Arvid
FIVE
The parallels to Dragon's Blight sent ice through her veins despite the volcanic warmth permeating Ashspire's walls.
She'd spent six months studying that rare blood disease back on Earth, fascinated by its unique attack pattern on cellular structures.
The name had always struck her as oddly specific.
Now she wondered if the name had been more literal than anyone realized.
If Ash Fever follows similar pathways…
Her mind began cataloging treatment protocols, but the thought hit a wall.
Dragon shifter physiology. She'd deployed to three conflict zones, treated everything from hemorrhagic fevers to weaponized pathogens, but she'd never encountered anything remotely like the biological complexities of beings who could transform between human and dragon forms.
What does shifting do to their cellular structure? How does their internal fire system work?
The questions multiplied faster than answers, but beneath her scientific anxiety ran a current of excitement.
This was exactly the kind of impossible puzzle that made her pulse quicken with anticipation rather than dread.
Give her an outbreak that had stumped local experts, throw in completely unknown biology, and she felt more alive than she had in months.
She hung her last shirt and closed the wardrobe doors, but the motion brought back the memory of Calix's strange reaction when she'd first arrived.
The way his breathing had become labored when their fingers brushed during the suitcase exchange.
How he'd gone pale and unsteady, making her instinctively reach for his arm.
Stress reaction, she told herself firmly. He's dealing with a medical crisis that's killing his people. Of course he's not functioning normally.
But the rationalization felt thin. She'd seen plenty of leaders under extreme pressure, and none of them had ever made her body respond like a tuning fork struck by lightning.
The moment her hand had contacted his forearm, something had shifted in the air between them—something that had everything to do with the way his scent seemed to wrap around her like smoke from an exotic fire.
Spice and clean rain and something deeper that made her want to step closer instead of maintaining professional distance.
Dragon shifter pheromones, she decided. Has to be some kind of biological response to a male of a different species. Completely normal.
Except nothing about her response felt normal.
Normal didn't include the way her pulse had spiked when he'd guided her through Ashspire's corridors, or how she'd found herself studying the confident way he moved through his ancestral home.
Normal definitely didn't include the strange sense of recognition that kept washing over her—like some part of her mind insisted she belonged here, belonged in this place she'd never seen before today.
She grabbed her small medical kit from the suitcase and clipped it to her belt, using the familiar weight to ground herself in reality.
Whatever weird atmospheric effects this alien world was having on her nervous system, she had work to do.
People were dying while she stood here analyzing her inappropriate attraction to a king who probably viewed her as nothing more than a convenient solution to his territorial crisis.
Focus on the science. Focus on saving lives. Everything else is just noise.
The grand staircase soon stretched before her, her boots clicking against polished pyrestone steps that seemed to pulse with warmth as she made her way down to the grand foyer.
Each level of Ashspire told stories of generations—tapestries depicting ancient battles, portraits of previous kings, weapons and artifacts that spoke of a family line built on strength and protection.
And at the bottom of those stairs, Calix waited.
He stood in the grand foyer with his back to the staircase, hands clasped behind him as he stared out through massive windows toward the distant Caldran volcano.
Even motionless, he radiated the kind of controlled power that made the air around him feel charged with potential energy.
His black hair caught the light streaming through the windows, and the white shirt he wore did nothing to disguise the breadth of shoulders built for carrying the weight of an entire territory.
Arvid's heart did something complicated against her ribs that she absolutely refused to acknowledge.
Focus. You did not travel through a wormhole to another planet so you could develop a crush on the local king. You came here to stop an outbreak.
But when Calix turned at the sound of her approach, those green eyes meeting hers with a piercing intensity that seemed to see straight through her professional composure, her pulse betrayed every rational thought in her head.
"Ready?" His deep voice carried the kind of authority that expected immediate compliance, and something in Arvid's chest bristled automatically against the assumption.
"Let's go," she said, switching into the clinical mode that had carried her through three deployment zones and countless medical emergencies.
Something flickered across Calix's expression—surprise, maybe, or approval. He moved toward the front door with fluid grace, reaching it before she did, and holding it open with old-world courtesy that felt both charming and slightly patronizing.
"After you."
Arvid stepped past him into Ashvorn's volcanic warmth, and the brief moment when their bodies were close enough to share space sent that same electric awareness racing through her nervous system.
His scent wrapped around her again—spice and storm and something indefinably male that made her want to turn back toward him instead of walking forward.
Instead, she kept moving, letting the warm air and distant rumble of the Caldran ground her in the reality of why she was here.
Behind her, she heard the door close and the sound of Calix's footsteps as he moved to walk beside her, leading her toward the heart of Ashvorn where people were fighting for their lives.
Work, she reminded herself. Focus on the work, and everything else will sort itself out.
But as they walked together down the pyrestone pathway, Arvid couldn't shake the feeling that nothing about this assignment was going to be as smooth as she'd hoped.
The silence between them stretched as they walked the pathway toward the medical facilities, broken only by the distant rumble of thermal vents and the soft percussion of their footsteps.
Arvid found herself stealing glances at Calix, noting the rigid set of his shoulders and the way his jaw clenched as though he were fighting some internal battle.
His breathing remained slightly elevated, and twice she caught him running a hand through his black hair in what appeared to be unconscious agitation. The clinical part of her mind cataloged symptoms: elevated stress response, possible fever, muscle tension indicating pain or discomfort.
Something's wrong.
"Are you certain you're feeling well?" The question emerged sharper than she'd intended. "Because you're exhibiting several concerning symptoms."
Calix's stride faltered for half a step before he recovered, those green eyes flicking toward her with surprise. "I'm perfectly fine."
"Your respiratory rate is elevated, you're displaying repetitive stress behaviors, and your skin temperature appears flushed." She stopped walking entirely, forcing him to halt beside her. "Do you have Ash Fever?"
The question hung between them, and something dangerous flickered across his expression—not anger but something deeper.
"No." His voice carried absolute authority. "I do not have Ash Fever, and I am fine."
Arvid crossed her arms, unmoved by the royal decree. Three years of independence from the military had taught her to push back against men who expected their word to be law, regardless of how devastatingly attractive they might be.
"Well, I'm keeping a close eye on you regardless. The last thing this territory needs is their king falling ill during a medical crisis."
The smile that spread across Calix's face should have been illegal.
It transformed his entire expression, softening the harsh authority into something warm and genuinely amused, and Arvid felt her pulse stutter in response.
The man was already unfairly gorgeous—and when he smiled like that, he became absolutely lethal.
"You don't need to monitor my health, Arvid." Her name on his lips sounded like a caress, and she fought the urge to step closer. "Healer Dorn has been more than diligent in ensuring I remain unaffected."
She raised an eyebrow, her scientific curiosity overriding the inappropriate flutter in her chest. "How so?"
"I'm forbidden from consuming anything from the public market.
All my food and water comes from Ashspire's private supplies.
Dorn also administers vitamin treatments weekly, and I undergo health screenings twice monthly.
" He resumed walking, and she fell into step beside him. "So far, I remain perfectly healthy."
Arvid's mind immediately began processing the implications. "Is everyone else following the same protocols?"
"No." Calix's expression darkened slightly. "The restrictions are... specific to my position."
A flare of irritation shot through her chest. She understood the logic—a territory needed its leader functional during a crisis—but the inequality rankled against every principle she had.
"That's going to change." Her voice carried the steel that had gotten her court-martialed for insubordination.
"Plus, if you're healthy while your citizens are dying, we can use that differential to isolate the transmission vector.
Your health isn't just about keeping you functional—it's a data point. "