Page 64 of Chained to the Champion
It was to her, and gods help me, I’d bleed to make it count.
26
VEGA
I was walkingwith Zarvash through the walls of Scalvaris. It would have been shocking if I didn't want him so much.
This wasn’t a gentle hunger. It was sharp, edged with fear and desire. Every brush of his claws against my skin sent a jolt through me, my body alive with wanting.
If desire was a language, my body was speaking directly to him.
He led me around a final corner, and there it was: a massive door, carved and bound with iron, sigils from the Forge Temple etched deep in its surface. Zarvash pressed his palm against a glyph, and the door opened with a low groan. Once we stepped inside, he sealed it shut.
We were alone.
Finally.
The air was hot, heavy. Heat crystals cast shadows that danced along the walls. The room was stark, honest: a battered platform for a bed, weapons mounted above, blades and spears that spoke of countless battles. Silks and furs lay tangled on the floor, a riot of color against stone. It smelled of him, of sweat and steel and something darker.
He stood by the door, chest heaving, claws flexing as if he were holding himself back. This wasn’t Zarvash, the reserved council member of Scalvaris. This was the beast inside him, barely contained. His eyes locked on mine, and I felt stripped bare. He didn’t see me as a threat, a weapon.
He saw me as his.
Thank fucking god.
Then he moved, crossing the space between us in a heartbeat. His hand shook slightly as he pushed my hair back, the tip of a claw grazing my cheek. Goosebumps spread across my skin.
“Vega,” he said, my name rough in his throat. It sounded like a vow. And then he kissed me.
There was no hesitation. His mouth crashed against mine, his tongue demanding, unyielding. I tasted iron, felt the sharp edge of a fang against my lip. I gasped, and he swallowed the sound, pulling me closer. My body arched against him, desperate for more. His hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head so he could take even deeper.
When he finally pulled back, we were both panting. His eyes burned into mine, and a single word slipped from his lips: “Veshari.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration, everything unsaid between us in that one word.
His hands found the hem of my tunic. “Let me,” he murmured, his voice careful, almost trembling. I nodded, lifting my arms. This wasn’t surrender. It was need, transformed into something else entirely.
Fabric parted.
Collarbone, then shoulder, then breast. His thumb brushed old scars, claws traced the shrapnel trail along my ribs. Each new patch of skin catalogued, not devoured. Reverence, not pity. He bent, pressed his mouth to scar tissue. My bullet wound. The old burn. Each one a benediction in Drakarn, words I onlyhalf understood, but felt shiver-flush between us, deeper than fluency.
His tongue traced a scar just below my breast. I bit back a moan. Shame vanished, leaving only the heat skittering down my spine, nipples peaked to harsh points, his breath a meteor trail in the warm air.
This close, his scales pressed to my skin, heat rolled off bronze and copper as my fingers clawed at his clothes, clumsy with need. He caught my hands, stilled me with a laugh that fractured at the edges.
“Too slow,” he growled. The fabric ripped aside, discarded. His chest a battlefield map, muscle knotted over old wounds; fresh ridges erupting along his shoulder. I touched the biggest scar, a crescent, old, ragged.
He caught my hand, kissed the knuckle.
His wings trembled. Too close, veins showing, old scars black under crystal light. I ran my hands over his chest, doing my own star mapping. His gasp tightened my belly. I wanted to taste every wound, wanted to catalog him, memorize him, archive him into muscle memory.
He bent to suck my nipple into his mouth. Teeth grazed, tongue circled, heat spiked—each rotation ratcheted tension higher. I writhed, back arching, thighs squirming, skin rubbing hot against scale.
“More,” I gasped. Need, unfiltered.
He answered with teeth, deeper suction, tongue flicking sharp. Swollen skin desperate when he moved on.
His tail—devilish rope that it was—slithered between my thighs, circling, anchoring, tip pulsing like a second heart. He pressed me against his hips, I felt his cock, thick and burning, gouging my belly, smearing wetness across the bare skin there. I gasped, obscene, involuntary. My core ached.
