Page 7 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

The wind picks up, swirling snow around us in a tight spiral. The shifters pause, suddenly uncertain as the temperature plummets. Frost spreads across the rock at my back, crackling like breaking bones.

My magic surges up from that deep well inside me, wild and uncontrollable. I feel it building like a storm, like lightning about to strike. The child's presence amplifies everything, turning my desperation into raw power that crackles through the air.

The ice beneath our feet groans.

"What's happening?" one of the shifters snarls, smoke pouring from his mouth as he starts to transform. "What are you—"

The crack comes suddenly, a sound like thunder that splits the night. A fissure opens in the frozen ground, zigzagging between the mercenaries' feet. One of them screams as the ice gives way beneath him, sending him plummeting into an expanding well of darkness. His cry echoes up from the depths until it fades to nothing.

The others scramble back, their transformations stalling as they try to find stable ground. But my magic isn't finished. Ice spreads up their legs, trapping them in place as the wind howls louder, driving snow and shards of ice like daggers.

"Witch!"my original captor roars. He manages to complete his transformation, scales erupting across his skin as his form swells. Heat radiates from him in waves, melting the ice that tries to claim him. "I'll tear you apart!"

He lunges for me, claws extended. I raise my hands, preparing to unleash everything I have left, knowing it might kill me, knowing I have no choice—

A talon larger than my head, razor-sharp, lashes through the air toward my face impossibly fast.

All at once, in a fraction of a second, I see multiple distinct images in my head: my grandmother in the firelight, Lyra giggling in a pretty dress in Essenborn, the long and lonely road to Millrath, the terrible beauty of the Sanctum seeming to glow beneath the moonlight, Arvoren tipping his head back gently as he laughs his rough laugh. A child not yet born, sharing my dark hair and Arvoren’s sharp eyes, squealing with joy in a warm, sunlit chamber, tiny fists wheeling in the air.

I hold my breath and prepare for death.

A shadow detaches itself from the storm.

The figure moves like liquid darkness, like death given form. In the space of a heartbeat, my attacker's roar turns to a gurgle. The talon whips away from me, a hair’s breadth from my face as it swings into the dark and the snow. Blood sprays across the ice at my feet, black in the dim light, as a blade opens his throat with surgical precision.

The remaining shifters try to flee, but the shadow is everywhere at once. Steel flashes. Bodies fall. One mercenary manages to fully transform, but even his dragon form isn't fast enough. The mysterious fighter flows around his flames like smoke, finding gaps in his scales, striking vital points until the massive creature crashes to the ground.

In seconds, it's over.

My legs give out. I slide down the rock face, the rough stone scraping through my clothes as my vision dims at the edges. The magic drains from me like water from a broken cup, leaving me hollow and shaking.

The figure approaches through the swirling snow. Tall, powerful, moving with a warrior's deadly grace. My heart leaps treacherously in my chest.

Arvoren?

But no—even through my blurring vision, I can tell the shape is wrong. This person is shorter than my husband, more slightly built. They kneel beside me in the bloodied snow, and a voice that's definitely not Arvoren's says something I can't quite catch.

Hands catch me as I start to slump forward. The world spins lazily, darkness creeping in from all sides. I try to fight it, to stay conscious, but I'm so tired. So cold.

"…safe now," the voice says, seeming to come from very far away. "You're safe…"

As consciousness slips away, I find myself wishing, despite everything, that it was Arvoren's arms around me. That he had found me, had come to take me home to warmth and safety and his fierce, possessive love.

The thought follows me down into darkness as the storm rages on.

Chapter 4 - Arvoren

I wake with her name caught in my throat.

The remnants of the dream still cling to me like frost, settled on my skin. I see in my mind the ephemeral glow of the vision sleep brought. In it, I was flying through an endless storm, following her voice on the wind. Ice formed on my wings, weighing me down, but still I pushed forward, desperate to reach her. Then suddenly, I was falling, and the cold was everywhere, inside and out, crushing the breath from my lungs—

The last visage of the dream fractures and slips away, leaving only a bone-deep chill that even my dragon's blood can't seem to warm. My chambers—ourchambers—feel cavernous and empty in the pre-dawn light. The bed is too large, too cold. Her scent still lingers on the pillows, growing fainter with each passing day.

I rise, pacing to the window where frost has painted delicate patterns across the glass. The sun hasn't yet crested the mountains, but already I can hear the city stirring below. The sound seems muffled, distant, as if the endless snow has wrapped Millrath in wool.

A knock at my door breaks the silence.

"Enter," I growl, not turning from the window.