Page 13 of Hex and the Dragon (Mistwhispher Falls Romances #4)
EIGHT
DORIAN
T he fighting retreat through Mistwhisper Falls' shadow-infested streets had been a nightmare of coordinated supernatural assault and desperate magical defense.
Dorian's dragon fire had carved a path through the Chronicle's manifestations while Ivy's bibliomancy wove protective barriers around their group, but the cost had been significant.
Three of their party had been separated in the chaos—Leo, Cade, and Aerin lost to the writhing darkness that seemed to move with predatory intelligence.
Now Ivy and Dorian stood alone in the library, the building's ancient protective wards barely holding against the shadow-figures that prowled the streets outside.
Through the tall windows, they could see dozens of the Chronicle's manifestations circling the library like wolves around a wounded deer, their forms shifting between seductive familiarity and alien menace.
"The others?" Ivy asked quietly, though she already knew the answer from Dorian's grim expression.
"Alive," he said with the certainty that came from supernatural senses attuned to life force. "I can smell their scent trails leading toward the town hall. Leo was coordinating a fallback position there before we got separated."
Ivy felt a mixture of relief and isolation wash over her. Their friends were safe, but she and Dorian were trapped in the very heart of the Chronicle's influence, surrounded by an entity that grew stronger with each passing hour.
"How long do you think the wards will hold?" she asked, settling onto the floor beside her desk where the Chronicle waited with patient malevolence.
"A few hours, maybe less," Dorian replied, wincing as he moved to join her.
The retreat had taken its toll on him—his shirt was torn from a shadow-figure's claws, and golden fire flickered erratically around cuts that should have healed by now.
"The Chronicle's influence is interfering with my dragon's natural healing abilities. "
Ivy felt a surge of concern as she noticed the way he favored his left shoulder and the fine tremor in his hands that suggested magical exhaustion. "Let me help," she said, moving closer to examine his injuries.
"It's nothing serious," Dorian protested, though he didn't resist when she began carefully peeling away the torn fabric of his shirt.
"Dragon physiology might be different from human," Ivy said with academic precision that helped her ignore the way her pulse quickened at the sight of his bare chest, "but these claw marks are deep enough to scar if they're not properly treated."
She retrieved her emergency medical kit from the archive room's supply cabinet, grateful for the practical task that gave her something to focus on besides the Chronicle's whispers and the growing awareness of Dorian's proximity.
The wounds were indeed deep, scoring lines across his ribs and shoulder that spoke to the supernatural strength of their attackers.
"This might sting," Ivy warned, dabbing antiseptic onto the cuts with careful precision.
Dorian's sharp intake of breath had nothing to do with the antiseptic and everything to do with the gentle touch of her fingers against his skin. "Ivy," he said quietly, his voice carrying a vulnerability that made her meet his amber eyes.
"What?" she asked softly, her hands stilling on his shoulder as she recognized the intensity in his gaze.
"I need you to know," Dorian said, his words careful and deliberate, "that what I'm feeling for you—this isn't just the Chronicle's manipulation. It isn't just proximity or shared danger or magical bonding."
"How can you be sure?" Ivy asked, though her heart was racing with hope and fear in equal measure.
"Because I've never felt anything like this before," Dorian admitted, his hand rising to cover hers where it rested against his shoulder.
"Dragons don't form casual attachments. When we connect with someone, it's... comprehensive.
And you—being near you doesn't just calm my human side.
It soothes the dragon too. Makes the fire feel purposeful instead of destructive. "
Ivy felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she recognized the enormity of what he was sharing with her. "That's not possible," she whispered. "You barely know me."
"I know enough," Dorian said with quiet certainty. "I know you're brave enough to face impossible odds for people you care about. I know you're brilliant enough to find connections that others miss. I know you're kind enough to heal someone who's been taught that his very nature is destructive."
"Dorian," Ivy said, her voice breaking slightly on his name.
"I know you're beautiful," he continued, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her hand, "not just physically, though you are. But beautiful in the way you think, the way you approach problems, the way you refuse to give up even when the Chronicle is offering you everything you've ever wanted."
"I've been trying so hard not to feel this," Ivy confessed, her resistance crumbling under the weight of his honesty. "Trying to stay professional, stay distant, because I thought what I was feeling was just proximity and shared crisis and..."
"And?" Dorian prompted gently.
"And because I'm falling for you too," Ivy admitted in a rush. "Despite every rational thought telling me it's too fast, too complicated, too dangerous—I'm falling for you, and it terrifies me."
The confession hung between them like a bridge across dangerous waters, and Ivy felt the Chronicle's attention sharpen with predatory interest. The fragment was pleased with their growing emotional connection, pleased with the vulnerability they were sharing.
But in that moment, she found she didn't care what the Chronicle wanted. The need for connection, for human warmth in the face of cosmic horror, was stronger than her fear of being manipulated.
"We're probably going to die here," Dorian said with dark humor, his amber eyes never leaving her face. "The Chronicle has us exactly where it wants us, and the equinox is still two days away."
"Probably," Ivy agreed, though she made no move to put distance between them.
"Then I want you to know," Dorian continued, his hand sliding from hers to cup her cheek with dragon-warmed fingers, "that meeting you, working with you, falling for you—it's been worth every moment of terror and uncertainty."
"Even if it ends badly?" Ivy asked, leaning into his touch despite the voice in her head that warned against deepening their connection.
"Especially if it ends badly," Dorian said firmly. "Because at least we'll have chosen to feel something real instead of accepting the Chronicle's beautiful lies."
The space between them disappeared as if it had never existed, drawn together by need and emotion and the desperate human desire for connection in the face of overwhelming odds.
When Dorian's lips met hers, Ivy felt the world narrow to the sensation of warmth and want and the kind of rightness that had nothing to do with magical bonds or supernatural manipulation.
He kissed her with the careful reverence of someone who'd been taught that his touch could destroy, but she could feel the dragon fire beneath his skin responding to her presence, growing warmer and more controlled rather than wild and dangerous.
Her own magic flared in response, bibliomantic energy that usually felt cold and analytical becoming warm and protective, weaving around them both like armor made of words and will.
"Are you sure?" Dorian asked against her lips, his voice rough with desire and restraint.
"I'm sure," Ivy whispered, her hands sliding from his shoulders to the buttons of his torn shirt. "I'm sure that this is real, that we're real, that whatever happens with the Chronicle—this matters."
Dorian's answer was wordless but unmistakable, his mouth finding hers again as his hands tangled in her dark hair. The careful control he maintained during their research sessions dissolved, replaced by something primal and desperate and absolutely certain.
They came together with the urgency of people who might not see another dawn, their need for each other overriding every rational thought about timing and circumstances and the supernatural entity that watched their every move.
Ivy's back pressed against the ancient bookcases that lined the archive room walls, centuries of accumulated knowledge bearing witness to their passion.
Dorian's fire magic flared with their emotional intensity, golden light dancing across their skin as he traced reverent paths along her throat and collarbone.
But the flames didn't burn—instead, they felt like sunlight on winter skin, warming her from the outside in while her bibliomantic abilities wove their own magic around them both.
"You're incredible," Dorian breathed against her throat, his hands mapping the curves of her body with worshipful attention. "Perfect and brilliant and so much braver than you know."
"Not perfect," Ivy protested, though the words dissolved into a soft moan as his mouth found the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.
"Perfect for me," Dorian corrected, his amber eyes blazing with more than just dragon fire. "Perfect for this moment, for what we're building together."
The air inside the archive room pulsed with charged silence, broken only by the ragged rhythm of their breath and the soft crackle of Dorian’s dragonfire dancing along his skin.
Ivy’s back pressed into the old bookcase, the rough grain cool against her spine while the heat radiating from Dorian wrapped around her like a living thing.
His hands framed her face, reverent and trembling, his gaze consuming.
“You’re still shaking,” Ivy whispered, voice husky, fingers sliding into his golden hair as his body pressed flush against hers.
“Not from pain,” Dorian rasped, his mouth hovering near hers. “From needing you. From trying to hold back when all I want is to worship you.”