraa stands framed in the doorway, his golden eyes widening slightly at the sight of me. His gaze tracks over my transformed appearance—the opal and copper-red scales now permanently visible along my forearms, my amber eyes ringed with gold, the subtle points of emerging fangs.

“Guardian,” he says simply, the title an acknowledgment rather than a question. “I wondered when you would find this passage.”

“You knew?” Surprise momentarily overrides my prepared speech. “About us? About the Guardian Bond?”

Blaze steps aside, gesturing for me to enter his private chambers. The space beyond surprises me—modest furniture, walls lined with ancient texts, a simple desk covered with maps and reports. Nothing like the opulent surroundings I would expect from the leader of an ancient, powerful clan.

“I’ve been researching the ancient texts,” Blaze says, his golden eyes troubled as he studies my transformed appearance. “Restricted archives that mention gray flame as a Guardian marker, not a defect.”