Chapter 53 Elaina
ELAINA
He moves.
It’s the faintest twitch…a flutter of his body in my claws. But it’s enough.
Hope ignites in me so sharply it’s almost painful.
I clutch him tighter against the smooth curve of my palm, careful not to harm him with the tips of my talons.
His body is too still. Too limp. But that twitch was real—he’s alive.
Somewhere inside, beneath the weight of that awful collar, beneath the crushing silence of suppression, Xaren is still in there.
I hope.
I just have to get him somewhere safe to make sure. Somewhere warm and hidden where no one can take him from me again.
Not the guards…not the Nobles…not anyone. He’s mine now—mine completely and I will protect him with my life.
For the first time, I understand why they talk about dragons hoarding treasure. Xaren is my treasure—I want with everything inside me to keep him safe and I’d kill anyone who threatens him. Was this how his Drake felt about me? It must be, I decide.
I beat my wings and soar higher, eyes scanning the endless green rolling out below me like a velvet tapestry.
But I can’t bring him back to the Citadel or anywhere near the palace—the smoke from the square still curls up like a funeral pyre and I can feel the panic there—the frantic scurrying of rats as the Court tries to make sense of what happened.
No, I need somewhere they can’t follow.
And then I remember—the cliff.
The broad, sun-warmed cliff where Xaren took me—where he showed me his Drake. The air had been so still that day, the rock so warm beneath our feet. He had showed his true self to me there—let me see his other half.
The magic door to that sanctuary only opens for him. That’s what he told me.
Which means no one else will be able to get in.
It’s perfect.
I climb higher, cradling him close to my chest. The wind buffets my wings, but I barely notice it. My whole focus is on the man in my grasp. His dark hair flutters in the wind, and I angle my wings toward the cliff that juts from the mountain the Citadel is built on.
Finally, I spot the cliff. The sun’s golden light spills across the vast, flat rock like a benediction, making the stone glow with warmth.
I land carefully, placing each claw gently. And then I lower him—my mate, whispers the Drake part of me—onto the sun-drenched stone.
My heart is hammering, my mind spinning. I want to Shift so I can get closer to him, but I don’t know how. Do I just… will it to happen?
I close my eyes.
Instead of thinking about shrinking, about becoming small again, I focus on him—on Xaren.
I focus on the warmth of his arms…the steady thrum of his heartbeat when he held me…
the rumble of his deep voice. I think of how he touched me…
how he looked at me like I was precious…
the way he called me “little dove.” I focus on that love—on him.
And just like that… I change.
It’s like water slipping over my skin. One moment I’m the Drake—a huge, powerful fire-breathing dragon—and the next I’m just me. Just Elaina.
Naked…human…fragile.
But I don’t care. I’m kneeling on the sun-warmed stone, the heat of the cliff seeping into my bare skin. The breeze is soft against my cheek, stirring my long hair. All I can see is him.
He’s still too still. His chest rises, but faintly—too faintly. And that awful iron collar is still clamped around his neck, the black lock choking him.
“No,” I whisper fiercely. “No, you’re free now. You have to be free.”
I cradle his head in my lap, my legs folded beneath me. I stroke his hair, then wrap my fingers around the hateful lock.
It’s warm from the sun but colder underneath—like it has a magical chill of its own.
I grit my teeth and squeeze…but nothing happens.
I blow out a breath of pure frustration.
Come on. You’re stronger than this—you’re a dragon, damn it!
The huge, powerful Drake that resides inside me—surely she can lend me some of her strength.
I reach deep—deeper than I ever have before. Past the fear…past the pain… past the girl I used to be.
I find the memory of flying—of soaring on silver wings through the clouds. Of fire in my lungs and strength in every muscle. I remember the feel of my scales and feathers. I feel the burn of the sun on my back…the pulse of my power.
Drake, I whisper in my mind. Lend me your strength again.
My other half—which is me but also somehow more than me—answers.
A pulse of molten heat floods my veins, and suddenly my hand is strong. I feel the metal bend under my grip, feel the black lock crumble like brittle, old cheese. I pull it and the hateful collar off with a gasp and toss them—no, hurl them—off the cliff.
The lock and collar spin through the air, black and gleaming, and vanish into the abyss.
“There,” I whisper fiercely. “The horrid thing is gone.”
But the restraining collar has done its damage. A red, angry bruise rings Xaren’s throat, leaving it raw and chafed. I can see where it’s rubbed him raw. And still he doesn’t wake.
“Xaren…” My voice breaks. “Please—come back to me.”
His breathing is easier now—less labored. But still, he’s trapped in silence.
I can’t stand it—can’t bear to see him hurt and unresponsive.
He healed you, a voice whispers in my memory. With his mouth. With his love.
Maybe I can do the same.
I lay him down gently, easing his head from my lap. Then I stretch out beside him on the golden rock, pressing my naked body to his side. The warmth of the stone surrounds us, like a loving hand.
I lean over him and press my lips to his throat.
The wound is hot…angry. I kiss it gently once and then again. Then I drag the flat of my tongue across Xaren’s bruised skin, the same way he licked me to heal my thighs after Dorian attacked me with the thorn switch.
I feel it then—the power—the connection.
The Drake inside me stirs again. She knows him—recognizes him. This is our mate.
And she wants to heal him too.
Magic tingles through my mouth, across my tongue, and down my spine. I move slowly, kissing each tender place…licking the rawness where the collar bit deepest. The skin begins to lose its angry hue beneath my touch. The swelling fades.
Xaren tastes like ash and salt and something uniquely him. My mate…my Dark Prince…my Dragon.
I make my way around his throat, licking and kissing each wound with thorough, tender care. And as I do, I feel him moving beneath me—his chest rising more strongly, his breath evening out.
I press one last kiss to the hollow of his throat, and then I hear it…a low, familiar rumble.
“Mmm, little dove…” His voice is hoarse and rasping—but there. “Your sweet mouth feels so good on me…” he murmurs.
I look up and see the recognition on his face—he’s back—he knows me!
Tears spring to my eyes and fall silently onto his skin. But for the first time in what feels like forever, they’re not tears of grief.
They’re tears of joy.