Chapter 9 Selene #2
“Because fighting alongside you is different from being shut out while you fight for me!” I shove at his chest. He doesn’t budge, but his nostrils flare.
“I’m not asking to charge into battle alone.
I’m asking to be at the table when you make the plans.
To have my voice heard. To matter as more than just the thing you’re trying to protect. ”
His jaw works. His hands flex at his sides.
“You matter.” The words sound like they’re being dragged out of him. “You matter more than you know.”
“Then treat me like it. Stop making decisions about my life without me.”
“You’re impossible!” he snarls, but there’s less anger in it now. More frustration. More heat of a different kind.
“You’re infuriating!”
We’re both breathing hard. Both flushed. Both trembling with the force of emotions that have been building since the moment we met.
And somewhere in the middle of the shouting, I stopped being angry.
His eyes drop to my mouth. Mine drop to his.
We’re so close. Inches apart. His heat wraps around me, and I’m leaning in without meaning to, and his hands are fisted at his sides like he’s fighting every instinct to reach for me.
“This isn’t—” His voice is rough. Strained. “We can’t—”
“Maybe I don’t want you to stop.” The words come out low. Certain. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel this. Whatever this is.”
“Selene...” My name sounds like a warning and a plea all at once.
“Kiss me.”
His resolve cracks.
His hands come up—finally, finally—and frame my face with a gentleness that makes my chest ache. His thumbs trace my cheekbones. His fingers thread into my hair. His whole body trembles with restraint, with want, with the effort of holding back.
He’s so warm. That impossible dragon heat seeping into my skin, making me want to press closer, to melt into him until I can’t tell where I end and he begins.
“You have no idea what you’re asking.” The words are barely a whisper against my lips.
“Show me.”
His mouth descends. Hovers. A breath away from mine. I can taste him on the air—smoke and want and centuries of loneliness.
And then his eyes flash.
Not the subtle glow I’ve seen before—the hint of dragon fire behind human irises. This is brighter. Hotter. His pupils elongate into vertical slits, and the gold of his eyes burns with an intensity that’s beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
“No.” The word rips from him like it’s being torn out. His hands drop from my face. He staggers back, putting the length of the room between us in three lurching steps. “I can’t. Not like this.”
“Drayke—”
“The dragon.” He grips the back of a chair, knuckles white, shoulders heaving.
The glow in his eyes is fading, but slowly.
Too slowly. “When I’m near you—when I want—” He breaks off.
Shakes his head violently. “It takes everything I have to maintain control. If I kissed you, if I touched you the way I want to—”
“You might what? Lose control?” I take a step toward him. He takes a step back.
“I might hurt you.” His voice is raw. Broken. “The dragon wants to claim you. To mark you. And the claiming fire—” Another violent shake of his head. “It’s too powerful. I’m too powerful. If I lost control even for a second, I could burn you from the inside out.”
The words hit me like ice water.
“Is that what you’ve been afraid of? This whole time?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No deflection. Just raw, painful honesty. “Every time I touch you, the dragon roars. Every time I’m near you, it demands that I claim what’s mine. And if I give in—if I stop fighting it—”
“What if I’m stronger than you think?” I stay where I am, not advancing but not retreating either. “I’m a Fire-Bringer. Fire is literally my thing. Maybe the claiming wouldn’t—”
“The last Fire-Bringer died in the claiming.” The words fall like stones.
“I watched her die. Watched the fire consume her from within because her dragon couldn’t control himself.
And she was trained. Prepared. Had years to develop her power.
” His gaze finds mine—anguished, desperate. “You’ve had days.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
He straightens. Pulls himself together with visible effort, the glow fading from his eyes until they’re just amber again—just beautiful, just heartbreaking.
“I need to secure the perimeter.” He’s already moving toward the door. “I’ll be back before nightfall.”
“Drayke, wait—”
But he’s gone. The door closes behind him with a quiet click that somehow sounds louder than a slam.
I stand in the middle of the cabin, heart pounding, body still humming with thwarted desire.
My lips tingle where his almost touched them. My skin burns where his hands held my face. The fire in my blood has gone haywire—surging and retreating, confused by the sudden absence of his heat.
“Dammit, Drayke.” The words come out hoarse. Frustrated. “Dammit.”
I sink onto the couch. Press my palms against my eyes until I see stars.
He wants me. That much is undeniable—the way his hands shook when he touched my face, the way his voice broke when he said my name, the way his whole body strained toward mine even as he forced himself to step back.
He was so close. So close to giving in. I could see it in his eyes—the moment when want nearly won over fear.
But the dragon is stronger than his desire. Or maybe his fear is stronger than both.
He’s terrified.
Not of me. Of himself. Of what his power could do to me if he stopped fighting it for even a moment.
The last Fire-Bringer died in the claiming.
I watched her die.
How long has he been carrying that? How many centuries has he spent alone, convinced that his touch is lethal, that loving him means dying?
My anger drains away, leaving exhaustion in its wake.
He’s not trying to control me. Not really. He’s trying to protect me—from the rogues, from the danger, from himself and the dragon inside him that wants to claim and mark and possess. And he’s not wrong about the threats. The rogues are real. My power is unpredictable. I almost died.
But he’s wrong about the solution. Shutting me out doesn’t keep me safe—it just keeps me in the dark. And I deserve better than that. We both do.
His restraint isn’t rejection.
It’s love.
Twisted. Terrified. Self-destructive. But love, nonetheless.
I pull my hands from my face. Stare at my palms—at the faint glow of fire still simmering beneath my skin.
I’m a Fire-Bringer. The first in centuries. My power is growing every day, responding to threats and emotions with increasing strength.
What if I’m the one who can survive the claiming fire?
What if I’m the one who can finally set him free?
The questions settle into my chest, taking root.
I stand. Move to the window. Watch the forest where Drayke disappeared, knowing he’s out there somewhere, fighting his own demons, probably convincing himself that pushing me away is the right thing to do.
You think you’re protecting me by running. I press my palm against the cool glass. But I’m tired of being protected. I’m tired of being fragile. I’m tired of watching you suffer because you’re afraid of what might happen.
The fire in my blood pulses. Warm. Steady. Mine.
I’m not the Fire-Bringer who died. I’m not fragile. I’m not weak.
And I’m not giving up on him.
He’ll come back. He promised—before nightfall, he said. And when he does, we’re going to talk. Really talk. About the claiming, about his fear, about what I’m willing to risk to be with him.
Because here’s the thing about fire: it burns brightest in the darkest places. It destroys, yes—but it also transforms. Forges. Creates anew.
I’m done being afraid of what I might become.
It’s time to find out what we could be together.