Page 48 of Chained to the Champion
This was it. Now she was where she belonged.
I finished the spicy healing broth and set the bowl aside. “You should try to sleep,” I told my mate.
“I slept,” she insisted.
Whatever she'd been doing, I doubted it was restful, but I didn't argue. We sat there like that for a long time. And eventually I could hear the sounds of the city outside. It must have been daytime. My match had been in the morning, and I wasn't fighting until evening tomorrow. Hopefully, it would be enough time to recover.
I must have dozed in the warmth of her presence. I drifted, half-aware, as the hush in the room stretched on. Outside, the normal thrum of Ignarath carried through the stone, merchants haggling, the distant bark of orders, the occasional clatter of armored boots along the streets.
At first, it was only background noise; the city’s pulse steady and reliable. But slowly, the pitch shifted. Voices grew sharper, the footsteps heavier, something urgent bleeding through the cracks. Vega stiffened beside me, both of us attuned to trouble even through exhaustion. A strange hush spread as if the air itself held its breath, and I felt that old, primal surge: the forewarning of danger.
I wasn't surprised when Kazidee burst back into the room.
“You two need to get out of here now. Guards from the upper city are causing trouble. You don't want to be found with me.” She thrust a bag full of herbs at Vega and shoved us towards the door. “Morning and night in his tea, if you want him to survive.”
17
ZARVASH
The door shudderedas I slammed it, the frame quivering with the violence coiled under my restraint. Bolt drawn, one more fragile barrier pressed between the city’s threats and my fraying composure.
We’d slipped past the guards and whatever trouble they brought. Poison burned along my nerves, my injured wing a dull throb with every movement. But then there was that memory. The dark haze of a thought that was trying to surface as my body healed. Her, pressed next to a crimson scaled brute of a warrior.
Who was he? Why?
Vega was already at the window, scanning the alley with a warrior's vigilance, wild hair framing a face cut sharp with adrenaline. Dust smeared her brow, sweat glazed her skin, and beneath the scent of fear twined that heady, familiar part of her that made me yearn, brighter, sharper in the aftermath of danger.
I couldn’t bury the question any longer. “How did you find the healer?” My voice came out grating, too harsh. Every muscle in me strained against the urge to pace, caged, unworthy, half-mad with feelings I could not voice.
She shot me a look that would have skinned a lesser creature. “A Drakarn named Omvar knew her. He seems … I don't know if I'd call it nice, but a possible ally. He protected one of the humans at the feast from a handsy asshole. But he tried to stop me from snooping in the arena. I don't know if it was out of a misguided sense of helping or if he didn't like the sight of me. You needed a healer, and it wasn't like I could ask Skorai. I took a chance.”
A spike of jealousy shredded my restraint. My claws curled tight. “You trusted a champion of Ignarath?” My tail lashed once, a warning pulse through the room and through me. Even now, something heated deep in my skin, a reflex as old as the clan wars, rage and longing twisted together whenever I imagined another’s scent on her skin.
She shrugged, all play and provocation. “Did you expect me to turn down help because he’s taller than you?”
A snarl rumbled up from somewhere deep, unbidden. Instincts strained beneath my skin: mark her, shield her, drive off rivals, never let her forget who she belonged to.
My wings flexed, tail flicking, pain be damned.
There was a feral spark in her eyes that told me she saw everything. “Is that it? Are you …? You can't be jealous.”
Her words needled deeper than I wanted to admit. I prowled closer, closing the space between us until there was nothing but a breath. “I’d tear the heart from any Drakarn fool enough to try harming you.” My voice ran ragged, an oath and a plea all tangled up together.
Her eyes glinted, bright with hunger and something almost uncertain. “Why? I'm just …”
I halted, letting my shadow spill across her. My fangs throbbed, tongue prickling with the sharp taste of her want, and under all the fury, need lurked, swift and dizzying.
“Just? You arejustnothing.” My words rasped raw. All I wanted was to prove my claim, but also, by the Forge I wanted to ask for hers, to see myself reflected in the heat of her gaze. “Do you want to see how far I’d go if another male dared touch you?”
Her bravado flickered. “Why?” she asked again.
Her word hit with the force of a storm, stripping my soul to unvarnished want. The shell of jealousy splintered, spilling out pride, anger, fear, and most of all longing so sharp it made my scales ache. My cock filled, heat leaking out, scenting the air, begging for sanctuary, and drinking her in.
I caught her wrist, careful with my claws, determined, reverent. I turned her palm upward, searching for the frantic flutter of her pulse, and dragged a line with my claw from wrist to the tender crook of her elbow.
Just a whisper of touch, a promise.
A plea.
