Page 3 of Scorched by Fate (Drakarn Mates #3)

THREE

SELENE

The forge was a beast.

Heat slammed into me the second I stepped inside, thick and heavy enough to drown in. It burrowed under my skin, snagged in my lungs, a dare to even try and breathe. The noise was a physical assault—hammer on metal, the shriek of steam.

Mercy for sensitive ears or headaches? Forget about it.

Definitely not my happy place.

Sweat already slicked the back of my neck as I crossed the threshold. Mysha’s list was crumpled tight in my hand, a knot of worry cinching tight in my chest. The elder healer’s fainting spell from earlier wouldn’t leave me alone, even if she’d snapped at me and waved me off like it was normal. I wasn’t buying it. Not after that glimpse of her hands—bruises under the scales, faint and mottled.

Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just her temper.

The noise clanged louder, deeper, as I moved farther into the cavern. Tables overflowed with tools, metal scraps, and surprisingly delicate sketches of blades pinned to the rough rock walls. Chaos, but organized chaos. Everything had its place, even if it looked like a disaster to anyone else. I got the symmetry of it, even as I edged around things that looked sharp enough to slice me open by accident.

Then I saw him.

Dead center in the forge’s heart. Heat and firelight framed him like he’d clawed his way out of the flames themselves. Broad shoulders, green scales catching shadows of black, wings folded back but still massive. He moved like he was born to this, hammer rising and falling on a glowing blade, muscles flexing under his scales with each strike. His focus was a laser, locked on the metal as if daring it to disobey.

I stopped at the edge of his space, shifting my weight. Underneath the worry for Mysha, I was suddenly too aware of being an outsider. Even more than usual. The forge was his territory. I was just … human and wrapped up in human problems he probably couldn’t care less about.

I cleared my throat, voice quiet against the forge’s roar. “Vyne.”

He didn’t falter, hammer still in its rhythm, but his eyes flicked up. Sharp, slit pupils narrowed as they found me. His chest rose in a controlled breath, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before it smoothed out. Neutral. Not friendly, not warm. Just … less annoyed.

“You’re early,” he said, voice rough as rocks grinding together. The hammer came down one last time, then he plunged the blade into a shallow pool of liquid. Steam hissed up, like an angry spirit escaping.

I arched a brow, holding up Mysha’s wrinkled list. “I didn’t realize there was a schedule."

A ghost of a smirk touched the corner of his mouth. It didn’t quite make it all the way. He tossed the hammer onto the workbench, the clang echoing and making me wince.

“Let me see it.” Hand out, palm up, claws twitching. I hesitated for a beat. But he didn't owe me a kind tone. I stepped closer and held out the crumpled list.

His fingers brushed mine as he took it, and one word slammed into my brain before I could block it—warm. Too warm. Hot actually. Like fire licking skin, but without the burn, just that unsettling, sharp pleasure that faded too fast. Vyne’s touch was … something else.

Something dangerous.

I snatched my hand back, tucked it behind me like it had suddenly betrayed me. He didn’t seem to notice. Or care. His attention was glued to the list, eyes narrowed at the scribbled handwriting.

“Is Mysha trying to kill me with this?” he muttered after a second, tilting the paper like that would magically decode it.

I bit back a laugh. “I'm pretty sure her penmanship is worse than her bedside manner.” I was still struggling to learn to read the Drakarn language. My translator made speaking easy. Reading Mysha's handwriting was like trying to decipher hieroglyphics.

That got a low huff of amusement.

“Half of this is gibberish,” he grumbled, squinting harder at the messy script. “You sure she didn’t spatter ink on the paper and call it good?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out.” I folded my arms, shifted my weight. The forge was roasting, but the back-and-forth made it almost pleasant. “But she wouldn't ask for anything we didn't need.”

"Since when is it a we?"

I bristled. "I've been training with Mysha since we got here." No need to specify when. To say that me and my fellow humans had made a splash in Scalvaris was an understatement.

Vyne’s head tilted, and I caught a flicker of something almost … soft … in his expression. Wry. Maybe even amused. Then it was gone, locked back behind the hard lines of his face.

“It’ll take time,” he finally said, rolling the list into a loose tube and setting it on his bench. “Some of this is … finicky. The apprentices can handle most of it, but I'll have to tackle this," he pointed to one indecipherable line, "myself.”

“And here I was, thinking you’d have it all ready by yesterday,” I deadpanned, arching a brow.

That ghost-smirk again. Not quite softening, but there. “I’ll have an apprentice get started on what’s available. The rest might take a few days.”

His gaze flicked to me again, sharp and assessing, and heat crept up my neck. Maybe it was just the forge finally getting to me. Yeah, probably that.

“Thank you,” I said, ignoring the tightness in my throat. “Mysha’s not exactly patient. But I’ll pass it on. If she’s not happy, she can fly down here and complain herself.”

That earned a snort—a real one this time. His wings shifted, rustling in the heated air. “I’d like to see her try,” he muttered, then inclined his head toward the doorway. “You should get moving before the heat does more than just flush you pink.”

I jolted and damn it if my cheeks didn't get even pinker.

When I looked up, there was something in his gaze—not exactly indecent, but knowing . Too knowing. Like he’d noticed more than just the heat getting to me. My flushed skin, the way I couldn’t seem to stop glancing at his hands.

Damn those hands.

The last thing I needed was to start imagining what they might feel like against my skin. And the rest of him?

Damn it again.

I cleared my throat, nodded, and turned, getting out of there before I could embarrass myself further. But even walking away, I could feel his stare. His eyes tracked me across the forge, a pressure on my back I didn’t want to think too hard about. I bit the inside of my cheek, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other until I was past the threshold, back in the blessedly cooler tunnels.

I blew out a breath, dragging a hand over my damp forehead. My heart was still hammering, too fast, like I’d just escaped a fight. Except it wasn’t fear driving my pulse. It was something sharper. I didn’t want to name it, but I wasn’t stupid.

A male like Vyne, he pulled you in, even if you fought to stay out .

I didn’t need this. Not now.

I forced my thoughts back on track. Mysha. The list. The illness that had her leaning against the wall earlier like standing upright was too much effort.

By the time I reached the healing caverns, the tension in my chest had eased a little. Whatever had been fighting for my attention in the forge had no place here.

Something had been wrong for days. A tension in the air, a sluggishness in the way some of the healers moved. Mysha had been snapping at apprentices more than usual, rubbing her temples like even the dim cavern light was too much.

The orderly calm I associated with the Drakarn healers, their smooth efficiency, their collected focus, was fractured. Whispers, low and urgent, volleyed over prone bodies. Fabric rustled; muffled gasps and groans filled the air.

I froze just inside the entrance as the picture snapped into focus, sharp and ugly.

Mysha wasn’t the only one sick.

Two other healers lay nearby, sprawled like they’d collapsed mid-step. The strange bruises weren’t faint marks now—they spread dark and web-like across their calves and arms. A few other Drakarn moved through the room, jerky and clumsy, eyes glazed, clawed hands fumbling with supplies they couldn’t seem to manage.

Rachel was crouched over one of the healers, brow furrowed in concentration. Kaiya moved between makeshift tables with frantic energy, her tension leaking out in sharp, tight movements.

“Selene!” Rachel’s head snapped up as soon as I moved farther inside. Her voice was loud, sharp, but controlled enough to cut through the chaos. “Get over here. The shit hit the fan.”

“What the hell happened?” I asked, crouching next to the closest Drakarn, not touching yet, just observing. Their chest barely lifted, shallow breaths that didn't seem to suck in enough air. The bruising was darker, spreading out from their torso. Veins under the scales were raised and angry. Beside them, bandages soaked in a green residue lay useless in a bowl of water that had somehow turned murky.

Rachel shook her head, standing, wiping her hands on her pants as she came closer. “Mysha collapsed just after you left. Then Sharyth and Nyzarin. It’s spreading too fast to track. Symptoms are all over the place—muscle spasms in one, vascular issues in another. And I have no idea what's causing it. Kaiya's been consulting her notes, but we don't know anything .”

“So the universe is being a bastard again.” It came out harsher than I meant, but I wasn’t there for soft words and handholding.

Kaiya spoke before Rachel could, appearing at my side, strung tight with tension. “We need samples. Data, patient histories,” she said, voice clipped but precise. “Maybe they were exposed to something … specific. Or maybe this is a known disease. I was trying to compare what I know about?—”

“Kaiya,” I interrupted, fixing her with my no-nonsense look, the one for when things were going sideways and we were out of time for theories. “Focus. What’s workable now?”

To her credit, she didn’t flinch, though her fingers twitched, betraying the battle to hold back the flood of ideas in her head. “Rachel’s doing triage, trying to stabilize vitals. I tried a microdose of Earth antibiotics, just to rule out?—”

“Good,” I cut her off again, not unkindly. Focus was Kaiya’s lifeline and reeling her back when she got lost in her own thoughts was part of the deal. “Stick to what’s working. Rachel?—”

I turned to her as she packed another vial into her med kit, sharp eyes already scanning the room like she could fix it with sheer will. “Did Mysha give us any hints?”

Rachel’s lips tightened. “No. She's unconscious now, same as the others. Her symptoms are getting worse.” Her gaze flicked to the makeshift triage area, the cot where Mysha lay still, face pinched even in sleep.

It took effort to keep panic out of my voice. “Do we need contamination protocols? Any signs it’s jumping species?”

Rachel paused, weighing her answer. “Nothing yet. We’re exposed, obviously, but we seem … unaffected. So far.”

“Not exactly comforting,” I muttered, already pulling gloves from the kit and snapping them on. My hands moved on autopilot, finding the pulse at the neck of the nearest healer.

Weak, thready. Fuck.

I glanced around again, the harsh light bouncing off hollow cheeks and ragged breaths. The air felt thicker, pressing on my lungs like the forge, but this was worse. The forge was simple heat. This was … hell.

“Alright,” I barked, pulling my voice sharp, the tone they responded to because it sounded like I had a plan. I didn’t. Not yet. But I’d fake it until I did. “Rachel, keep triage going. Airway stabilization first, and?—”

“God damn it.” Rachel's voice was dry, almost flat. I followed her gaze across the room to a younger healer clawing at the wall, movements twitchy and frantic, like he was trying to rip something invisible out of his own body. Then, like his strings were cut, he crumpled, face-first on the floor.

“Shit,” I hissed, already moving, but Rachel’s hand shot out, hard on my shoulder. “Bad idea,” she said, firm.

“No choice,” I snapped. “We have to contain this.”

“You touch him, we risk exposure.”

That stopped me. For about a second.

“We’re already fucking exposed,” I said, fierce, crossing my arms despite the growing weight in my chest. “Not touching him doesn’t magically make us safe, Rachel,” I continued, voice dropping harder, colder than I usually let it get. “We control what we can, or we watch everyone in this room die.”