Chapter 4 Selene
FOUR
SELENE
He heals fast.
I’ve been watching the wounds close for the past two hours, and it still doesn’t seem real.
The gashes across his shoulder and back—wounds that should have required surgery, hospitalization, probably a blood transfusion—are now nothing but faint pink lines.
In another hour, I doubt there’ll be any evidence they existed at all.
It’s unsettling. Fascinating. A little bit awe-inspiring, if I’m being honest.
Dragon metabolism. Right.
Drayke sits on the edge of my couch, shirtless, because his was destroyed in the transformation.
I’ve been very carefully not looking at his chest. At the way his muscles shift when he moves.
At the V of his hips disappearing into the waistband of the pants I found in Grandma’s closet—men’s pants, which raises questions I’m not ready to ask.
Eyes up, Selene. He’s a dragon. An actual dragon. Stop objectifying the mythical creature.
I dip the cloth back into the basin and wring it out. The water has gone pink with blood—his blood, which apparently runs hotter than any human’s. Every time I touch his skin, heat seeps into my fingers. Not uncomfortable. Just... present. Constant. Impossible to ignore.
“You don’t have to keep doing that.” His voice is a low rumble. “The wounds are nearly closed.”
“Humor me.” I press the cloth to a particularly stubborn gash near his spine. “I don’t have a lot of experience with dragon first aid. For all I know, there’s some critical step I’m missing. Apply pressure for twenty minutes or your patient spontaneously combusts.”
A sound escapes him. Low. Rough. It takes me a moment to realize he’s laughing.
“We don’t spontaneously combust.”
“Good to know.” I move to his shoulder, cleaning away the last traces of dried blood. “What about other fun dragon facts I should be aware of? Do you hoard gold? Sleep on piles of treasure? Eat princesses?”
“No. No. And no.” He turns his head slightly, and I catch a glimpse of his profile. Strong jaw. Straight nose. Lips that look softer than they have any right to on a face that hard. “Though the hoarding instinct is... not entirely inaccurate.”
“So you do have a pile of gold somewhere.”
“Not gold.” Something shifts in his voice. Darkens. “Dragons hoard what matters to them. For some, it’s wealth. For others, territory. Knowledge. Power.”
“And you?”
Silence. Long enough he might not answer.
“I protect what’s mine.” The words come out rough. Final. As if they cost him something to say.
I set the cloth down. My hands are steadier than they should be, given that I’m essentially having a casual conversation with a shape-shifting apex predator.
“So. Dragon.” I settle back on my heels, meeting his gaze when he turns to face me. “New for me. Scale of one to ten, how likely am I to be eaten by your friends?”
“They’re not my friends.” His jaw tightens. “They’re my brothers. And they don’t eat humans.”
“Brothers as in actual family, or brothers as in—”
“Warriors. Guardians. We’ve fought together for centuries.”
Centuries. The word lands with the weight of a boulder. “How old are you, exactly?”
“Old enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
I file that away for later. “Fine. What about the rogue dragons? The ones who want to kidnap me for their mysterious master?”
“They’d kill you for sport.” No hesitation. No softening. Just brutal honesty delivered in that deep, rough voice. “Or worse.”
“Cheerful.” I stand, gathering the bloodied cloths and the basin. “You’re really selling the whole dragon thing. Great recruitment pitch. Come to the mountains, get terrorized by flying lizards, possibly die horribly.”
“This isn’t a joke.”
“I know it’s not a joke.” I dump the water in the kitchen sink, watch it swirl pink down the drain. “Jokes are funny. This is terrifying. I just process terror through sarcasm. It’s a coping mechanism. My therapist says it’s unhealthy but effective.”
When I turn back, he’s standing. The movement was silent—I didn’t hear him rise, didn’t hear him cross the room. But now he’s there, six and a half feet of barely-contained power, close enough that his heat washes over me in waves.
“You need to leave.” His voice is low. Urgent. “Tonight. I’ll escort you to the main road.”
“Absolutely not.”
“This isn’t a request.”
Something hot flares in my chest. Not fear. Anger. “And this isn’t the eighteenth century. I don’t take orders from men who think growling counts as conversation.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“I never asked for protection!” The words come out louder than I intend. “This is my grandmother’s cabin. My inheritance. My choice whether to stay or go. You don’t get to swoop in and make decisions for me just because you have wings and an attitude problem.”
His eyes flash. That inhuman glow, there and gone. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“Then explain it to me!” I throw my hands up. “Use your words, Drayke. Communicate like an adult instead of issuing commands and expecting me to fall in line.”
“You’re being reckless.”
“And you’re being arrogant!” I step closer, refusing to be intimidated by the wall of muscle looming over me. “Controlling! Who the hell do you think you are?”
“The Guardian King.” The words come out sharp. Hard. “The one responsible for protecting this territory and everyone in it. Including stubborn humans who refuse to see reason.”
“Oh, so now I’m just a stubborn human?” I jab a finger at his chest. Bad idea. His skin is scorching through the air between us. “Five minutes ago, you were trying to protect my special Fire-Bringer blood. Make up your mind.”
“I’m someone who’s seen Fire-Bringers die.” The words are a snarl, torn from somewhere deep. “Someone who watched the last one burn because she refused to listen. Because she thought she knew better. Because she was stubborn and brave and absolutely certain she could handle whatever came for her.”
That stops me. “The last one?”
“Centuries ago.” His hands are fisted at his sides. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “She was powerful. Confident. Refused to be protected. And when they came for her—” He breaks off. Looks away. “There wasn’t enough left to bury.”
The cabin feels very quiet. Very small.
“I’m sorry.” My voice comes out softer than I expect. “That must have been—”
“Don’t.” He cuts me off. “I’m not telling you this for sympathy. I’m telling you because you need to understand. The rogues who attacked you today were scouts. Testing our defenses. When they report back to their master—”
“They can’t report anything. You burned them to ash.”
“One of them.” His gaze snaps back to mine. “There was another. Watching from the ridge. He escaped before I could reach him.”
Shit.
“So they know I’m here.” I process this. “They know I’m a Fire-Bringer. And they know you’re protecting me.”
“Yes.”
“Which means leaving won’t actually help, will it?” I cross my arms. “If they know what I am, they’ll find me wherever I go. At least here, I have you. And apparently, your warrior brothers.”
Something complicated moves across his face. “That’s—”
“Logical? Reasonable? A valid point that you can’t argue with?”
“Infuriating.” The word comes out on a growl. “You’re infuriating.”
“Right back at you, Guardian King.” I match his glare with one of my own.
“You’re controlling, overbearing, and you have the communication skills of a brick wall.
But you saved my life today, so I’m willing to overlook some of your personality defects if you’re willing to treat me like an adult capable of making her own decisions. ”
We stand there. Glaring. Breathing hard. The air between us feels charged, electric, like the moment before a lightning strike.
“You’re impossible.” His voice is rough.
“You’re insufferable.”
“Reckless.”
“Controlling.”
“Stubborn.”
“Arrogant!”
I spin away from him. Need to move. Need to put distance between us before I do something stupid like close the gap instead of widening it.
I make it two steps before his hand closes around my wrist.
Heat.
It shoots up my arm—not the ambient warmth of his skin, but something deeper. Electric. It races through my veins, straight to my core, igniting nerve endings I didn’t know I had.
I gasp. He inhales sharply. Neither of us moves.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears. My skin tingles where his fingers wrap around my wrist—five points of blazing contact that feel like brands. When I turn to face him, his expression has changed. The anger is still there, but underneath it... something raw. Something hungry.
His pupils have dilated. His breathing is uneven. That glow is back behind his irises, and this time it doesn’t fade.
We’re standing so close. When did we get this close? I can feel his breath on my face. Can count the individual flecks of light in his eyes. Can see his pulse jumping in his throat.
Kiss him, something whispers in my head. Close the distance. Find out if he tastes as good as he smells.
“What—” My voice comes out hoarse. I clear my throat. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” His voice is rough. Strained. As if he’s fighting something. “Forget it.”
But his hand is still on my wrist. His thumb brushes across my pulse point, and another wave of heat rolls through me, pooling low in my belly.
“Didn’t feel like nothing.” I should step back. Should put distance between us. Should do literally anything except stand here drowning in his heat and his scent and the impossible electricity arcing between our skin.
I don’t move.
“It can’t be anything.” The words seem to hurt him. His jaw is tight. His free hand is balled at his side. Everything about his body language screams restraint—a predator holding itself back through sheer force of will.
“Why not?”
“Because.” He releases my wrist. Steps back. The sudden absence of his heat feels like a physical blow. “It just can’t.”
My wrist feels cold. Empty. Wrong. I resist the urge to rub it, to chase the lingering warmth of his touch.
I stare at him. At the way he’s holding himself—rigid, controlled, as if one wrong move will shatter something fragile. At the way his hands flex and fist at his sides. At the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
He felt it too. Whatever that was—whatever just passed between us—he felt it as strongly as I did.
And he’s terrified of it.
“Drayke—”
“Pack your things.” He’s already moving toward the door, putting distance between us with every step. “I’ll return at dawn to escort you out.”
“I’m not leaving.”
He pauses at the door. Doesn’t turn around. “Then you’re a fool.”
“Maybe.” I stand my ground even though my knees feel weak. Even though my wrist still tingles where he touched it. “But I’m a fool who makes her own choices. And my choice is to stay.”
He’s gone before I finish speaking. The door swings open, letting in a rush of cool evening air, and then he’s through it, disappearing into the tree line with that fluid, predatory grace.
I’m alone.
I sink onto the couch. Press my hand to my chest where my heart is still racing.
My wrist burns. Not painfully—more like an echo, a memory of heat that won’t quite fade. When I look down, there’s no mark. No sign that anything happened at all.
But something did happen. Something I don’t understand. Something that felt like being struck by lightning and drowned in honey all at once.
Dragons are real. I stare at the door he just walked through. One of them saved your life. You’re apparently some kind of magical fire-witch. And now you’re attracted to him.
Attracted. Such a mild word for whatever is happening inside me.
The way he looked at me. The raw hunger behind his eyes. The way his whole body seemed to strain toward mine even as he forced himself to step back.
It can’t be anything.
Why? What is he so afraid of? Is it because I’m human? Because I’m a Fire-Bringer? Because of whatever happened to the last one—the one who burned because she refused to be protected?
I pick up one of Grandma’s journals. Flip through the pages without really seeing them.
Fire-Bringers and dragons are drawn to each other, one passage reads. It is the nature of our blood. We carry the flame that calls to their fire. When a Fire-Bringer meets her dragon, the pull is undeniable. Inevitable. Dangerous.
Her dragon. As if ownership goes both ways.
I close the journal. Set it aside.
This is insane. You’ve known him for two days. He’s a shape-shifting immortal with anger issues and a pathological need to give orders. This is not the foundation for a healthy relationship.
But I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my wrist. Still smell woodsmoke and something wild in the air he left behind. Still see the way his eyes glowed when he looked at me—not with anger, but with want.
He wants me. Whatever barriers he’s putting up, whatever reasons he has for pushing me away—underneath all of it, he wants me.
And God help me, I want him too.
I press my palms against my face and groan.
Your therapist is going to need therapy after this conversation.
I drop my hands and stare at the ceiling.
“So, Dr. Martinez, I met a dragon. He’s brooding and overprotective and really hot—literally, his skin temperature is like a hundred and five degrees—and I think I might be supernaturally destined to be with him, but he keeps running away every time we touch. What do you think that means?”
I laugh. It comes out slightly hysterical.
Outside, the sun has set. The forest is dark beyond the windows, full of shadows and secrets and things that want to kill me. Somewhere out there, Drayke is probably brooding in a tree, telling himself all the reasons he should stay away from me.
Good luck with that. Because I’m not going anywhere. And whatever this thing is between us—this pull, this heat, this inexplicable awareness—I’m not running from it either.
I’ve spent my whole life being careful. Playing it safe. Making sensible choices and ending up alone anyway.
Maybe it’s time to try something different.
I check the locks on the doors. Set my pots-and-pans alarm system on the windowsills. Grab the baseball bat and settle onto the couch with Grandma’s journals piled around me.
The cabin feels emptier without him. Which is ridiculous. He’s spent most of that time either unconscious on my couch or ordering me around. There’s no reason his absence should feel like a missing limb.
But it does.
If I’m going to survive this—the rogues, the prophecy, whatever is brewing between me and a certain frustrating dragon—I need to understand what I am.
Fire-Bringer. The word feels different now. Not like fantasy nonsense, but like a piece of myself I’ve been missing without knowing it was gone.
I start reading.
And somewhere in the forest, I swear I can feel him watching.