10. Darrokar

TEN

DARROKAR

The air was heavy with her scent.

It wasn’t just there in my chambers—it clung to my skin, my wings, my very senses. Sweet, wild, and utterly intoxicating, it overpowered the tang of molten stone and heat crystals embedded in the walls. It blurred the dividing lines of my thoughts, drowning out every instinct except the unshakable knowledge that she was mine.

Terra Drake. Human. Warrior.

Mate.

My bond to her was no longer an unfulfilled ache—it was real now, visceral, carved into the marrow of my bones. Every beat of my heart pulsed with it, this connection between us, fierce as fire and as unrelenting as the world outside these walls.

She had fought me—challenged me—and I had claimed her.

But even now, as she lay curled against me, her breaths steady and deep with sleep, I knew this bond was not so simple. She was no fragile thing, no docile creature content to be tamed. No, she burned with a fire that refused to be extinguished.

And it was that fire that both drew me to her and unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

I stretched across the smooth, heat-warmed stone of my sleeping platform, my wings draping over its edges like smoldering shadows. Its surface, carved from volcanic rock, radiated the comforting warmth of my people’s fire-born home. Around me, my chambers glowed faintly with light from the heat crystals, their molten orange veins crawling through the blackened stone like living things. Shadows flickered across the ceiling, the dance of firelight a reflection of the restless energy pulsing through me.

She stirred beside me, her copper hair spilling across my obsidian scales in a cascade of molten light. Her hand rested against my ribcage, delicate fingers curling as if she sought to anchor herself to me even in sleep. Her warmth sank into me, more potent than the heat that surrounded us.

I should have let her rest. Should have allowed her this brief reprieve from the chaos of this world that was not her own. But responsibilities loomed beyond these walls—duties that would not wait, threats that would not yield. My people. My enemies. The council. All of them circled like carrion birds, waiting for any sign of weakness, any crack in my armor. And Terra … Terra was no ordinary crack. She was a blaze, wild and beautiful, and I knew it would take all my strength to shield her from what was to come.

A faint shift in the chamber’s light caught my attention. The massive doors at the far end, carved with the sigils of my house, groaned open with deliberate slowness. A figure stepped inside, silhouetted against the low glow of the hall beyond. Tall, crimson-scaled, and exuding the confidence of a predator who knew his place in the hierarchy.

Rath.

He entered without hesitation, his wings tucked neatly against his back and his molten ruby-red scales shimmering faintly in the light. His sharp amber eyes swept the room, lingering briefly on the sleeping form of Terra before meeting mine. His mouth curved into a smirk—the kind that had earned him more than one scar in his years as my subordinate .

“Darrokar,” he greeted, his voice low and rough. “I see you’ve been … busy.”

I rose slowly, careful not to disturb Terra. Her hand slipped from my chest as I shifted, and though her warmth lingered, the absence left a quiet ache in its wake. She murmured something soft, a garbled word that I couldn’t quite catch, before settling once more into stillness.

“Speak,” I ordered Rath, my voice low and clipped. My wings flared slightly as I stepped away from the platform, the movement stirring the heavy air of the chamber. “And make it quick.”

Rath’s smirk widened as he came closer, his taloned feet clicking softly against the stone floor. “The exile is done,” he said simply, his tone casual. “The kervash won’t find shelter in the wastes. And if he does, it won’t last long.”

A growl rumbled deep in my chest at the memory of that bastard’s audacity. His hands on Terra, his challenge to my claim—it had taken more restraint than I cared to admit not to end him myself. My claws flexed, scraping against the stone. “Good,” I said darkly. “If he values his life, he’ll stay gone.”

Rath nodded, though the gleam in his eyes told me he hoped to meet the kervash again. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll gladly remind him why that was a mistake.”

The words might have been a joke, but his gaze drifted again to Terra, and though there was no malice in his curiosity, it still set my instincts on edge. I stepped closer, my wings flaring wider in a reflexive show of dominance.

“She’s … different,” Rath said at last, tilting his head as he regarded her. His tone was cautious, but not entirely free of judgment. “Not what I expected.”

“You expected nothing,” I snapped, my voice sharp as the edge of a blade. “You know nothing of her.”

Rath raised his hands in mock surrender, the smirk fading from his face. “The council will want to know more,” he said carefully. “You know they’ll question this. Question her.”

“Let them,” I growled, stepping closer. The heat of my anger flared in the air between us. “I have no interest in their doubts or their traditions. Terra is mine, and no council, no law, will take her from me.”

Rath studied me for a long moment, his amber eyes narrowing slightly. “Traditions run deep, Darrokar,” he said quietly. “You’ve always walked the line between honoring and defying them. Just be certain which side you stand on.”

I didn’t respond. I held Rath's gaze, the weight of his words settling uneasily in my chest. Loyalty was etched into his bones, but his caution was not without merit. The council would not let this go unchallenged. They would see Terra as a disruption, an unknown, perhaps even a threat. And to them, threats were meant to be eliminated.

But the fire that burned within me—the bond that tethered us—was unshakable. Terra was no threat. She was strength. Resilience. Defiance. And she was mine.

Rath must have sensed the resolve in my silence, for he shifted, his wings folding more tightly against his back. “For what it’s worth,” he said, tilting his head, “I’ve never seen you like this. It’s … unsettling.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Unsettling?”

He nodded, his smirk returning, though it lacked its earlier edge. “You’re quieter. Less … predictable. Whatever she’s done, it’s making the rest of us nervous.”

“Good,” I said, my voice low and deliberate. “You should be nervous.”

Rath gave a short laugh, more breath than sound, and inclined his head. “As you say, Warrior Lord. But nervous warriors make rash decisions. Keep an eye on your council—they’ll be watching.”

Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door, the click of his talons echoing off the chamber walls. His wings brushed lightly against the frame, and the heavy door groaned shut behind him, leaving me alone with my mate once more.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, my thoughts uneasy. Rath’s words were an unwelcome specter in the back of my mind. He was right—nervous warriors did make rash choices. And the council was nothing if not a collection of nervous old fools.

But I would deal with them if and when they became a problem. For now, my priority was here—beside me, stretched across the sleeping platform like she belonged in this world carved from fire and stone.

“Who was that?” Terra’s voice startled me, soft but steady, tinged with curiosity.

She was propped up on one elbow. The red waves of her hair framed her face, and her green eyes glinted with humor. She was watching me closely, her gaze as sharp as ever. She was my mate; I should have expected nothing less .

“Rath,” I said simply, crossing the room to stand beside her. “A warrior. And a nuisance.”

She laughed softly, a sound that sent a pleasant hum through my chest. “I figured as much,” she said, stretching languidly. “He came to poke the bear.”

I tilted my head, frowning. “What? What is a bear?”

Her lips twitched into a grin that was part teasing and part affection. “Large, furry predator. Very grumpy. Not unlike you.”

A low growl rumbled in my throat, but there was no heat behind it. I leaned closer, bracing one hand on the platform beside her, my wings shifting slightly to block out the faint glow of the heat crystals. “Grumpy?” I murmured, my voice a dangerous purr. “You think I am grumpy, little warrior?”

Her smile widened, unafraid of the dark promise in my tone. If anything, she seemed to enjoy provoking me. “Absolutely,” she said, her voice laced with humor. “Don’t worry—I like it. In a terrifying, ‘don’t-mess-with-me-or-I’ll-breathe-fire’ kind of way.”

I couldn’t help the faint smirk that tugged at my lips. Her courage, her sharp wit—it never failed to catch me off guard. “I don't breathe fire.”

She reached up, her fingers brushing lightly against my jaw, her touch soft yet electrifying. “No?” she asked.

The air between us crackled, charged with something stronger than the mating bond. The heat of the room, the glow of the crystals, the distant hum of the geothermal currents—it all faded into the background.

There was only her. Her fire. Her defiance.

I caught her hand in mine, my claws brushing against her smaller, softer fingers. The difference between us—her fragility, my strength—should have been stark. Irreconcilable. And yet, it didn’t matter. Because in that moment, she wasn’t fragile. She was unshakable.

“You are a menace,” I muttered, though the words held no bite.

“And you love it,” she countered without missing a beat, her grin widening.

I didn’t respond, but the look in her eyes told me she already knew the answer. She always seemed to know.

She shifted slightly, pulling herself up to sit cross-legged on the platform. Her copper hair caught the flickering light, turning it into a halo of flame. “So,” she said, her tone more serious now. “What’s the plan?”

I raised an eyebrow. “The plan?”

“Yes, Darrokar, the plan,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy to just wing it.”

I flicked my wings just enough to let them catch the light. “Winging it has worked well enough for you so far.”

She smirked. “Of course.”

I growled softly, though the corners of my mouth twitched. “I make no promises.”

Her expression softened, and the humor faded, replaced by something quieter. “I’m serious,” she said, her voice quieter now. “This bond between us—it’s … intense. And I can see it in your eyes. Is there something I'm missing here?”

“It’s my responsibility to protect you,” I said simply, as if that could encompass the depth of what I felt.

She shook her head, her expression firm. “I can take care of myself.”

"You are mine, luvae ."

Before she could start to argue, I captured her lips and lowered her back to the sleeping platform. We had no need for more words.