Page 67 of Fire's Storm
His eyes darken to midnight blue, pupils expanding to eclipse the iris. He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You're magnificent when you take command. Makes me want to see if you'd try to command me in our bed."
Heat floods my cheeks, then travels lower, pooling between my thighs. Even with civil war brewing, he can reduce me to desperate need with just a few words.
"Later," I promise, my voice embarrassingly husky. "After we make sure there's still a sanctuary standing."
His rumbled laugh sends shivers down my spine. "Motivation to work quickly, then."
The massive crystalline map of the sanctuary rotates slowly above the central table, three-dimensional and detailed enough to show every corridor, chamber, and junction. Critical infrastructure glows with magical illumination—power distribution nodes pulsing with golden light, communication centers shimming with blue energy, stabilization chambers radiating deep red.
I circle the projection, categorizing priorities with methodical precision. "Primary focus requires stabilization of chambers," I explain, pointing to the glowing red sections. "Secondary priority is a power distribution network. The third objective is communication systems."
The progressive leaders observe with growing respect, their initial skepticism about human approaches visibly fading. Even the most conservative among them—an irony that doesn't escape me—now listen attentively.
Vulcan moves to the opposite side of the map, his technical knowledge complementing my assessment. Where I see vulnerabilities, he sees structural details. Where I identify defensive positions, he recognizes energy flow patterns.
"The crystal matrix forms the sanctuary’s foundation," he explains, tracing intricate patterns with glowing fingertips."Primary stabilization chambers maintain energy distribution throughout the territory. Secondary distribution network regulates power allocation across all holdings. And the communication systems coordinate functions between areas."
Together, we establish a comprehensive protection strategy—his centuries of technical knowledge supporting my practical assessment, creating something neither of us could come up with by ourselves.
"This approach maximizes defensive effectiveness while minimizing personnel requirements," Raak observes, his silver scales catching light as he studies our plan. "Great methodology with remarkable efficiency."
For the first time since entering the sanctuary, I feel truly useful beyond my bond with Vulcan. My firefighter experience isn't just compatible with dragon tactics—in some ways, it's superior. Human emergency response has evolved through necessity and scarcity, where dragon protocols developed during times of overwhelming power and abundance.
"Implement the strategy immediately," Blaze orders, his formal tone barely containing urgency. "Assign coordination responsibilities according to Captain Ward's designation."
Again, that formal acknowledgment of my rank and expertise. Not "the human" or even "Phoenix," but "Captain Ward"—recognition of professional identity beyond bondmate status.
As the meeting disperses into action groups, Vulcan sends me a wordless pulse of emotion. Raw desire mixed with fierce pride. His feelings cascade into me—possessive, protective, proud. My own emotions rise to meet his—determination, strength, and under it all, a deep, consuming need that has nothing to do with the crisis and everything to do with the primal pull between us.
Our eyes lock across the chamber. In that moment, despite the looming conflict, I feel more centered, more complete than I have in my entire life. The emptiness I carried for years—the sense of never quite belonging—filled by this impossible connection.
I move through the sanctuary corridors with the same purposeful stride I used on fire lines, authority in every step. Dragon warriors follow my directions with increasing respect, their initial skepticism about human tactical methods fading with each successful job completion.
"Position three-person teams at junction points rather than individual guards at multiple entrances," I direct, applying crew allocation principles to supernatural security. "Establish a communication network between positions instead of isolated stationing."
The warriors implement my directions with immediate effectiveness, their supernatural strength and abilities enhancing the basic tactical approach. Three-dragon teams take positions at critical junctions, establishing overlapping fields of protection more efficient than the traditional perimeter guard approach.
Vulcan coordinates secondary aspects with scientific precision, his deep technical knowledge of sanctuary systems allowing precise adjustments to crystal matrices, energy distribution networks, and communication systems. We work in perfect synchronization.
Hours pass in a blur of activity. My body should be exhausted, but renewing power cycles between us continuously. The sanctuary security transforms from the ceremonial presence to functional protection, from traditional arrangement to practical effectiveness.
A visceral satisfaction flows through me—the same pride I experienced after successfully containing difficult wildfires. Thestrange certainty grows that my entire firefighting career was preparing me for this moment.
"You need rest," Vulcan says when I finish briefing the last security team. His voice brooks no argument, though his eyes betray concern rather than command. "Just an hour."
I want to protest, but exhaustion suddenly hits me like a physical blow. The adrenaline from the border ward ambush has worn off, leaving me shaky and drained. I nod, allowing him to guide me back to our quarters.
The silence between us grows heavy once the door closes. Vulcan sits on the edge of our bed, wincing slightly as he pulls off his shirt. The dart wound from Metu's assassin has already begun healing thanks to his dragon physiology, but the angry red puncture mark remains, surrounded by darkened veins where the poison tried and failed to spread.
"Let me see," I murmur, kneeling between his legs to examine the wound. My fingers trace the edges gently, feeling the unnatural heat radiating from the affected area. "Does it still hurt?"
"Only when I laugh," he deadpans, then grimaces when I press lightly on the surrounding tissue.
I retrieve a jar of healing salve Spark gave me—something with herbs and dragon fire ash that's supposed to speed healing. The silvery paste feels cool against my fingertips but warms instantly as I apply it to his wound. His muscles tense beneath my touch, then gradually relax.
"They almost killed you," I whisper, the words catching in my throat. The reality of how close I came to losing him hits me all at once. My hands begin to tremble. "If your immunity to that particular poison hadn't been stronger than they expected?—"
He captures my hands in his, stilling their shaking. "But they didn't. And you saved me."
