Page 37 of Fire's Storm
"I'm not afraid of what you are," she continues, eyes locked with mine. "Or what I'm becoming.”
I can't resist any longer. My mouth claims hers in a kiss that sends actual sparks flying around us. Her lips part instantly, her body arching into mine. She tastes of lightning and summer storms—wild, electric, perfect. When I finally pull back, we're both breathing hard.
She places her hand in mine, our fingers interlacing naturally. Blue-white energy courses between our joined hands, visible evidence of an invisible connection. Her pulse beats against my palm—steady, strong, slightly elevated. The rhythm matches mine perfectly.
"Let's finish this," she says, determination hardening her features back into the captain's composure that initially drew me to her.
I nod, squeezing her hand once before releasing it to open the chamber door. Our private moment ends, but the connection remains—stronger, deeper, more profound than before.
Together, we step back into the amphitheater to complete the ceremony that will formalize what we already know to be true—we are bound now in ways that transcend tradition, politics, and even species.
The clan will follow, or they will fall behind. Either way, we move forward—not as separate entities, but as a single, harmonious force.
As I watch her walk beside me, copper hair gleaming in the crystal light, new-made scales shimmering along her collarbone, my dragon knows the truth.
There are no more options.
There is only her.
SEVEN
PHOENIX
Istand before the dragon council with perfect posture despite exhaustion so deep my bones feel hollowed out. The massive ceremonial hall stretches around us, walls carved with the history of creatures I didn't believe existed a week ago.
My fingers twitch against my thigh, itching to tug at the unfamiliar ceremonial robes. Five days ago, I was wearing firefighting gear. Now I'm standing in front of a bunch of dragons wearing clothes that feel too delicate and too heavy at the same time.
Raak rises from the central seat, silver scales gleaming like polished armor. His expression gives nothing away as he approaches with a scroll clutched in clawed hands. I feel Vulcan's heat intensify beside me. His scent—ozone and smoke and something uniquely him—wraps around me like a shield.
"The Council recognizes the Tempest Bond between Vulcan Aetherion and Phoenix Ward." Raak's voice carries effortlessly through the chamber. "Provisional protection and status are granted to the human hybrid Phoenix Ward under clan law, proportional to demonstrated connection strength."
Human hybrid.
My jaw clenches. I've been called worse in the male-dominated firefighting world, but something about the dismissive way he says it makes my skin prickle with electricity.
Vulcan shifts slightly closer. Not touching, but near enough that I can feel his rage simmering beneath his controlled exterior. Through our enhanced bond, I catch fragments of his thoughts:Worthy. Strong. Perfect.
When Raak extends the formal scroll, I accept it with steady hands and a blank face—the same expression I use when dealing with sexist assholes in my unit who think women can't handle the front lines.
The parchment feels warm against my skin, almost alive. A physical representation of what we've become—something new, something that scares them.
"This concludes formal proceedings," Raak announces, already turning away as if eager to be done with us.
The council members file out, some casting curious glances, others deliberately avoiding eye contact. I remain still, though standing upright is becoming a serious challenge. The trial drained everything I had and then demanded more.
A wave of dizziness hits me. My knees buckle slightly before I lock them back in place. Shit. Not here. Not in front of them.
Vulcan's hand catches my elbow. His touch sends a visible spark of electricity arcing between us. The jolt travels straight to my core, and suddenly I'm aware of a different kind of weakness spreading through my limbs.
"You need rest," he says, voice pitched low so only I can hear.
What I need is something else entirely. My body responds to his proximity with embarrassing immediacy—nipples tightening against the thin fabric of the ceremonial robe, heat pooling between my thighs. Even with exhaustion threatening to drop me, desire burns through my veins like wildfire.
"Your chambers," I manage, meeting his gaze directly. "Now."
His midnight-blue eyes darken until they're almost black, pupils expanding as he inhales deeply. He can smell my arousal—this I've learned about dragons in the past few days. Nothing can be hidden from their senses.
"Yes," he growls, the single word vibrating with barely contained need.
