Page 28

28

SEREN

T he halls of Xirath’s stronghold have turned into a prison, one I pace through like a restless beast.

Days have passed, but the walls still hold his presence, his power woven into the stone, the shadows, the silence that lingers in his absence.

I do not seek him out.

I do not need to.

His presence is everywhere, and that alone should be enough to drive me to madness.

The kiss, our kiss should have been the end of it.

It should have severed whatever invisible chain has been tying me to him, burned through the fragile thing inside me that refuses to die.

Instead, it has poisoned me.

I feel him in my skin, in my blood, in the spaces he has never touched but somehow still claims.

This is insanity.

This is not who I am.

Yet, my feet drag me toward him like a blade drawn to a battle it has no chance of surviving.

The door to his chambers looms ahead, shut, unyielding. I could turn around. Walk away. Pretend this sickness festering inside me will burn itself out.

I should leave.

Instead, I push inside.

Xirath stands near the hearth, his back to me, broad shoulders rigid with tension. Firelight casts his scales in hues of gold and crimson, the ridges along his spine catching the glow like molten metal.

He does not turn.

But he knows I am here.

Something in the room shifts, thickens, as if the space between us has just become smaller, hotter.

"You’ve been avoiding me," I say, voice sharp, cutting.

His head lifts slightly, but he does not speak.

A slow, deliberate breath fills my lungs, the weight of my anger pressing hard against my ribs. "You cannot just?—"

He moves.

Not toward me.

Away.

A sharp laugh slips from my throat, bitter and edged with something dangerously close to desperation. "Is this how it is, then?" I step forward, refusing to let him dismiss me, refusing to let this tension fester between us like a wound left to rot.

"You kiss me, and now you can’t even look at me?"

His shoulders tighten.

"You claim I belong to you," I press, voice rising. "But you won’t even face me?"

A flick of his tail, the barely restrained force of it enough to send dust scattering along the floor.

"Enough," he growls, finally turning.

Golden eyes burn through me, searing in their intensity.

The force of it hits like a blow to the chest.

"You think this is a game?" His voice is quiet, but there is nothing soft in it.

A slow shake of my head. "I think you don’t know what you want."

A dangerous stillness settles over him, the kind that precedes violence, the kind that makes something low in my stomach twist.

"You think I do not want you?" His voice drops, a hushed thing laced with something brutal, something that wraps around my throat and tightens.

"You tell me," I say, breath ragged, too aware of the way he is looking at me, the way his body coils as if he is fighting himself.

"I am not your mate," I remind him. I need to remind him.

He takes a step forward.

Something inside me bucks against the instinct to move back.

"You are not," he agrees.

Another step.

"But I want you anyway."

My pulse hammers against my ribs, a caged thing.

Heat licks along my spine, unwelcome, undeniable.

"Then why—" My voice falters as his fingers trace the tip of my jaw, light, deliberate, dangerous.

"Because if I take you, little mouse," he murmurs, voice like smoke curling around my skin, "I will never let you go."

A breath shudders from my lips.

This is not fate.

This is not magic.

This is him.

Xirath.

His presence, his hunger, his undeniable, unshakable desire.

I cannot fight it.

His lips crush against mine, a collision of rage and restraint snapping all at once.

A sharp gasp gets lost between us, swallowed by the force of his mouth, the way he claims every inch of space between us.

My hands clench against his chest, not to push him away, but to pull him closer.

He growls against my lips, the sound reverberating through my bones.

Fingers tighten at my waist, a possessive grip that leaves no space between us.

Heat flares through my veins, dangerous and intoxicating.

This is not soft.

This is war.

My teeth graze his lower lip, sharp and taunting. He snarls at the challenge, pressing me back against the stone wall, his body a wall of heat and strength.

The taste of him is fire and ruin, a brand I will never wash away.

His grip shifts, tilting my head back, forcing me to feel his dominance.

"You drive me mad," he mutters against my skin.

The words should not send a shudder through me, but they do.

My lips part, but whatever retort I planned dies as his mouth claims mine again, deeper this time, more deliberate.

I do not resist.

I burn.