Page 4 of Fire's Storm
I narrow my eyes, certain I'm hallucinating. Nothing walks through dragonfire unscathed. Yet the shape resolves into clear form—a human female wearing firefighter gear, copper hair escaping her helmet. She moves with surprising confidence through an inferno that should reduce her to ash in seconds. Her equipment is partially melted, yet her skin remains unmarked, glowing with an inner light that stops my breath in my lungs.
Impossible for a human.
She stops at the edge of the clearing my rage created, her eyes widening as she spots me. From this distance, they appear hazel, but as she takes another step forward, I see their true color—amber with flecks of gold that catch the firelight like miniature stars. Eyes that should not exist in a human face.
For a moment, we stare at each other across the clearing, fire dancing between us in patterns more complex than anything I've ever created. The flames that refused my commands now flow around her as if greeting an old friend, caressing her exposed skin without burning, responding to her presence in ways that defy explanation.
The fire wasn't searching for something. It was searching for her.
When our eyes lock fully across the clearing, my senses explode into hyper-awareness. Every color intensifies, every sound amplifies, every scent sharpens. Electricity surges through my body like a lightning strike, making my scales ripple violently beneath my skin. The force of the recognition nearly drives me to my knees.
My hands stretch slightly toward her, fingers splaying as if already imagining the feel of her skin. My body positions itself to track her every movement, adjusting automatically when she shifts her weight. My breathing synchronizes with hers across the distance—our chests rising and falling in perfect unison though neither of us notices.
The dragon half of me roars to life, pushing against my control with unprecedented force. Claiming instincts surge forward, demanding release, demanding action. My fangs descend fully, breaking through my gums with painful clarity. My tongue swipes across them, tasting my own blood where one punctures the skin.
Take her. Mark her. CLAIM her.
The primeval urges shock me with their intensity. I've felt attraction before, even desire, but nothing like this feral imperative that bypasses conscious thought. Even the scholarly part of me—the part that has spent centuries analyzing rather than feeling—falls silent before this overwhelming instinct.
The flames between us respond to the connection, dancing in intricate patterns I've never created before—double helixes, spirals, geometric forms that pulse with shared energy. Recognition hits me like a physical blow. These aren't random formations. These are elemental bonding patterns from the most ancient dragon texts—specifically, those of the Tempest Bond.
Storm energy builds in my core, electrical current that demands release. My throat rumbles with a growl so deep it vibrates the ground beneath my feet. My claws extend fully, digging into my palms as I clench my fists to maintain some semblance of control.
It can't be. Not me. Not the broken, exiled failure. I'm not meant for bonding—my flame too volatile, my control too fragile. The clan elders made that brutally clear when they sent me away. I'm the last dragon who would be chosen for something as sacred as an elemental bond.
Yet my body recognizes what my mind rejects. Every cell, every scale, every drop of ancient blood in my veins screams recognition.
Mate. Bond. Mine.
She approaches with steady steps, showing none of the fear any sane human would display. No trembling, no hesitation—just confident movement toward the most dangerous predator she'll ever encounter. Her stance is authoritative, professional—a human accustomed to commanding others, to being obeyed.
But she isn't just human. Can't be. No human walks through dragonfire unburned. No human makes my flames dance in elemental bonding patterns. No human makes my dragon half snarl with possession at first sight.
The scent of her reaches me now, cutting through smoke and ash—a complex bouquet that makes my nostrils flare. Beneath the expected fire-scent clings something uniquely her. Something sweet yet spiced, like cinnamon and honey with an underlying hint of ozone before a lightning strike. And woven through it all, the scent of electrical discharge—evidence of storm energy building within her human frame, seeking release.
The instinct to claim this female pulses through me with each heartbeat. My temperature spikes higher, actual steam rising from my skin in visible waves. The ground beneath my feet blackens and cracks from the heat radiating from my body, rock actually beginning to melt in small pools around my boots.
I find myself unconsciously positioning my body between her and the forest edge, cutting off potential escape routes, angling to herd her deeper into the clearing where I can better see any approaching threats. When she moves, I mirror her movements, maintaining optimal distance while ensuring no obstacle comes between us.
She continues her approach until she stands just feet away. Close enough that I can count each freckle dusting her nose and cheeks, see the rapid pulse beating at the base of her throat, smell the subtle shifts in her body chemistry as storm energy builds beneath her human skin.
I tower over her, my frame dwarfing her. The size difference triggers another wave of possessive hunger—she's small enough that I could lift her effortlessly, pin her against the nearest tree, take her weight completely as I claim her. Small enough to shelter completely within my wings once shifted, to carry during flight, to protect from all harm.
"I said who are you?" she demands, voice steady despite the electricity I can see building along her skin, tiny blue sparks dancing between her fingers though she seems unaware of them. Her pupils have dilated, nearly eclipsing the amber. Her body betrays what her words don't—she feels this too, this pull, this connection that makes no logical sense.
"Vulcan Aetherion," I answer, formal name feeling foreign on my tongue after years of isolation. "And you shouldn't be here, human."
"Captain Phoenix Ward," she counters, chin lifting with unmistakable challenge. Her copper hair catches the firelight, gleaming like polished metal. "And I go wherever there's fire that needs controlling."
Phoenix.
The name ripples through me like another electric shock, perfect and fitting. The mythical firebird, reborn from ash again and again, immune to flames that would destroy any other creature. Just as she walks through my fire unburned, reborn rather than consumed. Yet there's more to her than fire—I can sense the storm building beneath her human skin, seeking connection with my own chaotic energy.
She reaches for the same flame front I'm trying to control, her hand extending toward the dancing fire with shocking confidence. She shouldn't be able to manipulate dragonfire—no human can—yet something in her movement suggests she expects it to respond.
And impossibly, it does.
When our hands connect, both reaching for the same flame pattern, blue-white energy arcs between us like lightning jumping from cloud to earth. The contact sends an electric jolt straight through my system, storm energy surging beneath my skin, seeking release.
