Page 46 of King of Fire and Scales

TWENTY-THREE

THALIA

Thalia saw Drake as a magnificent streak of shining violet as she spun wildly through the pouring rain. She saw him soaring like a celestial being from space, plummeting toward the earth without consideration for his own well-being. She was falling fast like a rock pushed from a high cliff.

Something created by desperation, and something even deeper channeled through the veins of her forgotten ancestors, awakened inside Thalia. Certain death was approaching if Drake could not make it. And potentially, his own, as a fruitless endeavor into heroism.

She balled her fists together midair, and then, incredibly, a transparent cushion began to expand around her heels to her head. It glowed a gentle green, the shade of lily pads sheathed in dew, guided her down toward the earth, and sunk her into Drake’s scaled back.

He shifted back astoundingly fast, and Thalia found herself insanely out of breath. Her chest ached with fear when she flipped over, and saw that the gray and blue swirl of the king’s eyes shimmered brilliantly.

He was also naked, panting, and gloriously sexy soaked in the rain.

“Drake…”

He yanked her into him, pressing lips into a crushing, passionate kiss. She parted her mouth for him, moaning with a fiery passion, and a relief that made her feel like she was levitating.

When they parted, Thalia’s face ran hot, and she began to giggle deliriously. Drake’s smile was beautiful and weary, and he too began to chuckle.

“Hello,” she whispered bashfully.

The king’s expression melted into a mournful regret, and he cupped Thalia’s face in his hands. “Thalia, I am so sorry,” he professed. “My words of sorrow are insufficient. You are everything to me. You are the moon, the sun, the rain, the stars–”

Thalia couldn't help herself. She pressed her mouth to his mid-sentence, the tasty honey of his promises a delicious coating on her tongue. She moaned again, adoring the way his hands explored the taut contours of her tunic.

She felt her muscles go lax and then rigid for him. If it weren’t for the fact they were lying on the wet ground of the battlefield, she would’ve let him take her right then and there.

The drive was of pure primal animalistic desire. His dragon coming out to play. And something else.

They were interrupted by Sorcha and members of the war council, who appeared sapped from the brief but grueling battle. Sorcha tossed a blanket over the king’s back, and he clothed himself in it, with Thalia held solidly against him.

“What of Pyralis, My King?” a war council member asked.

The skies began to part, and the fog dissipated.

All four of them turned toward the hillside where Pyralis’s life was fading. Though Thalia knew what the monster could have done to her—including murder, and cannibalization—she didn’t enjoy the idea of having yet another life doused out in her name.

“Bring him to the gallows,” the king said as if reading her thoughts. “We need him for questioning before he departs from this plane of existence.”

Thalia laid her head upon Drake’s chest. His skin was warm, and he smelled of smoke. His heartbeat was strong.

As they proceeded to walk through the carnage of the battlefield, Thalia ran her hands through Drake’s hair, catching his attention. When his eyes touched hers, they were radiant, turning her legs to rubber.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

He scoffed politely, then planted a small kiss on her forehead as they trailed behind Sorcha and the war councilors.

“I am eternally content with you here in my arms. Safe.”

The explosion of heat in her belly felt counterintuitive to the sight she beheld before her. She turned away, feeling secure with the king’s arm snaked around her waist.

Soldiers, some dead, some barely clinging to life lay tossed aimlessly throughout the meadow. Some were missing limbs, others had deep and dangerous lacerations. It wasn’t an outright slaughter, but Thalia was stunned by how much damage had been done in such a small amount of time.

She tried to pull herself from Drake, drawn in the way she had been drawn to the secret door. He held her wrist as tight as a shackle.

“Thalia,” he muttered.

“Drake,” she said, whipping her head back at him with a gentle smile. “Let me go. Let me do what I can to help. To help your people."

---