Page 37 of Fire’s Resonance (Hearts on Fire #1)

THIRTEEN

RAAK

Icrouch in the shadows of the ancient corridor, every muscle coiled tightly, every sense stretched to its limit.

The stone feels cool against my fingertips, a stark contrast to the molten heat pulsing beneath my skin.

Six elite warriors approach—their footsteps whisper-soft against the worn stone, their scents familiar yet now marked as threat.

Orrath’s warriors. The best Emberhold has to offer.

My brothers in battle, once. My hunters, now.

My nostrils flare, sorting their individual scents. Krell with his charcoal-smoke tang. Vex with his metallic undertone. Thorn’s distinctive amber resin. All trained by Orrath himself, all sworn to clan law above personal loyalty.

A low growl vibrates in my chest. They want what is mine. My female. My mate.

The old Raak—the outcast, the defective, the gray-flamed failure—would have calculated the odds and found them insurmountable. Six against one. Elite against defective.

But that Raak no longer exists.

Power thunders through my veins, hot and urgent. Silver-crimson flames lick beneath my skin, eager for release. Spark’s essence twines with mine, a second heartbeat pulsing in perfect synchrony. Her courage flows into me like liquid fire, her determination hardening my resolve to diamond clarity.

Mine to protect. Mine to defend. Mine.

I flex my fingers, feeling the dagger-sharp claws threatening to emerge.

Fighting them back. Not yet. Not until necessary.

My mind maps the corridor, calculating trajectories, plotting defensive positions.

These warriors follow false orders, twisted by Varen’s lies.

They don’t deserve death for misplaced loyalty.

But they will not take my female or my home. Will not threaten what I have only just claimed.

Silver-crimson scales ripple across my forearms, catching the dim light, reflecting it in predatory gleams. The scales that marked me as defective for decades now shine with deadly promise. What they mocked as weakness now manifests as lethal strength.

My dragon half rumbles with satisfaction. Let them come. Let them see what they dismissed.

“There!” Orrath’s voice snaps through the silence. Their lead scout has spotted my position despite my stillness. “Containment formation. Remember, we need him alive to find the female.”

My lips curl back, exposing teeth that sharpen as my partial shift advances. They still think in old patterns, old tactics. Still believe they face the warrior they’ve always known.

They have no fucking idea what a Guardian with a claimed mate can do.

I rise to my full height, stepping deliberately into the open corridor. No more hiding. No more retreating. I extend my hands, palms forward in the traditional warrior’s challenge. My shoulders pull back, chest expanding, scales now visibly rippling across my exposed skin.

“Last chance to stand down,” I call, each word edged with threat. The corridor amplifies my voice, giving it a reverberating quality that makes the youngest warrior flinch. “You follow corrupt orders, Orrath. False commands.”

The security chief steps forward, ice-blue eyes narrowing with contempt. His lips curl in a dismissive sneer. “The only corruption here is your human whore’s influence, Silverclaw. The council has declared you both for containment.”

The crude insult to Spark really pisses me off. Heat explodes in my chest, roaring upward, flooding every cell. My vision sharpens to predatory clarity, the edges of the world lined in crimson. How dare he speak of my female that way. How fucking dare he.

Flames erupt along my arms without conscious command—not the ashen gray I’ve despised all my life, but brilliant silver shot through with crimson streaks that paint the ancient stone in blood-bright illumination. The fire crackles and snarls, responding to my rage, eager to defend my mate’s honor.

The elite warriors take involuntary steps backward, momentary uncertainty replacing their confident stances. Crimson flame belongs to royal bloodlines, to the highest ranks of the clan hierarchy. To see it manifesting in the dragon they’ve dismissed as defective visibly shakes their confidence.

“What trickery is this?” Orrath snarls, recovering first. His hand moves to his ceremonial dagger, fingers white-knuckled around the hilt. “Artificial enhancements? Borrowed power?”

“Guardian fire,” I correct, the flames responding to my conviction, surging higher, brighter, hotter. The heat bathes my skin, familiar as a lover’s touch, comforting rather than burning. “My true heritage, denied too long.”

My peripheral vision catches Spark’s mental signature—copper-bright and determined.

She navigates the hidden passages toward the council chambers, using memories I’ve shared with her to find safe routes through forgotten tunnels.

Pride surges through me. My little flame, so fiercely brave, facing dangers she couldn’t have imagined a week ago.

The distance between us stretches taut like a physical tether, singing with connection despite the separation.

The first warrior launches his attack without warning. His movements flow with precise training—flame daggers extended for non-lethal capture, body angled to slip past my defenses. In the past, I would have countered with similar techniques, warrior matching warrior in tests of skill.

Not anymore.

I don’t dodge as expected. Instead, I step directly into his path, meeting the attack head-on. My crimson-enhanced flames roar to life, engulfing his weapons, consuming their magical essence. The warrior’s daggers sputter and die like candles in a hurricane.

The shock on his face is almost comical. His eyes widen, pupils contracting to pinpoints as he stares at his extinguished weapons. “Impossible,” he breathes.

I smile. A predator’s smile.

The second and third warriors attack simultaneously, coordinating with the seamless precision that comes from years of training together.

One from each side, dividing my attention, forcing me to choose which threat to counter first. A strategy that has felled stronger opponents than me in training scenarios.

But I am not the opponent they remember.

I sense their movements before they fully commit. Not just seeing their physical positions, but feeling their intentions, their energies, their very essence. My awareness has expanded beyond normal limitations, my perception heightened to supernatural clarity.

My body responds with fluid grace I’ve never possessed before. I spin between their converging attacks, my movements incorporating unfamiliar yet perfectly natural patterns—Spark’s natural agility somehow integrated into my combat style, making me unpredictable, impossible to anticipate.

The two warriors crash into each other with bone-jarring force. They recover quickly, professional training overcoming surprise, but their expressions have changed. Uncertainty now. Wariness. The beginnings of fear.

“He’s enhanced somehow,” Krell gasps, blood trickling from his split lip as he retreats to regroup. His eyes track my movements with growing alarm. “Moving too fast.”

“The female,” Orrath realizes, voice dropping to a hiss. His ice-blue eyes widen with understanding, with the implications that are only now becoming clear. “They’ve completed the bond. He’s drawing on her power even at a distance.”

The revelation ripples through the elite team like a physical wave.

I can smell their unease, the sour tang of adrenaline and fear seeping through trained composure.

They’ve drilled for countless combat scenarios—superior numbers, ambushes, even royal dragons gone rogue.

But a completed Guardian Bond? That’s ancient history, myth rather than tactical reality.

“We take him together,” Orrath orders, desperation edging his voice. His fingers sketch patterns in the air, signaling specialized formations. “Full containment protocol.”

As the warriors prepare their coordinated attack, I feel it—a sudden sharp spike of alarm that doesn’t originate from my own senses. Spark. My female. My mate. She’s encountered resistance—clan members in the corridors she must navigate, increasing her risk of discovery before reaching Blaze.

My hackles rise, a growl building deep in my chest. The need to protect her claws at my insides like a living thing. The distance between us feels suddenly intolerable, every instinct demanding I abandon this fight, sprint to her side, shield her with my body.

I can’t physically reach her. But there are other ways to protect what’s mine.

My awareness narrows to a laser focus, concentrating on that bright copper-flame essence that is Spark.

I extend my will along the connection between us, drawing a portion of my fire into a concentrated stream.

The flame answers eagerly, racing along invisible pathways, manifesting around her as a protective shield despite the physical distance separating us.

I feel her startled reaction—surprise followed by understanding, by gratitude. The sensation of her consciousness brushing against mine sends shivers of pleasure down my spine.

“I’ve got you, little flame,” I project, the words carrying my fierce protectiveness. “Always.”

The effort costs me—dividing my power when I need it most, splitting my concentration during combat. My muscles burn with the strain, sweat beading along my temples.

But her safety comes first. Always first. My dragon half would accept no other priority.

The momentary distraction nearly proves costly.

Orrath’s team launches their coordinated attack, seizing the opportunity presented by my divided attention.

Flame nets and binding spells fire from multiple directions simultaneously—a cage of magic designed to contain even the most powerful dragons without permanent harm.