Page 4 of Ashfall

I take a step back, heart thudding too fast. His presence doesn’t just press—it brands. Like heat off a forge, yes, but itsinks deeper. Into bone. Into instinct. My mouth goes dry, my fingers twitch like they want to reach for a weapon I don’t carry.

He’s tall, broad, and carved with the kind of presence that doesn’t walk into a room—it takes it. Dangerous in a way that doesn’t feel modern at all. Ancient. Like if he wanted to, he could unmake the world—and I wouldn’t stop him in time.

Then his eyes lock on mine. My breath catches for a heartbeat, like something primal in me just recognized something equally ancient in him. His irises flash—not just glow but burn for a second. Liquid amber. Molten. Impossible.

A blink later, it’s gone. Brown. Normal. My rational brain scrambles to explain it… a trick of the light, a flash reflection, an adrenaline-fueled hallucination. Pick your poison.

"Ember Vale?" he asks, voice low and rough, like gravel soaked in smoke and whiskey.

His gaze sweeps over me—quick, clinical, dismissive. Like he was expecting someone else: taller, meaner, definitely male. When I don’t match the picture in his head, it shows. He clocks me, files me under non-threat, and moves on like I’m part of the gear manifest.

I glance at the scorched ground between us, then back up at him with a crooked smile. “Not even a handshake? No brooding one-liner about destiny or danger?” I shoot a look at the base commander. “You guys really don’t go in for small talk or Hallmark movies, do you?”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink. Just radiates a kind of quiet command that skips right past reason and hits something primal. Some part of me wants to push back. Another, deeper part wants to drop to my knees in front of him without question.

He doesn’t have to raise his voice. Doesn’t need words. Everything about him is commanding.

He steps forward, gaze steady, voice a low rumble like distant thunder. "Dax Fane,” he says by way of introduction. “You're with me now."

It’s not a request. Not a greeting. It’s a declaration. Like he just claimed territory. Or me.

I square my shoulders. "Says who?"

"Says me," he replies. "Unless you’d rather chase the fire from behind a desk."

Smartass. Alpha. The kind of man who probably bench-presses fallen logs and thinks foreplay is issuing commands. And yet—damn it—he’s annoyingly hot. The kind of hot that makes you question your career choices and your moral compass all at once.

"Fine," I snap. "Lead the way, Smokey. But don’t think I’m following you anywhere without answers."

His lips twitch—not a smile, exactly. More like the barest ghost of satisfaction, as if he expected resistance and is pleased I didn’t disappoint. It’s the kind of reaction you’d expect from someone who enjoys being challenged just enough to keep things interesting. A flicker of something dark, patient, and quietly predatory that feels more intimate than a grin ever could—like he’s already ten steps ahead, just waiting for me to catch up.

And just like that, I’m in... or at least I think I am. Either way, I follow the dragon.

CHAPTER 2

DAX

She’s mine.

The word doesn’t rise—it detonates. A single, blinding truth that scorches through every cell in my body the second my boots hit the ground. I’ve waited centuries for this. Lifetimes. I watched other dragons fall into the bond, watched them claim and be claimed, while I fought my wars, buried my dead, and told myself fate had passed me over.

But now—now she’s here. Real. Breathing. Smart-mouthed and fire-eyed and standing in my territory like she belongs. My dragon doesn’t just recognize her. Every part of me starved for meaning, anchor, and her flares up like dry brush ignited.

My dragon doesn’t growl or stir. He erupts. A wildfire behind my ribs, clawing for release, roaring one word over and over through my blood like a chant forged in flame.

It’s not just attraction. It’s elemental. It sears through every layer of me with the quiet ruthlessness of inevitability. I feel it in the coil of my muscles, the ache behind my teeth, the tightening in my chest like I can’t take a full breath until she’s under my protection. Claimed. Marked. Mine.

My dragon circles inside, snarling, wrapping itself tighter with every second she remains untouched by me. The bonddoesn’t whisper. It commands.It ignites fast and merciless, threading heat through my skin and dragging every buried instinct screaming to the surface, telling me to take her, keep her, burn for her. And still—I hold the line. Barely.

The moment I set down, I knew. No hesitation. No doubt. Just the quiet, brutal clarity of instinct: my fire recognizes hers. Not just a flicker of interest or attraction. It’s deeper. Ancient. My dragon doesn't whisper; he bellows. His voice echoes through my bones, a primal demand that drowns out logic.

She's here, she's real, and every buried hunger I've silenced for centuries claws to the surface in a single breath. There's no easing into this. No negotiation. Just a truth I feel in every cell: the wait is finally over.

Except she isn’t dragon-forged. She’s human. It’s all grit, tempered in tragedy and sharpened by suspicion. And it calls to me, anyway. Hard.

Ember Vale. Arson Investigator. Civilian. A complication I didn’t ask for but can’t ignore. My dragon surges beneath my skin the second she looks up at me—head tilted, chin up, eyes defiant like she expects a fight and isn’t remotely afraid of it.That alone makes my breath hitch.

I tap my comms unit. “Kade, Rafe—report in. Perimeter grid north and west. Full scan, 300-foot radius. Check for fire signatures with abnormal fuel behavior.”

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