Page 1 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

I stared at the naked stranger in front of me as he tried to stand, his movements awkward, like someone relearning how to use limbs long forgotten.

His legs buckled beneath him, and he fell forward.

Without thinking, I rushed to catch him, my hands connecting with skin that burned like fire against my palms.

"Careful," I whispered, supporting his weight as best I could. He was heavy, solid muscle against me, his naked body radiating heat that penetrated my clothing. "How is this possible?"

His golden eyes locked with mine. "The collar," he said, voice rough. “Binds us, traps us… so long.”

I looked down in horror at the discarded iron ring on the ground, my mind reeling.

"You mean all Imperial dragons are—"

“Slaves. Like you.”

I helped him sit on the grass, my hands trembling. Everything I thought I knew about dragons, about the Academy, about the Empire itself, crumbled around me. "But how? Why would anyone—"

"Power," he said simply.

I couldn't move. Couldn't think. The world had just tilted beneath my feet, everything I thought I knew scattered like ashes in the wind.

"You're..." I tried to form words, but my throat had closed up. "I’m so sorry, Sirrax. I thought…" Shame and loathing filled me as I thought of all the times I’d ridden on his back, the way I’d brought him to the academy and put him back in chains, all for my own purpose. I was as bad as Drusus.

"No. Didn’t know."

He reached up, cupping my face with his hand.

I looked at him—truly looked at him—this man who had been my dragon.

His features were distinctly Talfen, the ancient enemy of the Empire, with those pointed ears and white hair, though he had golden eyes not black.

The history books claimed they were savage, uncivilized creatures who practiced dark magic and worshipped pagan gods.

They were meant to be monsters. My relationship with Tarshi had taught me that the Empire couldn’t be believed, but Tarshi had been raised by his human mother.

Would Sirrax prove to be the monster the Emperor would have me believe?

I couldn’t know for certain. And yet, as I looked into those golden eyes, all I saw was Sirrax—the same intelligence, the same fierce loyalty that had been my only comfort these past months.

I stared at his face, trying to reconcile this man with the dragon I'd flown with countless times.

"All this time... you understood everything? Every conversation, every thought I shared with you?"

He nodded.

"Every word. Every fear. Every hope."

I blushed, turning my head, but his other hand came up, both now holding my face as he stared into my eyes.

“No secrets from mate.”

I frowned. “Mate? What do you mean?”

“You are mate,” he said. “Fated, meant. Mine.”

"I don't understand," I said, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.

"Dragon knows. From first moment. You feel it too. Mate. Mine."

The word struck me like a physical blow. Mate. I pulled back instinctively, but his hands held me firmly.

"I'm not your mate," I said, the words coming out harsher than I intended. "I'm not anyone's."

A low rumble emanated from his chest, so similar to the sound Sirrax made when displeased that I almost laughed despite my shock.

"You feel it," he insisted, his golden eyes searching mine. "The pull between us. The bond. Not slave," he said, his brow furrowing. "Mate. Different." He struggled with the words, his tongue seemingly unpractised with human speech. "Bond. Equal."

I wanted to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. There had always been something between us, something I'd attributed to the connection between rider and dragon. But now...

"I don't even know you," I whispered. "Not like this."

"Know me better than anyone. Just didn't know this form.

" He smiled softly. “Know you. Here.” He let go of my face, touching my temple gently.

“Here.” He laid his hand over where my heart still pounded in my chest, and left it there, the heat from his touch burning through the fabric to my skin.

With his other hand, he reached for mine, placing over his own heart and holding it there.

I felt the thud of his heartbeat, the heat of his skin, and gasped as a rush of energy seemed to pass between us.

He leaned closer, his face only an inch from mine. “Feel. Mate.”

I stared at him, unable to look away, unable to break the connection between us.

The heat of his hand against my chest seemed to spread through my entire body, awakening sensations I'd tried to ignore since the first time I'd touched Sirrax's scales.

That same electric awareness, that same sense of belonging, and now the heat that seemed to rise inside me as he leaned closer.

"Always wanted you. Couldn't show. Couldn't speak."

The air seemed to thicken between us, charged with something primal and undeniable. His lips were so close to mine I could feel his breath, hot and sweet against my skin. A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the night air.

"This is madness," I whispered, yet I didn't pull away. "We can't—"

"Can," he growled, his hand sliding from my heart to my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies pressed together. The heat of him seared through my clothing, and I gasped at the contact. "Want to. Need to."

His mouth captured mine, and any protest I might have made dissolved into the kiss.

It wasn't gentle or hesitant—it was hungry, demanding, as wild and untamed as he'd been in dragon form.

His tongue swept into my mouth, claiming me with a possessiveness that should have frightened me but instead ignited something deep within.

I moaned against his lips, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, feeling the play of muscles beneath that strange, midnight skin.

He tasted of fire and starlight, of freedom and danger.

When we finally broke apart, both gasping for air, his eyes had grown even more luminous, glowing like twin suns in the darkness.

"Mine," he growled, the word vibrating through me like a physical touch. His hands moved down my sides and he glanced down between us.

"Too many coverings," he growled.

"Wait," I said, catching his wrists. "We can't—not here, not now. Someone might come looking for us."

His eyes flashed with irritation. "No one comes. Chose this place. Safe."

"You planned this?" I asked, surprised.

"Waited. For you to see. For you to free me." His expression softened slightly. "For you to be ready."

The implications were staggering. He had been conscious, aware, intelligent all along—trapped in dragon form, watching, waiting for me to understand.

I should have pulled away. I should have reminded myself of all the reasons this was wrong—he wasn't human, I barely knew him in this form, we were in danger, exposed in open countryside.

But when his lips found mine again, fiercer this time, I surrendered to the heat building between us.

The sound of tearing fabric had my eyes flying open, and the feel of cool night air on my skin, as he tore through my riding clothes as if they were parchment.

“Sirrax!” I gasped.

"Clothes," he growled, voice rumbling from deep in his chest. "In the way."

My protests died on my lips as his mouth found my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

He tore the rest of my clothing away, casting the shred of fabric to the ground beside us.

I should have been scandalized, should have protested the destruction of my only clothing.

Instead, I found myself arching into his touch as his hands explored newly exposed skin, leaving trails of fire wherever they passed.

His hands, rough and calloused, explored my newly exposed flesh with a reverence that made me shiver. Every touch ignited sparks beneath my skin, a sensation both foreign and achingly familiar.

I gasped as his thumbs brushed over my nipples, sending sparks of pleasure racing through me. The contrast of his midnight skin against mine was mesmerizing—like watching shadows dance across moonlight.

"We shouldn't," I whispered, even as my body arched into his touch. "I barely know who you are like this."

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, his expression fierce with determination and something else—vulnerability, perhaps.

"Same," he insisted, pressing his forehead to mine. "Still Sirrax. Still yours."

I should have been afraid. I should have pulled away, demanded explanations, time to think.

But as his mouth descended to my breast, hot and demanding, thought became impossible.

I tangled my fingers in his white hair, holding him to me as his tongue circled my nipple, sending electric jolts of pleasure straight to my core.

His teeth grazed my sensitive flesh, and I cried out, the sound echoing in the clearing. I felt him smile against my skin, pleased with my response.

"Want you," he growled, his voice vibrating against my flesh. "Need you."

His hands slid down my body, exploring every curve, every hollow with a possessive hunger that should have frightened me but instead stoked the fire building between my thighs. When his fingers found the wetness there, I gasped, my hips bucking against his hand.

"So ready," he murmured, golden eyes glowing as they met mine. "For mate."

I couldn't deny it. My body responded to him with an intensity that defied explanation, as though it recognized him even in this new form. His fingers slid inside me, and I moaned, my head falling back as pleasure coursed through me.

"Sirrax," I whispered, my voice breaking on his name. "Please."

He shook his head. “Make ready. Not ready.”