Chapter 43 A Flight into Forgiveness
Chapter forty-three
A Flight into Forgiveness
Pyrran
Pyrran lay in the darkness and watched Sol sleep.
She was curled against Korin. One of Korin's arms was draped possessively over her waist, holding her close even in sleep. Their breathing had synced.
Pyrran frowned.
She was turned away from him and kept a foot of space between them because she was still angry.
Still hurt.
Still terrified of the dragon who had dropped her from the sky and forced her to shift or die.
Pyrran's jaw clenched.
He'd made a terrible, unforgivable mistake.
And now their queen couldn't even look at him without flinching.
The moonlight came through the open arch of their chamber in a pale, silver flood. It pooled across the bed like spilled milk and caught the edges of Sol's black hair.
His dragon stirred beneath his ribs and ached.
The bond between the three of them pulsed faintly in the dark.
It was a low, golden thread that Pyrran could feel more than see.
It hummed where Sol's skin touched Korin's.
It thickened where Korin's breath fell warm against the back of her neck.
And it reached for Pyrran across the empty space of the bed like a hand extending through water.
Pyrran could feel her dreaming too.
Not the details— those belonged to her—the dreams slipped along his naked body.
Warm.
Safe.
Honeyed.
Pyrran inched closer to inhale their mate and Korin's arm tightened around her waist.
Even unconscious, his brother was a sentinel. His jaw was set, his body curved around Sol like a wall of bone and muscle. The faint iridescence of Korin’s dormant shift shimmered just beneath the surface of his skin.
Korin would not let Pyrran unexpectedly grab her again.
Guilt sank deep within Pyrran’s heart.
Do not worry, brother. I have learned my lesson. I will never doubt you again.
There had been a time—before Sol, before the bond cracked open every sealed chamber in his chest—when he had dreamed of a moment like this.
He had been the sharper brother.
The one who burned first and thought second.
The one the elders had crowned before the human kings had united and killed them.
The elders had claimed that the twins had too much power, too much fire, and no anchor.
Two Pyrathryx twin dragons burning through the world without anything cold enough to hold them still.
Pyrran had leveled a mountain range before his second century.
Korin had boiled a sea. Before all died, they had feared the twins and not because they were cruel, but because they were uncontained and an uncontained fire did not choose what it burned.
Sol would be the containment.
Her ice would never weaken their flame. It would focus it.
Give it edges.
Make it precise where it had only been vast.
Pyrran could already feel the difference in his own body since the bond had begun forming. There was now steadiness in his soul, his aethercore, that had never existed before.
Now he knew without a doubt that their soul mate, a dragon with the power of ice, would be their true anchor.
A Cryovareth.
Pyrran still could not fully accept it.
Sol shifted in her sleep. A small sound left her throat — barely a breath — and the bond between them flared warm against his sternum. His dragon pressed hard beneath his ribs, straining toward her the way flame strained toward air.
He steadied himself and let the pulse settle.
Then he studied Sol's sleeping face — the soft part of her lips, the dark fan of her lashes, the way her dark brown skin held the moonlight.
All this time, they had believed the Cryovareth dragons were extinct.
During the Shattering War, the human armies had targeted them first. Of course they had.
The ice dragons were the archivists.
The memory keepers.
They held the histories of every dragon bloodline sealed within glacial vaults that stretched for miles beneath frozen mountain ranges. If humans wanted to erase dragonkind from the world's memory, they had to destroy the Cryovareth first.
And they had.
Pyrran remembered. He and Korin had been little boys—barely past their first decade.
The news had rippled through the remaining clans like a crack splitting stone.
The Crystalline Citadel had fallen. The great libraries shattered. Every monolith melted or broken open and looted for the Aethercores preserved inside.
The elders had wept. Their souls—the Worldspark within them—had dimmed, and for three days, every living dragon felt a cold so deep it had nothing to do with temperature.
An entire race.
An entire element of dragons silenced.
The Pyrathryx—his kind that wielded fire—had raged. They had burned seven human cities to cinder in retaliation, and it had changed nothing.
The Cryovareth were still gone. Their eggs had been the first things the humans had hunted, because even the youngest human soldier understood that if you wanted to end a species, you didn't start with the warriors.
You started with the unborn.
Pyrran's gaze drifted to the mark on Sol's collarbone. The mating seal pulsed faintly in the dark—three dragons intertwined around a crescent moon.
It was still faint, but the natural soul mate was rising on her skin and would be visible soon.
Fire and ice bound together. How did your egg survive, little one?
There’d been talk by the elders that a Cryovareth egg could survive dormant for millennia if sealed within deep enough ice.
The embryo would slow. The Aethercore would dim to nearly nothing—undetectable, even to the humans' cinderglass instruments.
A faint pulse buried beneath miles of frozen silence.
The elders sent a team of different families to search for possible eggs, but none had ever been found.
Your mother hid yours very well before she was killed. Do you know how special you are?
Sol shifted in her sleep, and the sheet slipped down past her shoulder, exposing the faint mark.
Pyrran stopped breathing.
The mating seal caught the moonlight and glowed—soft, pulsing, alive. Three dragons intertwined around a crescent moon, etched into her dark brown skin like a brand placed there by something older than either of them.
His.
Theirs.
The heat consumed him molten and savage, clawing down his spine and pooling at his cock.
How will I ever be able to control myself around her?
His dragon surged beneath his ribs, roaring and demanding to get out.
Calm. Down.
His vision blurred, but soon he was able to steady the beast.
Still, his cock began to grow, painfully hard against his thigh. And the ache of violent hunger spread through his entire body like a sweet venom he did not want a cure for.
It was all liquid gold and lava mingling in his veins.
He wanted to put his mouth on that mark and drag his tongue across it until she shivered and frost crystals formed in the air.
He wanted to press his teeth into the place where the seal met her collarbone and taste the cold that lived just beneath her skin.
What would that sensitive flesh between her thighs taste like? The lusty nectar of winter?
The thought almost made him roar and wake his brother and her.
He wanted to slide his hand beneath Korin's arm and find the dip of her waist. Pull her back against his chest. Let her feel exactly what she did to his cock.
My mate. I must touch her too, even though she told me not to. . .I must. . .
His hand moved before he could stop it.
His fingers hovered above the curve of her shoulder. Close enough to feel the cool mist of her elemental power rising off her skin.
His Pyrathryx heat met her Cryovareth cold in the narrow space between them, and the air shimmered—actually shimmered — like a mirage forming over desert sand.
Fire reaching for ice.
The last Cryovareth in existence, and his beast wanted to devour every inch of her.
His jaw clenched so hard his fangs ached within their gums.
Don't. She already hates me. I cannot deal with any more rejection. It would. . .kill me. . .
Pyrran remembered how Sol had screamed when he’d taken her up to the highest level of the sky and tossed her out. He remembered the fear of death in her eyes as she fell.
As she clawed at the air, begging for help.
Fool. How could I have been so stupid?
Pyrran pulled his hand back and curled his fingers into a fist.
For the first time ever, his dragon whimpered inside his chest.
Do not worry. I will fix this. . .somehow.
He would earn her forgiveness first.
He would kneel if she asked.
Bleed if she required it.
Wait as long as her heart demanded.
Sol stirred in her sleep again, and he could feel her dream catching heat and causing the temperature in the space to rise.
Sex was playing out in her mind now. Pyrran just wondered if she was dreaming about all three of them together or just her and Korin.
Sol’s lips parted, and she made a soft sound—half sigh, half moan.
Pyrran's entire body went rigid.
In his sleep, Korin groaned and his hips pressed forward to answer to their mate's need.
Her arousal rose in the air.
Gods above.
Pyrran breathed it in and his cock throbbed. He wanted to move closer. Wanted to press his nose to the curve of where she was warm and wet.
He wanted to lick her there and make her moan as she woke up.
He wanted to fuck her.
Wanted to roll her onto her back, spread her thighs, and bury himself so deep inside her that she'd forget every stupid thing that he’d done.
I could just wait for the full ripening. Would that be enough?
It was already beginning, and whether she liked it or not, he was her mate and she would be wet for him too.
Her body was preparing itself for her mates.
Stop. Think of how to fix this before the ripening. There’s got to be a way.
Slowly, carefully, Pyrran pulled himself out of bed. The mattress shifted slightly, but Sol didn't wake.
Korin pulled her closer, and she burrowed deeper into his warmth.
The ache in Pyrran’s chest deepened.
She'd been sleeping for days. Waking only briefly to drink the tea they brought her and eat small bites of food. She’d let Korin clean her once before she drifted back into sleep.
That was normal after a first shift. The body needed time to recover and adjust to the new form.
Sol might sleep for a few more days.
And when she woke, she'd need comfort, warmth, and the presence of her mates to reassure her that she was safe.
But Pyrran couldn't give her that.
Not yet.
Not when she still flinched every time his hand got too close.
I need to earn her trust and. . .perhaps I have a way to do that before the ripening finishes.
Knowing that he would have to shift into his beast, Pyrran didn’t even dress.
This has to be the way.
He quietly left the room and entered the hallway. It was carved from the same black volcanic stone as the rest of the mountain. Veins of gold ran through the walls and ceiling, glowing faintly with their own light.
Treasure lined the corridors—coins spilling from chests, jewels scattered like carelessly tossed pebbles, ancient crowns resting on pedestals.
This was their home. Their kingdom. And now it was hers too.
Within the hallways, the Nethral were waiting. The beings stood along the walls—tall, thin creatures with smooth skin that came in shades of deepest black, pure white, or burning red. They had no hair or eyebrows. Only sleek bald heads and sharp, intelligent eyes that watched everything.
They were servants, loyal to the dragons, and bound to them by ancient magic and older oaths.
When Pyrran stepped into the hallway, every single one of them dropped to the floor. Foreheads pressed to stone. Arms spread wide in supplication.
"Sire," they whispered in unison.
Pyrran walked past them without slowing. "Prepare two rooms at the castle. Guest chambers. I'm bringing visitors back."
"Yes, sire." Their voices echoed down the hallway. "Yes, sire. Yes, sire."
He kept walking through the corridors. Down the wide stone steps. Past more treasure. More Nethral bowing as he passed.
He didn't stop until he reached the cavern.
It was massive. A cathedral carved into the heart of the mountain. The ceiling stretched so high it disappeared into shadow. And in the center of it all was the lake—dark water that reflected the golden veins in the stone above.
Pyrran stood at the edge and took a breath.
Please. . .let this work. I can’t be so close to Sol and not touch her. She’s my mate, just as much as she is Korin’s.
Then he began to shift.
It started in his bones.
A crack.
A stretch.
His spine elongated, vertebrae multiplied as his body grew to an enormous size.
His skin rippled and then scales pushed through the flesh.
His hands twisted and expanded. Fingers lengthening. Huge claws erupting from the tips—curved and wicked-sharp.
His face reshaped itself. Jaw extending. Teeth sharpening into fangs.
Wings tore from his back. Massive. Membranous. Each beat sending gusts of wind across the lake.
And his beast’s cock swelled and hardened as the shift completed.
Heavy.
Aching.
Ready.
His beast yearned to go in there and take Sol’s body with no permission and no mercy.
We cannot.
The beast threw his head back and roared. The sound echoed through the cavern, shaking the walls and sending ripples across the lake.
Korin’s voice entered his mind. Where are you going, brother?
Pyrran crouched. His muscles coiled. His power gathered in his haunches. I am going to do something that will make her love me.
Korin went quiet and did what he always did. He rummaged through Pyrran’s thoughts finding all the answers he needed. Aww. That could work.
Pyrran launched himself into the air. It must.
His wings caught the updraft, and he shot through the opening in the cavern ceiling.
Out into the night sky.
Into the cold darkness where he belonged.
And he flew toward forgiveness.
Korin’s final words slipped into his mind. Be safe, brother.