Page 22 of Forged in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #5)

I ris

I wake to the sound of running water and quiet cursing from the bathroom. It’s pitch black outside. For a moment, I’m disoriented, unsure how long I’ve been asleep.

Then I hear Riven’s voice, low and frustrated: “Dammit.”

I’m on my feet before thinking it through, crossing to the bathroom door. It’s slightly ajar, steam escaping around the edges.

“Riven? You okay?”

More cursing, followed by the unmistakable sound of something hitting the floor.

Concern overrides any consideration of privacy. I push the door open and step inside.

The sight that greets me stops every rational thought in its tracks.

Riven stands in front of the mirror, fresh from the shower, water still beading on bronze skin stretched over lean muscle. Dark hair slicks back from sharp features, and when he turns toward me, I get a view that makes my mouth go dry.

He’s magnificent. Controlled power and dangerous grace, bearing a roadmap of scars that highlight rather than mar his beauty.

His chest is broad, with just a smattering of dark hair that trails down his sculpted torso and abs before disappearing beneath the top of the towel around his lean waist. But it’s the vulnerability in his expression that undoes me—raw frustration and something that might be embarrassment.

“Iris.” His voice is gruff. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What’s wrong?” I force myself to focus on his face instead of letting my gaze wander lower. “Are you hurt?”

He gestures to his left arm, where fresh bandages are half-applied and clearly not cooperating. “Trying to rewrap this. Can’t reach the angle properly.”

The wound from earlier that I’d cleaned and bandaged this morning. Simple enough fix, but awkward to manage single-handed.

“Here.” I move closer before he can protest, reaching for the medical supplies scattered on the counter. “Let me.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up and let me help.”

He goes still as I approach, tension almost tangible. I can smell the soap on his skin. Can see the careful control he’s exercising to keep perfectly still while I work.

He rests a hip against the edge of the basin, tilting slightly so I can reach more easily. I hadn’t realized how tall he is. And broad. And strong. Hard—

Fuck, Iris. Stop it!

I focus on his arm, ignoring how firm his bicep is when I touch it. The wound looks clean, edges pink, the earlier signs of inflammation gone. I examine the area carefully, checking for any signs of infection.

“Looks good,” I murmur, dabbing antiseptic on a clean cloth. “Healing well.”

He doesn’t flinch when I clean the area, doesn’t make a sound, even though I can see his muscles tense slightly. He’s learned to endure discomfort without complaint.

I reach for the fresh bandages, hyperaware of every point where my fingers brush his skin. He’s warm—warmer than human normal, dragon heat radiating from him.

“There,” I say, smoothing the final edge of the bandage into place. “That should hold.”

I start to step back, but his hand catches my wrist. Not restraining, just… holding. His skin is still damp from the shower, and the contact sends electricity racing up my arm.

“Thank you.” The words are quiet, sincere. When I look up, his eyes are fixed on my face with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

“You’re welcome.”

Neither of us moves. We stand there in the steamy bathroom, his hand warm around my wrist, something invisible but undeniable crackling between us. The air feels like it’s carrying an electric current.

I should step away. Put distance between us before this thing building between us gets any more complicated than it already is. But my body doesn’t want to listen to logic. It wants to step closer, to explore this impossible attraction that defies every reasonable objection.

“Iris.” My name on his lips sounds rough, strained.

“This is crazy,” I whisper. “I know all the reasons why this is a terrible idea.”

“Then why—?”

I go up on my toes and kiss him.

It’s supposed to be soft, testing, a gentle exploration of this thing building between us. But the moment our lips touch, gentle disappears. Heat explodes through me, dragon fire recognizing its match, and suddenly we’re pressed together.

His hands slide into my hair, angling my head for deeper access, and I can taste the hunger in him. Years of celibacy, of focusing on nothing but finding Kieran, and now my body is awake in ways I’d forgotten were possible.

My shadows rise unbidden, wrapping around us both, and I feel his power respond—heat flaring against my skin, flames dancing just beneath the surface. We’re fire and shadow, opposites that somehow create perfect balance.

His mouth moves against mine with increasing urgency, and I lose track of where I end and he begins. One of his hands drops to my waist, pulling me closer until there’s no space between us. I can feel the lean strength of his body, the controlled power he usually keeps so carefully leashed.

My hands find the hard planes of his chest, fingers tracing over scars and muscle while he devours my mouth like he’s been starving for this. For me. My flimsy robe and the towel around his waist are the only things between us, and the knowledge makes heat pool low in my belly.

His lips trace along my jaw, grazing my earlobe, and I make a sound I don’t recognize. Desperate. Needy. He responds by pressing me back against the bathroom wall, his body caging me in, surrounding me with heat and want and the intoxicating scent of his freshly washed skin.

“Iris,” he breathes against my throat, and the sound of my name in his rough voice makes something inside me clench with need.

My hands tangle in his damp hair, pulling his mouth back to mine. The kiss deepens, becomes frantic, all-consuming. I can feel his control fraying at the edges, the careful restraint he usually maintains slipping away.

The fabric of my robe whispers as it slides down my shoulder, and then Riven’s mouth is there, lips and tongue tracing fire across newly exposed skin. My head falls back against the cool tile as he explores every inch.

When his hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitized nipples, I arch into his touch with a gasp that echoes off the bathroom walls. Heat pools between my thighs, dragon fire responding to dragon fire, and common sense evaporates completely.

My hands slide down his chest, fingertips tracing a path until I reach the edge of the towel. The terry cloth is soft beneath my palms, but what lies beneath makes my breath catch. He’s hard, straining against the towel, and I want to get my hands on him.

“Iris.” It sounds like a warning, rough and strained.

I meet his gaze, seeing my own hunger reflected in those pale blue eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”

My fingers find the fold of fabric at his hip, and his breath hitches. The towel would fall with the slightest tug. One small movement and there would be nothing between us but want and shadow and flame.

But that doesn’t happen.

He pulls back.

Not violently, not like he’s rejecting what’s happening. But deliberately, creating space between us, even though I can see in his eyes that it costs him.

“We can’t.” His voice is hoarse, strained. “This isn’t…”

“Why not?” I hate that there’s a pleading edge to my voice. Granted, it’s been a long time, but I never expected to be begging for it.

He doesn’t answer immediately, just stands there breathing hard, hands clenched at his sides. I can see the war playing out in his expression—want fighting with something else. Fear, maybe. Or practicality.

“Because tomorrow changes everything,” he says finally. “And neither of us knows what comes after.”

“Does it matter?” I say, need overcoming logic. I’ve never wanted anything… anyone this much. I’m aching for him.

“Yes,” he says simply, and I wait for an explanation. Wait for something that tells me why we can’t simply give in to the moment. To our needs. To this thing between us.

When he says nothing, an irrational anger surges. Along with a healthy dose of embarrassment. I’m practically throwing myself at this man, and he’s turning me down.

“You’re a coward,” I say, backing away and pulling my robe closed roughly.

“Iris, I—”

“Forget it.” I hold up a hand, stopping whatever rationalization he’s about to offer. “You’re right. Tomorrow we might both be dead, and sleeping together would just complicate things. Let’s stick to the plan.”

What plan? There’s no damned plan.

I leave the bathroom before he can respond, before I can do something stupid like beg him to reconsider. Because he’s right, damn him. We have bigger problems than unresolved sexual tension.

But as I settle onto my narrow bed, still wrapped in the hotel robe, I can’t shake the memory of how right it felt to be in his arms. How my power responded to his like it was simply… meant to be.

How, for just a moment, I felt like I wasn’t facing the world alone.

Ten minutes later, he emerges from the bathroom fully dressed. We don’t speak as he settles onto his bed. The silence stays burdened with unspoken words and unfinished moments.

I’m nearly asleep when my phone buzzes with a text message.

Elena: Rendezvous tomorrow 6 AM. Sending location pin now.

I stare at the message, reality crashing back as a second message delivers the rendezvous point.

“Is that her?” His voice comes from the darkness.

“Yes,” I reply. “Six o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” he says. “We’ll be ready.”

I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. The silence stretches into the darkness with just the city noises from outside and the sound of his breathing. I listen, motionless, until it evens out and grows steady.

He’s asleep. I’m not sure how, when so much is hanging over us.

Tomorrow morning, everything changes. Elena will bring resources and backup, but she’ll also bring questions I’m not ready to answer. Questions about Kieran, about Riven, about what happens next…

And for the first time since the day they took Kieran, I have no idea what to do.