Page 40 of Fire’s Resonance (Hearts on Fire #1)
Varen’s final taunt echoes through the chamber as he disappears into an ancient ventilation shaft: “This isn’t over, Guardians. This is merely the beginning.”
Chaos erupts—council members shouting over each other, warriors mobilizing to search for the escaped traitor, elders demanding explanations from Blaze. Our combined power recedes, blue-white light dimming as it contracts back toward us.
My knees nearly buckle as exhaustion slams into me.
Creating and maintaining that level of power drains everything I have.
Raak’s arm slides around my waist, supporting me effortlessly while projecting strength to those watching.
His body radiates heat against mine, solid and unshakable even as fatigue etches lines around his eyes.
“You okay?” he murmurs, concern evident in his low voice.
“Just tired,” I admit, leaning into his strength.
“Guardians.” Blaze’s voice slices through the cacophony as he approaches us, golden eyes assessing us with newfound respect. “The council owes you a debt that cannot be repaid. Without your intervention, my father’s corruption might have spread to the entire clan.”
The chamber gradually quiets, hundreds of eyes fixing on us with expressions ranging from awe to suspicion to outright hostility. The weight of their attention presses against my skin like physical pressure.
“The corruption hasn’t been contained,” Raak states, pragmatic even in victory. “Varen escaped. And whatever he’s become, it’s beyond normal dragon abilities.”
Blaze nods grimly. “Search teams are already deploying. But first—” He turns to face the assembled clan, voice raised to carry authority.
“Let it be formally acknowledged: the Guardian Bond has awakened. After generations of absence, the Ancestral Flame Protocol begins. We must spread word of Varen’s deception to other clans.
Now we wait for the other mates from whatever clans they may emerge. ”
Three days later, I stand beside Raak in the Great Flame Chamber—the beating heart of Emberhold where the clan’s sacred fire has burned continuously for millennia.
Massive crystal formations jut from ceiling and walls, refracting light into rainbow patterns across the gathered assembly.
The space smells of ancient magic—smoke and spice and something indefinable that tingles against my enhanced senses.
Every faction of the dragon clan fills the chamber—warriors standing rigid and alert near the entrances, scholars clustered near historical records carved into the walls, artisans with their distinctive colored robes, elders in formal attire that gleams with precious metals and embedded fire gems.
The past seventy-two hours blur together in my memory—endless debriefings where we recounted every detail of Varen’s corruption, strategy sessions planning for his inevitable return, medical examinations as healers poked and prodded at my changing body with equal parts fascination and trepidation.
Search teams have found nothing—not a trace of Varen’s corrupted form. He’s vanished.
My ceremonial robe feels both foreign and right against my skin—copper-red silk woven with iridescent threads that shimmer like my scales when I move. Beside me, Raak stands tall and proud in silver-gray, his presence a constant anchor in this sea of strangeness that has somehow become my life.
“By ancient right and sacred flame,” Blaze intones, his formal voice resonating through the massive chamber, “I recognize the Guardian Bond that stands before us. First of the elemental bonds, protector of dragonkind, defender against corruption both within and without.”
My heart slams against my ribs, the enormity of the moment crashing over me in waves.
A week ago, I shaped glass in my San Francisco workshop, worried about gallery showings and electric bills and whether I’d make rent.
Now I stand before an assembly of dragons, acknowledged as their protector, bound to a mate I would have once thought impossible.
Raak’s emotions wash over me—pride after decades of being dismissed as defective, vindication so powerful, it nearly brings tears to my eyes, absolute certainty that this moment was always meant to be. That we were always meant to be.
“The clan formally acknowledges Raak Silverclaw and Spark Dekker as Guardian-bonded,” Blaze continues, “with all rights, privileges, and responsibilities thereof.”
The assembled dragons bow their heads—some enthusiastically, others with obvious reluctance, but all recognizing the authority of ancient protocol that supersedes personal opinion.
The collective gesture sends a ripple of energy through the chamber, magic responding to acknowledgment in ways I’m only beginning to understand.
Afterward, Raak leads me to a private ceremonial chamber for the final stage of our formal claiming.
The space glows with soft light from crystal formations overhead, designed specifically for bond-completion rituals.
A circular platform at the center pulses with internal fire, ancient runes carved into its surface that match the patterns now permanently etched into my skin.
“Are you ready, my mate?” Raak asks, silver eyes intense as they lock with mine.
Heat pools in my core at his gaze, my body responding to his proximity with instant, visceral need. My nipples tighten against the thin fabric of my shift, and moisture gathers between my thighs. The bond between us pulses with awareness, desire flowing both ways in an endless feedback loop.
I nod, removing the ceremonial robe to reveal the simple shift beneath. The garment leaves my shoulders and upper chest bare, opal and copper-red scales along my collarbone catching the light with every breath. My skin flushes under his gaze, heart racing as his pupils dilate in response.
“I’m ready,” I confirm, stepping onto the platform. Heat rises through my bare feet, not burning but welcoming, the sacred flame recognizing me as one of its own.
Raak joins me, his larger frame making the space intimate, almost claustrophobic in the best possible way.
His scales have fully emerged, silver-gray shot through with crimson, beautiful patterns that make my fingers itch to trace them.
When he removes his own ceremonial robe, revealing his muscled torso covered in those magnificent scales, my mouth goes dry. My dragon half whines with need.
Mine, I think, the possessiveness natural as breathing. My dragon. My Guardian. My mate.
“This mark is permanent,” he explains, summoning silver-crimson flame to his palm that dances over his skin without burning. “My signature, over your heart. The final acknowledgment of our bond.”
“Do it,” I demand, voice husky with desire despite the solemnity of the moment. “Make me yours completely.”
His large hand moves to rest over my heart, palm flat against my skin.
His touch burns in the best way, sending sparks of pleasure radiating outward.
His heat seeps into me, familiar and right.
Silver-crimson flame spreads from his hand, flowing across my chest in intricate patterns that follow the contours of my body like a lover’s caress.
I gasp as the flame touches me—not pain but intense pleasure, like cool water flowing across skin scorched by desert sun.
His energy penetrates deeper than physical flesh, connecting with something elemental inside me.
When he finally removes his hand, an iridescent scaled pattern remains over my heart—his flame signature permanently etched into my flesh, binding us beyond blood or magic or time itself.
“Mine,” he growls, satisfaction rumbling in his chest as he traces the mark with reverent fingers. “Now and always.”
“Yours,” I agree, reaching up to pull his mouth down to mine.
Our kiss ignites like gasoline thrown on open flame.
His tongue claims my mouth with possessive hunger, large hands lifting me effortlessly against him.
My legs wrap around his waist, core pressing against the hard evidence of his desire.
Silver-crimson flames flare around us both, casting writhing shadows across the walls.
We lose ourselves in each other, the ceremonial chamber forgotten as something more primal takes over. His teeth nip at my lower lip, just shy of drawing blood, and I moan into his mouth. My nails dig into his shoulders, finding purchase against scales that harden under my touch.
Eventually, reluctantly, we separate—both breathing hard, eyes glowing with shared power and unfulfilled need. The formal ceremony requires us to rejoin the clan for celebration, though my body screams for completion, for claiming that will have to wait.
“Later,” he promises, the word heavy with intent that makes my core clench in anticipation.
Music fills the smaller gathering hall where the progressively minded faction of the clan celebrates our formal claiming.
Traditional dragon instruments create harmonies impossible for human ears to fully appreciate, but my enhanced senses now detect subtleties and overtones that would have been lost to me a week ago.
Not everyone approves of what we represent—the more traditional elders have retreated to their chambers, refusing to celebrate what they still consider contamination of dragon bloodlines. But enough have come to make the celebration feel genuine rather than forced.
I move through the crowd with newfound confidence, Raak’s hand a constant presence at the small of my back.
His touch sends continuous currents of awareness flowing between us, my body hyper-responsive to even this casual contact.
Dragons who once looked at me with suspicion now bow their heads respectfully as I pass, acknowledging my Guardian status rather than my humanity.