Page 82 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

It took nearly three hours of flight to reach the pass. The two dragons, Solirra and Hervour, silent as shadows, cut across the wind with ruthless efficiency.

“ They’ll have soldiers ahead,” Aeilanna murmured in mind-talk, eyes narrowed where she sat astride Solirra. “ They have traps set, I can feel them humming against my wards .”

“I see fae,” Hervour answered, voice dry and sure. “ Four on the bluffs. Two in the trees. More further in, waiting for the orders that will never come.”

“ Let’s keep it that way,” Nolenne added, seated astride the dragons in her rune-etched saddle, fingers already brushing her knives.

The old bridge came into view slowly, a hulking stone serpent arching across the chasm. Its foundation was ancient, threaded with moss and old bone and reinforced with new Avelan stonework. A military asset, a direct threat and it had to burn.

“ On my signal ,” Aeilanna even whispered in her mind.

Her runes were already spinning through the air, five linked coils twined with soft green thread. She released the spell, and a veil of glamour folded over them, light-bending, scent-blinding and magic-silencing.

The sky broke open as Solirra dove from the clouds, her fire a sweeping, blinding torrent of gold-white flame. The southern half of the bridge erupted, stone cracking beneath the heat, enchantments screaming as they unravelled in a heartbeat.

“ Now,” Aeilanna commanded through mind-talk. “ Nol , cut the line.”

With barely a sound, Hervour tucked her wings and surged down the ridge, violet fire pouring from her throat.

Her flame was colder in colour but searing hot, licking across the bridge’s centre line.

The structure gave a deep, grinding groan as the middle supports split and fell, chunks of enchanted stone tumbling into the river below.

The flame spluttered and then failed totally as a single arrow arced up and struck deep into Hervour’s wing joint.

“Fuck!” Nolenne barked. “ We’ve been hit!”

There was movement in the trees and soldiers charged. Eight Avelan fighters, masked and trained, not panicked or feral. They were ready .

Hervour landed hard on a slope, growling low, wing half-tucked.

Nolenne slid free from her saddle, pulled the arrow from the joint and then leapt fully, blades already in motion.

A soldier lunged, she stepped aside, caught his wrist, drove her dagger up beneath his ribs, twisted and let him fall.

Another came from behind, she pivoted low, blade slicing cleanly through his thigh and blood fell in a rush.

Aeilanna dismounted, both runed daggers in hand, her motions fluid.

She weaved intention spells between dodges, her movement a blend of combat and spellweaving.

One scout raised a spear, but froze mid-motion, encased in a sudden column of glowing runes and Aeilanna’s knife found his heart a moment later.

Solirra barrelled low and slammed into three more, wings spread wide, fire ripping outward. Hervour, despite her injury, charged forwards with silent wrath, flame bursting from her throat to engulf two more figures in heat and ruin.

“Leave no survivors!” Nolenne shouted, catching Aeilanna’s eye.

The bridge crackled behind them, half-collapsed and glowing with embers. The entire gorge and river below now smoked, the Avelan path severed completely.

Hervour landed heavily, wing stiff but steady.

Nolenne swung back into her saddle, breath heaving. “You good?”

“ The wing will mend ,” Hervour said. “ My pride will not suffer a second shot.”

Aeilanna climbed back onto Solirra’s saddle, her runes still glowing faintly. “ Let’s go before anymore appear .”

The two dragons rose again, wings pushing against smoke and soot, disappearing into the night. Behind them, fire devoured the last remnants of the bridge, and the bodies below were already turning to shadowed memory.

?????

Fenric had always loved a bit of danger, but flying into enemy-held territory with a woman who could out-shoot him, out-joke him, and out-bed him, too?

Shit, that was a new religion .

Laren sat behind him on Rivakar’s back, her bow slung lazily across her shoulder, long curls now plaited and flicking in the wind like a banner of war.

“ You’re leaning too far to the right,” she said into the mind-link, voice amused.

“ I’m leaning into my fate, Moon,” Fenric replied. “ Which, at the moment, involves you pressed against my back and possibly saving my life… again .”

“If you die on me, I’ll find a fucking way to resurrect you just to kill you properly .” She said while brushing a kiss to his neck.

“How did I get so lucky?” he said with a grin.

“Poor judgment,” Rivakar answered without hesitation.

The mission was simple, disable the network of transport and relay stones used by Avelan scouts to report and regroup.

The stones were small and scattered, most embedded in rock or buried near outposts.

They were attuned to local command, so cutting the link and severing the signal would confuse the entire enemy web.

This was exactly the kind of chaos Fenric and Laren thrived in.

They flew low before circling down into a thicket of twisted pines. Rivakar landed silently, Laren slid off first, her boots making no sound as she stooped beside a scrub covered rise.

“There,” she pointed. “Old stones, four of them. Hidden under charm wards.”

Fenric knelt beside her. “We’re sure they’re active?”

Laren pulled a small copper disk from her belt and whispered a phrase in the old tongue. It sparked once, glowing faintly.

“Yes,” she said. “Still linked.”

“Then let’s kill the music, gorgeous.” He said slapping her arse.

While Fenric laid the disruption runes, Laren stood guard, bow half-drawn, eyes scanning the shadows.

Her dark skin gleamed beneath the morning light like polished bronze as she stood poised in her leathers, muscles coiled, the sharp line of her jaw set with focus.

She looked like some war-goddess statue half-woken from stone, fierce, steady, and breathtaking, all onyx-lit eyes and honed intent.

“Fuck, I think I’m in love,” Fenric said aloud .

“You think that every time I’m ready to kill something,” she said without turning.

“Because it’s deeply arousing, my moon. You don’t know the half of it.” He said, adjusting the strip of leather that bound his long dark hair.

She smirked. “Hurry up, Loverboy.”

Fenric grinned and pressed the final runestone into the soil. Power rippled outward like a pulse of heat. The stones cracked, hairline fractures glowed emerald, then went dark.

They hit three more sites before noon, each more heavily shielded, each more vital to Avelan relay.

Fenric could already feel through the links that the disruption was working.

With each burst of power, the enemy's web grew weaker and more jumbled.

At the final node, they encountered a resistance ward.

A trap stone wired to release a deadly echo spell if tampered with.

Laren bent over it, muttering calculations. “I can disarm it,” she said. “But you need to not talk for five minutes.”

“I can give you two and a half.”

“Fenric!”

“Fine, I’ll be silent as death.” He said, blowing her a kiss.

He watched her work, the precision, the calm, the absolute beauty of a mind so fast it moved like melody. When the final stone cracked and flared to dark, she stood and turned towards him.

“Well?” she asked.

Fenric stepped forwards, grabbed her by the waist, and slammed his mouth to hers, hot and consuming, all tongue and teeth, like he needed to fuck the taste of victory into her bones.

His hands gripped low, pulling her flush against him.

When he finally broke the kiss, his breath was wild against her lips.

“That,” he rasped, voice wrecked, “was the filthiest sabotage I’ve ever seen. You’re a godsdamn weapon, and I want you bent over every war map in Melrathen.”

Laren’s grin was dangerous, she dragged a hand slowly down his chest, fingers brushing the waistband of his trousers. “Then next time, try not to come so quick. I like my victories drawn out.”

Fenric let out a breathless laugh, half-wrecked, half-feral. “Bind to me, please. ”

“Ruin me first,” she said. “Then we’ll talk.”

They mounted Rivakar again, triumphant and flushed with victory and lust. Rising into the clouds, wings steady and the world falling away beneath them, Laren sat behind Fenric.

Her legs bracketed his hips, her chest pressed flush to his back, she leaned in closer, slow and deliberate, letting her breath fan across his neck.

Her fingers dipped low, teasing the fastenings at his belt, toying with him.

“Laren,” Fenric muttered through mind-talk, voice low with warning and arousal.

“Hmm?” she said sweetly, brushing her lips against his ear. “You said sabotage got you hard. I’m just… capitalising.”

His breath stuttered. “We’re in the fucking air.”

“I did notice.” She slid her hand lower, palm cupping him through his trousers. “Gods, you’re already half there.”

“Half?!” he exclaimed in a rasp.

“Rivakar”, Laren said through the mind-link, voice perfectly composed. “ Five minutes. No peeking, keep it level and no sudden turns. Please?”

The dragon rumbled “ Of course” with a knowing chuckle.

“Three will do,” Fenric said, barely holding himself together.

Laren cackled and tugged him backwards by his leathers, pulling his spine against her front, then she swung one leg around him with easy athleticism, straddling him.

Her knees braced either side of his hips, cloak billowing behind her like smoke.

Her hands shoving his jacket back off his broad shoulders.

“Sit still,” she said, already working his belt. “I’m doing this my way.”

He bit back a groan. “Do I look like I’m resisting?”

“You look like a prince seconds from begging,” she purred, leaning down to nip at his collarbone.