Page 69 of To Match A Dragon's Fire

The sound echoed, dying down, as Bemouth smiled fondly. “Maybe it’s time for the end. No new dragons born in two hundred years, the guardian’s power fading, the humans and their overpopulation… No offense to your lady friend.”

“None taken.” I gripped the edge of the stone desk as the cavern walls shook around us with an Earth tremor. Dahlia’s roar came louder this time, urgent and demanding.

Bemouth chuckled. “The one thing I know is that if a female says things are about to change, it’s best to get out of her way.”

“That’s not all you know.” I shook my head, unwilling to believe that was his only advice. Bemouth was the wisest dragon I’d ever met. Age had softened him somehow.

“You’re right.” He grabbed the bag of meat. “I also know not to wait when my mate is hungry.”

I turned away, giving Bemouth privacy as he headed toward the back of the cavern with the bloody food.

Dahlia had slipped into sort of a dementia-like state where her primal nature took over to defend her aging body.

It sometimes happened with our species, especially for those who lived close to a millennium as Bemouth and Dahlia had.

But even if she was younger, it still seemed rude to watch such a private act. Bemouth refused to leave her side or let anyone else care for his mate.

I refused to let them die alone.

This was my flock. I’d sworn to protect them.

And we also have a mate.

I walked away from Bemouth, heading toward the tunnel wall where the human hiker had discovered the runes the federal paranormal agency brought to our attention.

The same runes that I’d seen and studied most of my life taunted me now. Such a simple message with a simple meaning, literally translated, that seemed clear enough—one that had governed the life of my ancestors for centuries.

I traced the edges with my finger.

First born of fire.

Strength forged of flame.

When a dragon’s heart dies.

All three runes within a broken circle symbolized the changing patterns of the moon in a path of renewal until the end of days.

The symbolic cycle had coincided with a new eldest hatchling dragon birth every four hundred years in our lineage for as long as we had documented history, passed down in stories before the written word came to be.

But it was the break in the circle that we’d discovered signified the end of the chain.

Why now?I pressed my hand against the cool cave wall, asking the same question I’d asked a million times before.

Malachy’s power had been fading since before he’d met the four-hundred-year mark, and try as we might, there was no one to pass the gauntlet to.

No births of new dragons. No one strong enough to fulfill our role. We were the last of the prophecy.

Our time had come and passed.

But Ember’s hadn’t.

Not yet.

“I won’t let you take her,” I swore, pushing away from the cave wall and the runes that had forsaken us.

The mountain above and ground below trembled again, but I ignored Her tantrum as I headed out of the depths of the earth and back to the sunlight, where a pretty human woman who deserved the world was waiting.

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