Chapter 5 Gamble
Gamble
The snowstorm hits like the gods themselves decided to bury the world. It truly is winter, and it feels like it could be on the edge of turning into the great winter that was spoken about for so long, the kind that the elder sin my village spoke of in hushed tones so often.
But still, I cannot dwell on such things. Not now.
One moment we’re soaring above the treetops, Sarak’s wings cutting through the last of the twilight, the Emberfall Glades glowing green on the horizon. The next, the sky rips open. White swallows everything: sky, mountain, dragon, elf.
Wind screams.
Ice needles bite through my cloak.
Sarak banks hard, fighting the gale, but even dragon strength has limits.
“There!” I shout over the roar, pointing to a black scar in the cliff face—a cave mouth barely wide enough for his wings. “Daddy! Down!”
Sarak folds his wings tight and dives. We tumble inside in a tangle of limbs and snow. The impact knocks the breath from me. Sarak shifts mid-roll, human arms catching me before I hit stone.
The entrance seals behind us with a roar of wind and drifting powder, plunging us into near-darkness lit only by the faint ember-glow of his eyes.
For a long moment we just breathe, pressed together on the cave floor, snow melting into puddles around us.
“Well,” I pant. “That was dramatic.”
Sarak growls, low and dangerous. “You’re soaked. Strip. The last thing we need is you catching a fever. I know how sensitive you elves can be to such things. I’ve seen elves relieving their guts at both ends during such a fever and I do not wish to see it again at such close quarters.”
“Romance lives,” I mutter, but my fingers are already fumbling with frozen laces.
My cloak hits the ground with a wet slap.
Sarak yanks his own jerkin off, spreads it near the back wall, and starts gathering deadwood from a pile left by some long-ago traveler.
Within minutes he has a fire crackling, dragon-hot and steady.
To my relief, and Sarak’s too, warmth floods the cave.
I peel down to skin, shivering violently. Sarak’s gaze rakes over me, possessive, worried, hungry. He crooks a finger.
“Come here,” my dragon Daddy commands, the severity in his voice making my breath hitch.
I go. Of course I go.
He wraps me in his still-warm cloak, pulls me down onto the spread jerkin, and tucks me between his thighs, back to his chest. His arms band around me, palms splayed over my belly. The fire stone, tucked in its pouch at his belt, pulses sluggishly against my spine.
“Rule four,” Sarak murmurs against my ear, breath hot. “In a storm, you do not leave this cave. Not for scouting, not for fresh air, not for anything. Say it.”
I squirm. “Sarak—”
“Say it, Gamble.”
The steel in his voice makes my stomach flip. “I don’t leave the cave.”
“Good boy.” He nips my earlobe in reward. “Now warm up before you turn into an icicle.”
I try. I really do. But the cave is small, the storm is loud, and the fire stone is quiet… too quiet. That silence itches under my skin like a warning. After an hour of pretending to doze, I’m crawling out of my skin with restless energy.
“Sarak,” I whisper.
He’s half-asleep, chin on my shoulder. “Mmm?”
“I’m going to go mad if I sit here much longer. Just to the entrance. Five minutes. I’ll stay in sight.”
His arms tighten like iron bands. “No.”
“It’s just scouting—”
“I said no.” His voice drops to that Daddy register that makes my knees weak and my spine straighten at the same time. “You’re safe here. That’s final.”
The word final rankles. I’m an elf. We don’t do final. We do loopholes and caveats and straight up mischief.
I wait until his breathing evens out, until the fire settles into low coals. Then I slip free, quiet as a thief, and pad barefoot to the cave mouth. Snow still falls in sheets, but the wind has eased.
I lean out, tasting the air. Nothing but cold and pine and—
A sigil flares crimson beneath my foot.
Revaster’s trap rune.
The world tilts. Crimson chains erupt from the stone, snapping around my wrists and ankles faster than thought.
They yank me off my feet and slam me against the cave wall, spread-eagled, suspended a foot above the ground.
Pain lances through my limbs as the curse drinks deep, siphoning life in greedy pulses.
My vision tunnels and I’m totally not in control—far from it, in fact.
Behind me, Sarak roars awake.
“Gamble!”
He’s there in two strides, eyes blazing gold, scales rippling across his skin. The chains hiss and tighten when he reaches for them.
“Dragon-forged,” I gasp. “Only dragon blood breaks them—”
Sarak doesn’t hesitate. Claws slash his own forearm and ruby blood wells. He smears it across the chains. They shriek, corrode, and snap. I drop like a stone. Sarak catches me before I hit the floor, cradling me against his chest.
For a moment he just holds me, shaking with rage and terror. Then his grip shifts and suddenly I’m over his knee, trousers yanked down, bare bottom in the air.
“Sarak—”
“You disobeyed me.” His voice is quiet. Terrifying. “In a war zone. With Revaster’s magic everywhere.”
The first swat lands like thunder. I yelp, arching.
The second follows immediately, and the third, until I lose count somewhere around fifteen and dissolve into a mess of tears and apologies and broken promises to be good.
My bottom is molten, every nerve ending singsa song of regret and shame at disobeying my protector.
When Sarak stops, I’m sobbing into the crook of my arm.
He doesn’t soothe yet. Instead, golden chains—this time his own, conjured from his power—slither around my wrists, tethering them to an iron ring set high in the cave wall.
My toes barely touch the ground. I’m stretched taut, helpless, completely at his mercy.
“Sarak—” It comes out a whimper.
“Shh.” He circles me slowly, predator and protector in one. “You need to feel this, little elf. You need to remember.”
He summons more chains, these ones warm, living gold, that wrap gently but firmly around my thighs, spreading me open. I flush crimson, cock already hard and throbbing on display.
The cave is warm now, but I feel fevered.
Sarak steps close, chest to my back. One large hand cups my sore ass cheeks, the other slides down my belly to wrap around my aching length.
“You’ll cum when I say,” Sarak murmurs against my ear. “Not before.”
Then he begins.
It is torture of the sweetest kind. He strokes me slow, merciless, bringing me to the edge again and again, his thumb swiping over the head, fingers tightening just enough, then pulling back entirely.
Every time I whimper and beg, Sarak reminds me why I’m here: because I left the cave, because I scared him, because I’m his and his alone to keep safe.
By the fourth denial I’m whimpering, hips jerking uselessly into his fist.
By the sixth, I’m babbling promises in three languages.
“Please, Daddy, I’ll be good, I’ll never leave again, please—”
He finally takes pity. One hand fists in my hair, arching my neck; the other pumps me hard and fast. I climax with a scream that echoes off stone, spilling my hot seed over his fingers in endless, thick pulses. The climax is so intense my knees give out entirely and only the chains hold me up.
Sarak catches me as the chains dissolve, gathering me close, kissing away tears and snot and apologies. He wraps us both in his cloak, settles us by the fire, and rocks me like I’m something precious.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into his neck. “I hate cages. Even when they’re made of love.”
Sarak strokes my hair. “I know. But cages keep little birds alive, Gamble. And I refuse to lose you.”
The fire stone flares suddenly, crimson light bleeding through the pouch. Pain stabs my chest, deeper this time, like roots burrowing into my heart.
I cry out, clutching at Sarak.
“It’s worse,” I gasp. “It’s… drinking faster.”
Sarak’s face goes grim. He lays me gently on the spread cloak, opens the pouch. The cracked halves glow angry red, veins writhing like worms.
“Then we fight it together.”
My dragon protector slices his palm again, lets blood drip onto the stone.
I add my own, a thin line across my wrist, and lace my fingers with his over the cursed thing.
Elf-light and dragon-fire pour into the cracks: green and gold twining with crimson.
The stone screams, bucking against our joined hands.
“Together,” Sarak growls.
I push everything I have into it… mischief, hope, the memory of my sister’s laugh, the taste of Sarak’s mouth and more. The cave shakes. Light explodes, a white, blinding energy. When my vision clears, the crimson veins are dull, the cracks sealed with molten gold.
It’s still cursed. Still dangerous.
But it’s quiet again.
I slump against Sarak, trembling with exhaustion. He cradles me close, kissing my temple, my eyelids, the tip of my nose.
“You did good, little thief.”
I manage a tired smile.
“Needed your fire to temper my trickery,” I say, my voice trembling.
“And you needed my rules to keep that clever brain from getting you killed.” He taps my nose. “Admit it.”
I hide my face in his neck. “Fine. I… like your rules. I like knowing you’ll catch me when I fall. I like belonging to someone who cares enough to blister my butt when I’m reckless.” My voice drops to a whisper. “I need it, Sarak. I need you.”
His arms tighten until I can barely breathe. “You have me. Always.”
The fire settles into steady flames. Outside, the storm rages on, but in here we are warm, safe, tangled together.
Then, the pool at the back of the cave ripples. Crimson light blooms across its surface.
A face forms… pale, beautiful, cruel. Revaster.
“Well, well,” his voice slithers through the cave like smoke. “The little thief and the last Emberfall dragon. How touching.”
Sarak surges to his feet, shielding me with his body, wings half-unfurled.
“You’re a long way from home, warlord,” Sarak warns, a look of pure hatred in his eyes.
Revaster smiles, all teeth. “Not for long. Enjoy your cave, dragon. When the storm breaks, my hunters will be waiting. And this time, I shall come myself.”
The image shatters into blood-red ripples.
Sarak’s snarl vibrates through the stone. I cling to his back, heart racing.
“Let him come,” I whisper fiercely. “We’ll be ready.”
Sarak turns, cups my face. “Damn right we will.”
He kisses me. This time slow, claiming me deeper, making an unspoken vow.
Outside, the storm howls louder, as if the mountain itself is eager for the coming battle…