Page 6 of Ashfall

She laughs. Short. Bitter. “Right. Let me guess—‘dragon’ is your code word for ‘ruthless ex-military with a god complex and a flamethrower fetish’?”

If only. That would be easier than the truth. But there’s no world in which I tell her what I really mean. No one outside Blackstrike knows what we are—and keeping it that way is the only reason we’ve survived this long. She wouldn’t believe it, anyway. Not yet.

Just to make damn sure she doesn't start putting pieces together the wrong way, I add, "No code. Just means this guy knows what he’s doing. That kind of precision? It’s surgical. Too clean to be random." I watch her face, measuring. She nods, skeptical but accepting. Good. Keep it simple. Keep her safe. For now.

I glance at Ember and tap my comms again. "We need to keep eyes on the fed. She’s not just any fed. I ran a quick background on her. She comes from a prestigious line of firefighters. I imagine she has ash and soot flowing through her veins.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then: “Better than fire and brimstone. I guess I didn’t know we were babysitting.”

“Not babysitting,” I growl. "Keeping what's mine safe."Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that over an open channel. “Someone assigned her to the unit specifically to shadow me.”

Dead silence on the comms. Then Rafe, ever the smartass, cuts in: “Copy that. Watching the… asset. Closely.”

I kill the channel.

Ember squints at me, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and challenge. “I heard that. ‘Keeping what’s yours safe’? That’s how you see me? Like I’m some… thing now? Something you have to protect? Seriously?”

She’s not yelling, but there’s an edge in her voice that wasn’t there before. She doesn’t like it—this possessive streak I haven’t even tried to hide. And she doesn’t trust what it means. Not yet.

I turn back to her slowly, letting the heat in my gaze meet the challenge in hers. “Not a thing,” I say, voice low. “Not property. Not baggage. But you're in this now. You're in it with me... with my unit. That makes you mine to watch over, whether or not you like it.”

Her eyes narrow, color rising in her cheeks as she nods. “I don’t—but only because I’d rather you focus on containing this fire. Your unit has a reputation. People say when Blackstrike shows up, it’s the last real shot at stopping a wildfire.”

I step in, just close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. The change in proximity tugs something low in my gut. Her scent hits me—smoke, heat, and something feral underneath that makes my breath hitch. She might not trust me, but she’s not afraid. Not of me. And damn if that doesn’t make her even harder to ignore.

Her pupils flare. She’s not backing down, but her pulse flutters at her throat, betraying her. That tiny give—subtle, instinctive—hits me harder than it should. My dragon shudders beneath my skin, coiling tighter, teeth bared. He wants to lunge, to claim, to throw her down and brand her with fire and truth and dominance until she forgets how to breathe without him.

But this isn't the time.

She deserves a choice. Understanding. Not to be swept into the inferno of my hunger without knowing what she’s stepping into. I clench my fists at my sides, forcing the beast back down, grinding against every ounce of instinct that screams take. My hunger is so intense that it’s a miracle I haven’t scorched the air between us merely by standing still. The restraint isn’t noble. It’s war. And I’m losing.

She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t run either. Just watches me with something sharp and electric in her eyes. Her jaw sets, not in fear—but in defiance, curiosity, maybe even interest, she doesn’t want to admit. I see the gears turning behind those eyes, weighing whether I’m a threat or something worse: a truth she doesn’t want to name yet. The part of me that wants to step closer—bridge the distance and make her see—fights the part that knows this moment isn’t for taking. It’s for waiting. Watching. And letting her choose.

Gods help me, I want to kiss her and set the world on fire at the same time. The need claws at me, ragged and relentless, stoked by every breath she takes too close to mine. I want to press her against me, burn my name into her skin, taste the heat rising in her blood. But we don’t have time. Not now. Not yet. The fire calls, and as much as my dragon wants to make her ours, duty still holds the leash—for now.

The wind catches, carrying more than just heat and ash. It curls around me like a warning, sharp and fast. My senses spike—heat signature, air density, vibration underfoot. The change is subtle, but the message is clear. The fire isn’t just spreading. It’s being directed. Something’s changed. Something’s coming.My dragon goes still, listening. Watching. Every instinct I’ve buried sharpens in a flash of heat.

Something’s wrong. Very wrong. My dragon senses it before I fully register the change—a movement in the smoke, the air pressure, the rhythm of the fire. There’s another flare in the distance—too far from the primary burn line to be random. Too soon, too clean, too calculated. Another ignition. A deliberate one. And that means someone’s not just setting fires. They’re sending a message.

“Get back to base,” I bark. “Now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I said so.” My tone leaves no room for argument. "You're not equipped to go where I'm going. I'll circle back for you later."

She opens her mouth, probably to argue—but I’m already moving. I can feel her frustration crackle behind me, but this isn’t a debate. This is war.

Once I'm out of eyesight, I sprint for the cliff line, tearing off the tactical harness as I go, the gear falling forgotten into the dirt. Fire pulses under my skin, scales pushing to the surface like they’ve been clawing for release since the second she arrived.

Heat explodes from my chest outward, a violent surge that rips through every nerve ending with a fury that’s more instinct than thought.

Flames coil around my body in a spiral of gold and red, engulfing me in a blaze so intense it steals the breath from the air.

I lift my head to the heavens and roar—a sound that cracks across the canyon, ancient and unrelenting—as wings burst free, searing, and scaled.

Fire surges from within, not just around me. There’s no pain, only the familiar rush of supremacy igniting through every cell—a surge of power as fire becomes form, and human becomes dragon. It’s not transformation. It’s revelation. It strips away the human shell without tearing, without breaking. There is only heat. Light. Truth.

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