Page 27 of Forged in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #5)

I ris

I wake up in darkness, heart still racing from dreams I can’t quite remember. The room at Aurora Collective headquarters feels too quiet, too empty, like the silence itself is pressing against my chest.

Twenty-four hours.

It’s been twenty-four hours since the monastery. Since I watched him put his life on the line for me yet again. And this time, I’m certain he didn’t make it out. The gunfire, the overwhelming odds.

There’s no way he made it out.

The day blurs together in fragments. Viktor’s cryptic explanations about shadow magic. Elena’s careful words about “realistic expectations” and “acceptable losses.” The endless arguments about rescue operations and resource allocation while my world cracked apart piece by piece.

He’s gone.

I roll over, pressing my face into the pillow to muffle the sob that wants to escape. The grief sits like lead in my chest, heavier than anything I’ve ever carried. Heavier even than losing Kieran, because at least then I had hope. Had a mission. Had something to fight for.

Now I have nothing but the memory of silver-blue eyes and the way he said my name in that rough voice before everything went to hell.

The shadows in my room shift slightly, and I freeze.

Those aren’t my shadows.

Something’s different. The quality of darkness has changed, like there’s a presence where there wasn’t before. My dragon senses prickle with awareness.

Someone is in here with me.

I turn my head slowly, hardly daring to breathe, and my heart stops completely.

Riven sits in the chair beside my window, moonlight turning his hair to silver and casting sharp shadows across his face.

For a moment, I can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but stare at the impossible sight of him sitting there like he belongs, like he never left, like my world didn’t shatter twenty-four hours ago.

“This can’t be real,” I whisper.

His lips curve in that subtle half-smile I know so well. “Real enough.”

“God! Oh my God, Riven?” I still can’t believe it. He’s sitting so unnervingly still that he could be part of the shadows.

“I’m here,” he says softly.

I’m out of bed before I realize what I’m doing, crossing the space between us in three quick strides. My hands find his face, fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the familiar scar over his eyebrow, the warmth of skin that should be cold and dead.

“How?” The word comes out broken. “How are you here?”

“I told you I’d find you.” His hands cover mine, press my palms against his cheeks. “I will always find you.” There’s an intensity to his eyes that almost scares me.

“I thought you were dead.” The words crack in the middle, and suddenly I’m shaking. The grief and terror and desperate hope of the last day crash over me like a wave. “I thought I’d lost you before I ever really had you.”

Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or recognition.

“Iris.” He groans my name, and then his mouth is on mine, desperate and demanding, and I’m kissing him back with everything I have.

All the fear and relief and need I’ve been drowning in pour out through my lips, my hands, the way I press against him like I can somehow merge us together so he can never leave again.

He tastes like danger and promises, like everything I’ve been missing without knowing it. When his hands tangle in my hair, when he stands and backs me toward the bed without breaking the kiss, I let him. I’d let him do anything right now as long as it means he’s real and alive and here.

“I need you,” I whisper against his mouth, the words torn from somewhere deep in my chest. “I need to feel that you’re really here.”

“I’m here.” His voice is rough, strained with the same desperate hunger that’s clawing at my insides. “I’m here, Iris.”

His hands find the hem of my sleep shirt, and I lift my arms to let him pull it over my head. The fabric whispers as it hits the floor, but all I can focus on is the way he looks at me—like I’m something precious and dangerous and perfect all at once.

When his mouth traces down my throat, when his hands cup my breasts, I press into him with a gasp. Dragon fire meets dragon fire, and everything else disappears except the heat building between us.

“I want you,” he says hoarsely, fingers dancing along my skin, want burning in his eyes.

Instead of answering with words, I reach for the buttons of his shirt, working them open with hands that shake slightly. He lets me, watching my face with an intensity that makes my breath catch as I push the fabric off his shoulders.

The moonlight reveals what the darkness had hidden, and I gasp.

Fresh bruises bloom across his ribs in shades of purple and black. Raw cuts crisscross his torso, some still dark with dried blood.

“Jesus, Riven.” My fingers hover over the damage, afraid to cause more pain. “What did they do to you?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he says, catching my wrist when I reach toward a particularly vicious gash along his shoulder.

My dragon senses pick up the lingering scent of violence, but something else too—the strange, clean smell of accelerated healing.

These injuries should be fresh, angry, but already the edges of the cuts look pink instead of raw red.

The bruises that should be deep purple are already showing yellow around the edges.

“They hurt you because of me,” I whisper.

His eyes flash with something fierce and protective. “And I’d do it again before I’d let them touch you.”

My shadows respond to the rush of emotion, reaching toward him like they’re drawn to his pain.

But instead of recoiling like most people do, his own power rises to meet mine.

I can feel it—that controlled fire that reflects my own, stronger now than it was before.

Silver light dances along his fingertips where they touch my skin.

When he cups my face and kisses me again, it’s different—deeper, more claiming, like he’s pouring everything he can’t say into the connection between our lips. Power flows between us, dragon calling to dragon, fire weaving with shadow.

I lose myself in the taste of him, in the way his hands know exactly how to touch me, in the supernatural current that arcs between us every time our skin meets.

When he trails kisses along my collarbone, when his mouth finds the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, I make a sound I don’t recognize—desperate and needy and completely his.

“Iris,” he breathes against my skin, and hearing my name in that rough, strained voice sends sheer need straight through me. My shadows respond, wrapping around us both like a protective cocoon.

My hands explore the hard lines of his chest, careful around the fresh injuries, tracing old battle scars and newer wounds with gentle fingers. When I press my lips to a scar across his ribs—one that looks days old instead of hours—he sucks in a sharp breath that makes me feel powerful.

His skin is warm against my mouth, smooth and clean, with the smoky scent I’ve come to associate with him. I dip a little and take a tight nipple into my mouth. I’m rewarded with a low groan, his hands tangling into my hair, pressing my face closer to his chest.

“God, Riven,” I breathe his name against his skin. “You don’t know how scared I was.” I tilt my head and gaze up at him.

“Shhhh,” he says. He guides me back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving mine as moonlight paints silver across our skin and shadows dance around us. When he settles over me, when I feel the weight and heat of him, something inside me clenches with pure want.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion as his hands trace every inch of me. “So perfect.”

The way he touches me—like he wants to burn the memory of me into his mind—steals what’s left of my breath. His fingertips trace a trail down my chest, drawing circles around my nipples, and a ripple of gooseflesh makes my skin pull tight.

“Ohhh,” I moan, “God. Like that. Just like that.”

Power flows between us with every caress, my shadows intertwining with his. When his mouth follows the path his hands have taken, when he worships me with a devotion that makes my toes curl and my back arch, I understand that this is what I’ve been missing my entire life.

This connection. This perfect storm of need and trust and desire and power.

I return the favor, stripping off his jeans and exploring him with the same careful attention. Fingertips trailing down his chest to his abs that tighten under my touch. I learn what makes him gasp, what makes his control crack at the edges, what makes scales ripple over his skin.

“Fuck,” he growls as I graze my nails up his thigh, the light coating of hair springy against my fingertips.

I nip at his chin, feeling the graze of his stubble.

Our bodies slide against each other, warm and smooth, his cock hard against my hip, throbbing with a need that matches the clenching in my core.

His hand slides up my inner thigh, reaching the juncture there. I jolt as his thumb skims over the seam of my pussy.

“Riven!” I gasp as his fingertip slips between my lips. I’m wet, hungry for him. It’s a hunger that grows insatiable as he finds my clit and rubs small circles over it.

“Wait!” I gasp, choking out little whimpering sounds. I’m ready to come, but I want him inside me when it happens. I reach for his shaft, gliding my hand along its thick length and feeling him shudder. “I want to feel you inside me.”

He rolls onto me then, settling between my spread thighs, his hands framing my face as I guide the head of his cock to my slit.

We join in a rush of heat and sensation that makes the universe spin, and I understand for the first time what it means to be complete.

Every touch sends lightning along my nerve endings, every kiss feels like coming home, and when I look into his eyes, I see something that makes my chest tight with emotion.

We move together like we’ve done this a thousand times before, like our bodies were designed for each other. Each thrust brings me closer to an explosion that I know is going to blow my mind. But he takes me there slowly, holding off each time my movements become more frantic, more needy.

“God, you’re driving me crazy,” I choke out when he pulls me back from the brink yet again.

“I want it to last,” he whispers against my mouth. He’s shuddering against me, and I can feel how hard he’s working to hold off his own orgasm. But I can’t take it anymore.

With a choked sound, I wrap my legs around his waist, locking him into me as I thrust my hips up and grind against him.

“Fuck! Iris…” he groans against my throat as my pussy begins to flutter, walls clenching around his shaft.

“Now!” I gasp. “I need to come now!” The world shatters around us, and I feel him follow me over the edge, with a connection so deep it feels like our souls have touched.

Our combined power explodes outward in a wave of silver and shadow that makes the air seem to shimmer, and for one perfect moment, I swear I can feel his heartbeat as if it were my own.

“Fuck! Fuck, yes!” he gasps, every muscle and sinew taut and straining as he hovers over me, his face a mask of pleasure. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more sexy than watching this man come undone.

Finally, once the waves have turned to ripples and the tiny aftershocks have begun to fade, he slumps onto me, his cheek against mine as he catches his breath. Then he rolls his weight to the side, pulling out of me, tugging me with him, and cradling me against his chest.

For a while, we lie tangled together in the moonlight, his arm around me, my head tucked beneath his chin. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, proof that this is real. That he’s alive. That somehow, impossibly, he found his way back to me.

“How did you get away?” I ask, tracing patterns on his chest.

“It’s not important,” he says, his voice rumbling beneath my ear.

Yet somehow, I think that it is.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” I tilt my head to look at him. “When they took me away… We just left you there.” I feel tears suddenly well. “I couldn’t do anything. I was so fucking helpless.”

“I know.” His fingers stroke through my hair. “I’m okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was so sure you were dead.”

“You don’t need to think that anymore,” he murmurs.

And he’s right.

Nothing can touch this moment, this perfect bubble of peace and connection, dampen this warmth in my chest.

“What happens now?” I ask.

“Now you sleep.” He pulls the sheet over us both, settling me more securely against his side. “We both do. Tomorrow will come whether we’re ready or not.”

I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of him. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel safe. Whole. Like maybe everything will actually be okay.

“Stay,” I whisper, already halfway to sleep.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, and I sigh contentedly.

I drift off to the rhythm of his breathing, to the warmth of his body against mine, to the perfect rightness of being held by someone who understands me in ways nobody ever has.

For the first time in forever, my dreams are peaceful.