Page 68 of Fire's Storm
"I was terrified." The admission feels like weakness, but I can't hold it back. "Not of dying. Of losing you."
His eyes—those impossible electric blue eyes—soften. One large hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking across my cheekbone. "I've survived alone for decades in exile. But losing you now would destroy me."
The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest ache. This powerful, dangerous creature, vulnerable only with me. I press my forehead against his, breathing in his scent.
"I chose this," I remind him, my lips brushing his as I speak. "I choose you. Not just the bond, not just the magic. You."
His kiss is gentle—so unlike our usual desperate heat. Tender. Almost reverent. When he pulls back, his eyes shine with emotion he would never show anyone else.
"Your rest first," I order softly, pushing him back onto the bed. "I'll keep watch."
He smiles that rare, genuine smile that transforms his severe features into something breathtaking. "My fierce protector."
I settle beside him, my hand resting lightly over his heart, feeling its strong, steady beat. For just this moment, there is no civil war brewing, no protocol to fulfill, no world-spanning responsibility. Just us, finding something precious and unexpected amid chaos.
As he drifts into sleep, I study his face, memorizing every line and plane. Whatever comes next, we face it together. Not just bonded mates, but partners. Equals.
The thought has barely formed when something changes. A subtle vibration travels through the stone beneath our bed, so faint I almost dismiss it as imagination.
I pause mid-thought, every nerve ending suddenly alert. The warrior before me continues reporting, not noticing anything unusual.
Vulcan's awareness immediately snaps into mine, communicating shared confusion. He felt it too.
The second vibration arrives with increased strength—a distinct tremor moving through the floor and walls, impossible to dismiss as imagination. He remains silent.
"What is that?" I ask.
His drawn brows confirm this isn't normal sanctuary operation. Whatever this phenomenon, it's as unfamiliar to him as to me.
The third vibration occurs with unmistakable power—a massive resonance traveling throughout the sanctuary. I hear the crystal formations vibrate in response. The stone itself seems to hum with purpose.
I place my palm against the wall, feeling the oscillation's unusual characteristic. Not random geological movement, but something directed, intentional. The vibration feels like it's searching, seeking something—or someone.
Vulcan's scientific curiosity mixes with primal wariness, spilling into my consciousness. His protective instincts flare, his temperature rising until the air around him shimmers with heat.
His eyes meet mine across the room, blue fire flashing with reflected crystal light. "We need to find Blaze. Now."
"The resonance frequency displayed earth-aspect characteristics despite apparent storm-energy interaction."
Vulcan's observation hangs in the air as we follow Blaze through the towering crystalline shelves of the sanctuary's knowledge repository. The massive archive defies simple description—part library, part museum, part living historical record with both physical and magical storage systems.
Blaze moves with uncharacteristic urgency, his face tight with barely contained concern. The typically composed clan leader radiates anxiety through his carefully maintained dignity.
"The vibration signature requires historical verification," he explains, formal language barely masking his worry. Behind us is a gaggle of scholarly-looking dragons. Each with a worried expression.
I catch Vulcan's eye, silently sharing recognition of Blaze's unusual state. Whatever this phenomenon, it has the ancient dragon deeply unsettled.
My fingertips trail along shelf edges as we pass, skin tingling where it contacts ancient crystal. Since mating, my senses have sharpened—touch more sensitive, scent more acute, even my vision changing subtly as vertical slits occasionally appear in my pupils during moments of strong emotion.
Our destination reveals itself suddenly—a sealed chamber embedded within archive walls, ancient markings covering its entrance. Not modern dragon script but something older, symbolic representations predating the current language.
Blaze places his scaled palm against the weathered door. The symbols illuminate with blue-white light, responding to his touch. The chamber opens with ceremonial slowness, mechanisms operating with deliberate pace despite the obvious urgency of our situation.
Inside, a single pedestal supports a crystalline book—ancient pages preserved through magical means that make them appear solid yet somehow fluid, as if the text might rearrange itself at any moment.
Blaze approaches with reverence, each movement formalized despite his clear anxiety. He speaks no incantation, but pages turn without physical contact, leaves moving through magical means until a specific section appears with illuminated script.
"The Protocol documentation confirms what we feared," he announces, ancient eyes scanning text with increasing concern. "The resonance vibration indicates the Memory Bond awakening beyond our sanctuary boundaries."
