Chapter 15 Rurik
FIFTEEN
RURIK
Three days since the ramparts. Three days since she kissed me back.
Three days of absolute, exquisite torture.
I track her across the training yard, where Selene walks her through defensive fire forms. Aisling’s stance has improved—feet planted, shoulders square, spine straight.
When she extends her arm and flame spirals from her palm, it’s controlled.
Precise. Nothing like the wild bursts that used to explode whenever her emotions spiked.
She’s getting better. Stronger.
And every time our gazes collide, heat floods between us that has nothing to do with dragon fire.
CLAIM HER.
My dragon shoves against my ribs, relentless. It’s been hammering at me constantly since that night—demanding, insisting, refusing to let me forget for even a moment that she’s mine. That I should mark her, bind her, make it permanent.
I grip the training post beside me hard enough to splinter the wood.
Not yet. She has to decide.
Craving and deciding are different things. I learned that lesson the hard way, centuries ago. A dragon’s mate bond is primal, instinctive—but the claiming has to be mutual. Has to be deliberate. Otherwise, it’s just another form of captivity, and Aisling has had enough of that to last lifetimes.
“You’re staring.”
Drayke materializes at my left. I don’t turn.
“I’m supervising.”
“Whatever.”
I shoot him a look. He’s standing with arms crossed, expression neutral, but I catch his hint of amusement. Bastard.
“Don’t you have a kingdom to run?”
“Delegation. It’s a leadership skill.” He nods toward the training yard. “She’s improved.”
“She’s brilliant.” The word escapes fiercer than intended. “Picks up techniques faster than most dragons I’ve trained. Analytical mind—she breaks down every movement, stores it for later.”
“You sound proud.”
“I am proud.” I follow Aisling blocking one of Selene’s fire bolts, redirecting it into a dissipation spiral. Perfect execution. “She’s earned it.”
Drayke is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his tone drops. “You haven’t claimed her yet.”
“You know I haven’t.”
“Why?”
The question shouldn’t sting, but it does. Because the answer is complicated, and I don’t do complicated. I do loud and brash and immediate. I do action, not waiting.
But for her, I’m learning patience.
“She’s not ready.” The words scrape past my throat. “She was tortured, Drayke. Used. Weeks of having every decision stripped away. I won’t take another one from her, even if it’s what we both crave.”
“That’s surprisingly mature of you.”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked. Just... impressed.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve changed. Since she arrived.”
I could argue. Could deflect with a joke, dodge the sincerity in his tone. But he’s right, and we both know it.
“She’s worth changing for.”
The kiss in the corridor happens without planning.
I’m rounding the corner from the armory when I nearly collide with her—she’s coming from the opposite direction, arms full of journals she’s borrowed from Auren’s library. Our bodies are inches apart before either of us can stop.
“Aisling.”
“Rurik.”
Her pupils dilate. I catch the flutter of pulse in the hollow of her throat. She’s been doing this every time we’re close—that involuntary physical response that tells me everything her guarded words don’t.
“You’re in my way.” But she doesn’t move.
“You’re in mine.” Neither do I.
The journals form a barrier between us. Her arms press them against her body, pages crinkling. I should step back. Let her pass. Maintain the distance we’ve been navigating since the ramparts.
Instead, I reach out and tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear.
She exhales sharply. Her flame flickers at her fingertips—I can see it dancing beneath her skin, reacting to whatever’s building inside her.
“We shouldn’t.” Barely above a whisper.
“No.”
“Anyone could see.”
“Yes.”
“It’s impractical.”
“Extremely.”
Her mouth smiles despite herself. That dry humor I’ve come to love, cutting through the tension.
I lean in. Press my lips to the corner of her mouth—not quite a kiss, but close enough to feel her shudder.
“I’ll let you get back to your reading, Dr. Byrne.”
I step around her and keep walking. Don’t look back. If I look back, I’ll pin her against the wall and forget every resolution I’ve made about patience.
Her sharp exhale follows me down the corridor. Then footsteps continuing in the opposite direction.
My dragon rumbles with satisfaction, even as the rest of me aches.
Soon, I tell it. Let her come to us.
The Brotherhood notices.
Of course, they notice. We’re not subtle—or rather, I’m not subtle. I’ve never been subtle a day in my immortal life.
Zyphon catches me tracking her during dinner, shadowed gaze moving between us with unsettling perception. He doesn’t speak. He never speaks. But the slight grin tells me he’s cataloged every glance, every too-long look.
Auren comments on her progress with formal approval that carries an undercurrent of suspicion. “The Fire-Bringer’s control has improved significantly. Your training methods must be effective.”
“My methods are unorthodox.”
“So I’ve observed.”
And then there’s Selene.
“The soundproofing in the guest quarters is excellent.” She says it casually, over breakfast, loud enough for Aisling to hear from across the table. “Just in case anyone was wondering. Very thick walls. The previous inhabitants valued privacy.”
Aisling chokes on her tea.
A blush spreads across her cheeks, crawls down her neck, disappears beneath the collar of her shirt. Her flame surges, then carefully banks. She refuses to meet my gaze while simultaneously refusing to look away.
“Good to know.” Rougher than intended. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Please do.” Selene’s smile is knowing. “Some conversations are better had without an audience.”
Aisling stands abruptly, mutters about research, and practically flees the hall.
Drayke sighs. Selene looks pleased with herself.
I wait exactly thirty seconds before following her out.
I find her in the library, surrounded by texts on Fire-Bringer history. She’s not reading them—just staring at the pages, fingers moving over the paper without purpose.
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are. It’s charming.”
She looks up, and the intensity in her gaze makes my gut clench. “Selene was deliberately baiting us.”
“Selene was being helpful.” I lean against the doorframe. “In her extremely direct way.”
“Helpful.” The word drips skepticism.
“She likes you. Hopes you’ll be happy.” I pause. “Hopes we both will, I think.”
Aisling’s fingers still on the page. “And what would make you happy?”
You. Beneath me. Around me. Crying out my name while I—
I cut off that line of thinking before my dragon can seize on it. “Complicated question.”
“Is it?”
She’s studying me with those sharp green eyes, seeing more than I’d like. That analytical mind dissecting my every reaction.
“I need you to decide this.” The words escape raw. Honest. “Whatever happens between us—I need it to be your decision. Not instinct, not the mate bond, not desperation or fear or pressure. You.”
Her lips part. A quick inhale.
“Three hundred fifty years,” I continue, “and I’ve never craved anyone the way I crave you. But craving isn’t enough. Not for what we could be.”
“What could we be?”
Everything. Forever. Mine.
“That’s up to you.”
I push off the doorframe and leave before I can say anything else. Before I can give in to the urge to cross the room and show her exactly what I ache for.
Her question follows me—quiet, thoughtful.
“And if I’m deciding?”
I stop. Don’t turn around.
“Then you know where to find me.”
She comes to me after midnight.
I’m not asleep. Haven’t been able to sleep properly since the ramparts—my dragon too restless, my thoughts too loud. I’m lying in darkness, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the stone, when I hear the soft knock.
I know it’s her before I open the door. Can smell wildflowers and determination through the wood. Can feel the pulse of her flame, calling to mine.
She’s standing in the corridor, hair loose around her shoulders, wearing nothing but a thin sleep shirt that barely reaches her thighs. Her feet are bare. Her hands are trembling.
But her gaze is steady.
“I had a nightmare.”
My gut clenches. “Aisling—“
“I woke up screaming, and the first thing I reached for—“ She stops. Swallows. “The only thing I reached for was you.”
I should send her back to her room. Maintain the boundaries we’ve been navigating. Remember all the reasons why this is complicated and messy and probably a terrible idea.
Instead, I step aside and let her in.
She moves past me, into my chambers, and the door closes behind her with a soft click that sounds deafening in the silence.
“Aisling.” Her name scrapes out of me, rough with hunger. “If you’re here because of the nightmare—“
“I’m here because I’m ready.” She turns to face me, and in the moonlight streaming through the window, she’s luminous. Fierce. Absolutely certain. “You said to find you when I knew what I craved. I know.”
“You’re sure?”
“Stop asking and kiss me.”
I cross the distance between us in two strides.
My hands cup her face, tilting her mouth up to meet mine. The kiss isn’t gentle—can’t be, not with days of hunger burning in my gut. I pour everything into it: the longing, the restraint, the desperate ache that’s been clawing at me since the moment I first scented her.
She kisses me back with equal intensity. Her fingers fist in my shirt, dragging me closer. Her body presses against mine, all soft curves and defiant angles, and the contact sends fire racing through my veins.
MATE. My dragon roars triumph. OUR MATE. FINALLY.
I lift her without breaking the kiss. Her legs wrap around my waist instinctively, and I carry her toward the bed, mouth never leaving hers. When I lay her on the sheets, she pulls me with her, unwilling to let go.
“Wait.” The word costs me. “Wait.”