Chapter 4 #3
“The Flame has spoken, and the Threadborn stands among us,” Eira stated. “Whether or not you wish to believe, the serpent stone has been cast and Emberyn has chosen her. Your blood bond will transcend politics. It has been foretold in the prophecy.”
The weight of Eira’s words settles over me like a leaden cloak.
How is it I was commanded by the Crown to bond with a human for political necessity only to find our union bound in prophecy?
I refuse to yield to the ancient text. If I were truly the fire elemental, should I not feel something?
Any stirring of power, any spark, even the faintest flicker, should have risen when the blood bond was cast. The full awakening of elemental power is said to require love for one’s bloodmate, yet still…
should not a fragment of it have stirred within me, even absent such affection? Why is there nothing?
"I could find something for you to stand on," I offer, though I am not sure what that would be. We have no need for such things.
She shakes her head. "I'll manage."
But as she reaches for the table, the awkwardness of her position is immediately apparent. It is undignified. Uncomfortable. Unacceptable.
I make a decision before I can think better of it. With a smooth motion, I coil my lower half beside the table, forming a wide loop of muscle and scale. "Here," I say, patting the coil. "Sit."
Her eyes widen slightly. "On your...tail?"
"It is strong enough," I assure her. "And it will place you at the proper height."
She hesitates, and I feel her uncertainty through our bond though not fear, simply awareness of the intimacy this represents. In naga culture, only bloodmates would offer such proximity. The same must be true with her species.
Finally, she nods and carefully settles onto the offered coil. I adjust subtly beneath her, providing stable support. Her weight is barely noticeable. She is so small compared to a naga female, but the sensation of her perched there sends an unexpected ripple of awareness through me.
"Thank you," she says, her voice slightly strained.
I incline my head and begin serving the food, placing portions on the platters Severa provided. Cave fruits with their luminescent flesh. Roasted spice tuber roots. Steamed fungi from the deepest caverns. There are also sliced surface fruits smuggled from Clavenmoor’s orchards of apples and pears.
"I am not familiar with human dietary needs," I admit. "If anything is unsuitable, please say so."
“This all looks fine. Thank you,” she says, selecting an apple slice. “But how did you get apples and pears past the signal towers? The Crownward Guard is known for its vigilance.”
I allow a faint curl of amusement into my voice. “Stealthy serpents have their ways. Probably better if I leave it at that.”
She smiles, a brief, unguarded curve of her lips, and my chest clenches.
That simple expression, so fleeting, so unassuming, makes my heart stutter as though it forgot its rhythm.
The coil of want inside me tightens, sparking heat I dare not follow, and I anchor myself in stillness, forcing my gaze to linger without reaching, drinking in the sight of her.
We eat in silence for several moments. I am acutely aware of her perched on my coil, of how I must remain perfectly still to provide a stable seat. The position brings her closer to me than she has been since the bonding ceremony, close enough that her scent fills my senses with each breath.
She still carries the smell of sun-kissed flesh, warm and yielding, a memory my kind has long forgotten.
I taste it on my tongue before I even realize I have flicked it out to sample the air.
There is a sweetness to her. Unique, exotic, and undeniably forbidden, heady enough to make my senses reel.
My nostrils flare, drinking her in, and my scales tighten of their own accord.
Hers is no ordinary fragrance; it strikes at something feral, igniting a frenzy reserved for a naga female who is deep in her flux.
Desire coils low, urgent and insistent, and I clamp down with every fiber of control I can summon even as my body aches to answer the call her scent demands.
I find myself stealing glances at her as she eats.
The careful way she selects and spears each bite with her fork.
The slight furrow between her brows as she tastes something unfamiliar.
The delicate movements of her throat as she swallows.
She is foreign in every way. Skin instead of scales, rounded curves instead of sinuous muscle, legs instead of a powerful tail, yet dark desire continues to burn me from the inside out.
I tell myself it is only the bond reacting, a trick of shared blood and sacred rites. But the way her lips part around the fruit, the quiet hum she makes when she finds something to her liking… heat surges through me in a way I should not feel for her kind.
We reach for a cave fruit at the same moment, our fingers brushing. The contact is brief but electric, bare skin against scaled flesh. Her breath stutters, a tiny hitch I would have missed if not for our proximity, if not for the bond that makes me unnaturally attuned to her responses.
Heat rips through me. The sensation is doubly alarming for being unexpected, for being triggered by a human.
Venom take it!
I jerk my hand away as if burned, focusing intently on my breathing, on maintaining control. This is not happening. Cannot be happening. She is a human. My enemy. Forbidden. The treaty specified a political bond, not a true mating. Our species are not even physically compatible…
Or are we?
My body responds to her presence with devastating clarity. The ache of arousal lies heavy in my core, where my hemipenes barely remain sheathed.
Leira seems unaware of my internal struggle, continuing to eat with determined focus. But the blood bond betrays her own discomfort. Her pulse has quickened, her scent has intensified. Emberyn at her throat pulses in rhythm with both our hearts. Its crimson veins glowing brighter.
I try to distract myself with food, with conversation. "Is the food to your liking?" I ask, my voice deeper than normal, almost a growl.
"Yes," she replies, glancing up at me. "It's interesting. Different but not unpleasant."
Our eyes meet, and something passes between us, recognition perhaps of the tension coiling in the air. Her pupils dilate slightly. A human response to dim light, to fear… or maybe arousal? I do not know which applies in this moment.
The pressure builds within me, a tide of forbidden hunger. My scales prickle and burn where her weight settles against my tail, each nerve ending suddenly, treacherously alive.
When she shifts, even a whisper of movement, the sensation travels through me like lightning striking water, illuminating depths I had thought safely darkened. I cannot maintain this proximity much longer without losing control.
"I should leave instructions with Severa about tomorrow’s meals," I say abruptly, the excuse thin even to my own ears.
I uncoil without warning, forgetting in my haste where she is perched. She tumbles forward with a startled gasp. I react instinctively, catching her before she hits the stone floor. My arms wrap around her, holding her close to steady her against my chest.
We freeze in that position, her face an inch from mine. Her hands braced against my scales. I feel the warmth of her through my palms, the softness of her flesh, the rapid beat of her heart. Her eyes widen, pale steel depths reflecting the soft glow of light, lips parting in surprise.
The moment stretches, taut with possibility. I am acutely aware of her breath against my flesh, of her fingers curled against my scales, of the slight weight of her in my arms. The urge to pull her closer wars with the equally powerful urge to push her away.
Instead I set her carefully on her feet, ensuring she is stable before releasing her. "I apologize," I say, my voice formal to mask the turmoil beneath. "That was...careless of me."
She steps back, smoothing her garments with a slight shake to her hands. "It's fine," she says, though her elevated pulse tells a different story.
"If you will excuse me." I do not wait for her response, not trusting myself to remain in her presence a moment longer.
I retreat to my private sanctuary, leaving her alone beside the half-eaten meal, the echo of her warmth still burning against my palms. The entrance seals behind me, the stone flowing like water before solidifying.
I press my palm to the wall, feeling the cool stone respond to my touch.
The chamber dims until only faint luminescence remains.
My nest of woven reeds awaits, molded to my exact preferences and lined with soft moss and furs from the beasts that once roamed aboveground, before our hunting grounds were turned to ash by war.
It should feel safe. Familiar. Instead it feels like another kind of cage, one where I am trapped not with her, but with these unwanted feelings she has awakened.
My body burns with need, an insistent, forbidden throbbing for my enemy.
I coil tightly in the center of my nest, muscles tensing and releasing in waves that match the pounding of my blood.
My scales feel too tight, hypersensitive to even the gentle brush of air.
This is madness. Impossible. She is human, fragile and alien.
I should feel nothing but tolerance at best, contempt at worst.
Yet here I am, trembling with desire for a creature whose blood should repulse me.