Chapter 13 #2
There's a moment of silence, and I find myself holding my breath, suddenly uncertain of my impulsive decision.
What if Varok refuses to see me? What if he considers this inappropriate, a violation of some complex protocol that govern the naga court?
The possible humiliation of being turned away, of being escorted back to my cold, empty chamber, makes my cheeks burn with preemptive shame.
The stone entrance flows smoothly apart, revealing Varok, his powerful silhouette cut against the ethereal glow of a heartstone.
He's removed his ceremonial armor, leaving his torso bare except for the web of scars etched across scales the color of smoldering copper that ripple with each breath.
His crown is absent, placed on some unseen surface within the chamber, irrelevant next to the commanding figure before me.
Zaethir moves aside with obvious reluctance, his gaze shifting between Varok and me with something I can't quite read, suspicion, perhaps, or calculation. "Shall we remain on guard, Sovereign?"
"That will not be necessary," Varok replies, his bright gaze fixed on me. "Return to the Threadborn's chambers. I will ensure she reaches them safely when our discussion concludes."
The dismissal is clear, though Zaethir hesitates fractionally before inclining his head in obedience. "As you command, Sovereign."
The guards withdraw, Nirik with a quick, curious glance over his shoulder, Zaethir with measured dignity that barely masks his disapproval.
As they disappear down the corridor, the tension in my shoulders eases, though a new nervousness takes its place as I stand before Varok, acutely aware of my nightclothes and my impromptu visit.
"Can I come in?" I ask, my voice softer than intended.
Varok glides aside in silent invitation, and I cross the threshold into his private domain.
Varok's chamber is nothing like I expected.
Where my assigned quarters showcase grandeur and formality, his space speaks of utility and personal history.
The walls are lined with shelves bearing ancient texts, their spines marked with naga script I can't decipher.
Weapons hang in careful arrangements. Not ornamental pieces, but tools worn with use and care.
Maps cover one wall, their surfaces marked with notations, territories outlined in different pigments.
The heartstone at the center burns lower than the one in my room, its glow warm and contained rather than ostentatious.
It's a warrior's chamber, not a king's, though the crown rests on a simple stone pedestal near Varok’s sleeping nest.
Varok watches me as I take in my surroundings, his expression composed despite my unexpected arrival. "You should be resting," he says at last, the deep rumble of his voice curling through me with a warmth that settles low and unbidden. "The day has been...taxing."
"I tried," I admit, suddenly uncertain how to explain the overwhelming panic that drove me from my luxurious prison. "The room is very...grand."
“You did not come here to discuss architecture.” His voice hums low, close enough that I can feel it vibrate through me as he slithers, smooth as a shadow, in tight, deliberate circles around me.
The air thickens, his heat wrapping around me like a current.
When he stops behind me, so near the warmth of his breath ghosts across my neck, my pulse stutters.
Coming around to face me, he tilts his head, eyes bright as molten gold. "What is it that troubles you, Ashira?”
His name for me strikes soft as silk and twice as dangerous. I shouldn’t, but my hand moves of its own accord, drawn to the defined ridges of his abs. Hard, warm, alive beneath my trembling fingers. His scales shift under my touch, a shiver of contained power.
Before I can think to pull away, his clawed hand comes down over mine, caging it against his solid heat.
The contact sears in startling awareness, a pulse that skips between us like struck flint.
His other hand lifts, unhurried, his movements unbearably gentle for a creature built for war.
He brushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear, the curve of his claws tracing the shell’s edge, a teasing whisper that sends a shiver down my spine, and I can’t quite catch my breath.
A small, shaky laugh slips from me before I can stop it.
“I couldn’t stay there a minute longer,” I whisper, words tumbling out in uneven breaths.
“Every time I close my eyes, I hear the stone cracking…the screams echoing around me. I—” My breath catches, the next words barely finding voice.
“In the Flame room, even when the darkness pulled me down, I could feel you there. I was never alone.”
The confession feels like stepping into open air.
It’s too much, too raw for someone like me who has never relied on anyone for support.
I brace for distance, for his silence to become a wall.
But instead Varok’s expression softens, something unspoken flickering through the golden depths of his eyes.
The harsh lines of command ease, replaced by something quieter… almost tender.
“The echoes linger for me as well,” he admits, his voice a deep rumble that seems to vibrate through the chamber’s stone. “There is no weakness in seeking out one’s bloodmate when the shadows grow too heavy to face alone.”
"May I..." My words catch, then falter, the request suddenly seeming too intimate, too presumptuous. “May I stay here tonight? With you?”
The words hang in the air between us, loaded with implications I hadn't fully considered until they left my mouth.
Varok goes very still, only the subtle ripple of scales along his throat betraying his reaction.
Through our bond, I sense a complex tangle of emotions: surprise, concern, and something deeper, hotter, a flicker of heat that matches my own.
When he finally speaks, it’s a low murmur, heavy with a dark yearning. “You are always welcome in my nest, Leira.”
One claw glides along the curve of my jaw, brushing against the delicate skin beneath my chin to tilt my face upward.
His lips descend, teasingly light against mine, igniting a fire that rushes through my veins, sharp and intoxicating.
His fangs graze the curve of my bottom lip, barely there but impossible to ignore, while his other hand cradles my jaw with a deliberate, possessive tenderness.
He draws back just enough for me to catch my breath, yet his citrine gaze ensnares me, fierce and knowing.
The terror of the bombing evaporates like mist under a relentless desert sun, leaving only the charged space between us.
Amber fire flickers across his scales in the warm glow of the heartstone, undulating with each slow, measured breath he takes.
My pulse stutters then surges, as if my blood has awakened to an ancient rhythm it was born to follow.
Heat coils low in my belly, not fear but something deeper.
Beyond desire, primal and wicked. Through our bond, I sense him holding back the same inferno, a tense, intimate hunger that fills the air around us.
Raw, dangerous, and utterly irresistible.
As he glides away, I instinctively step forward, my balance teetering at the sudden absence of his warmth.
The air feels frigid without the heat radiating from his powerful form; a stark contrast to the fire ignited by his kiss.
My lips still tingle from the contact. A lingering spark that leaves me both breathless and yearning.
A hollow ache settles in my chest, an unfulfilled desire that vibrates through me like a live wire.
I’m rattled, but not in a way that frightens me; it’s exhilarating, a rush of something wild and untamed awakening within.
Each heartbeat echoes with the memory of his touch, the taste of him lingering like a forbidden fruit on my tongue, and I crave more.
He glides toward his sleeping nest, a lavish array of furs and silks that whisper of royal comfort. With deft hands, he retrieves a few items, the fabric shimmering in the heartstone's glow, and slithers to a lounger.
"You will be more comfortable in my nest than on a lounger," he says, gesturing to the nest. "It is formed to my shape, but I believe it will suffice for tonight."
I stare at him, caught off guard by the gesture. "I didn't mean to take your bed. I can sleep anywhere, really. Just knowing you’re in the room is enough."
A lopsided smile tugs at his lips, softening the hard lines of his face, turning ferocity into something disarming in its unexpectedness, and far too compelling. “I have slept on stone in battle camps for weeks at a time, Leira. One night on a lounger will not break me.”
My eyes betray me, tracing the broad planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle rolling beneath his scales, the breadth of his shoulders, before I can catch myself. “I’d say little could break you.” I blush and hurry away, mortified by my brazen comment.
I can feel Varok’s gaze on me, heavy and tangible, as I walk to his nest. The heat from his kiss still lingers on my lips, a phantom burn that makes my heart flutter.
When I slip off my robe, cool air rushes over my skin, pebbling it with gooseflesh beneath the thin fabric of my nightgown.
I’m prey frozen in a predator's sights. Exposed, vulnerable, waiting.
Through our bond pulses his hunger, primal and barely leashed, yet he turns away, his massive form curling up on the lounger against the far wall.
The nest still carries his warmth when I sink into it, the soft weave molding to my form.
His scent clings to the silken threads, all sun-warmed stone and something spiced, darkly alive.
It envelopes me, heady and intimate. The depression cradles my body differently than the one in my own chamber, this one shaped by use, by him.
I curl on my side, facing the heartstone’s glow, acutely aware of every sound as he settles onto the lounger, the air between us thick enough to wade through.
"Comfortable?" he asks. His voice low, resonant, as he places his hand on the stone. The keh’shali dims beneath his touch, casting the chamber in a more intimate glow.
"Yes," I whisper, surprised by the truth of it. "Thank you for this. I know it's not... conventional."
"Little about our blood bond has been conventional," he replies, a hint of dry humor coloring his tone. "Sleep now. A new day comes sooner than you think in the palace."
I close my eyes, expecting sleep to elude me despite my exhaustion, but the warmth of the nest combined with Varok's steady presence works a magic all its own.
The terror that gripped me in my assigned chamber recedes, replaced by the sense of safety I felt in the Flame room.
My thoughts drift, replaying fragments of the day: the crown being placed on Varok's head, Eira speaking the prophecy, the glowing fruit at the feast…