Chapter 10 Selene
TEN
SELENE
The mirror doesn’t lie.
I stare at my reflection in the bathroom glass, cataloging what I see. Gray eyes, slightly bloodshot from lack of sleep. Hair tangled from running my fingers through it too many times. Lips still swollen from being bitten in frustration.
Behind me, the cabin is quiet. Empty. He’s been gone for hours, securing the perimeter like he said, and I’ve spent every minute of that time replaying our almost-kiss. The way his hands framed my face. The way his eyes glowed with want before fear took over.
The woman looking back at me has spent her whole life being careful. Playing it safe. Making sensible choices and dating sensible men and building a sensible career that left her hollow inside.
Where has careful gotten me?
Alone. Bored. Unfulfilled.
Three failed relationships. Two career changes. One grandmother who left me a cabin full of secrets and a destiny I never asked for.
And now I’m here—on a mountain, hunted by dragons, falling for a man who’s terrified to touch me. A man who almost kissed me today. A man who ran because he’s convinced his desire will destroy me.
I grip the edge of the sink. Watch my knuckles go white.
If you’re going to die anyway—if rogues and prophecies and ancient artifacts are coming for you no matter what—at least live first.
I straighten. Meet my own gaze in the mirror.
I’m done being careful.
I’m done waiting for him to decide when—if—he’s ready.
Tonight, when he comes back, we’re finishing what we started.
The sun sets in shades of crimson and gold.
I’ve showered. Changed into a soft cotton shirt that hangs off one shoulder, loose pants that sit low on my hips. Nothing fancy. Nothing calculated. Just comfortable, simple, me.
The fire in the hearth burns low. I’ve lit candles around the cabin, not for romance but for practice—each one ignited with a thought, a small exercise in control. The warm light softens the rough edges of the room, makes it feel less like a fortress and more like a home.
I’m sitting on the couch, Grandma’s journal open in my lap, when the door opens.
He fills the doorway. Broad shoulders blocking the last of the daylight. Golden hair wind-tossed. Eyes finding mine immediately, searching for—what? Anger? Fear? Resignation?
He won’t find any of those.
I close the journal. Set it aside. Stand.
“Selene.” My name sounds like an apology on his lips. “About earlier—”
“No.”
He stops. Confusion flickers across his face.
“No more apologies.” I cross the room toward him. Slow. Deliberate. “No more excuses. No more running.”
“Selene—”
“We’re done dancing around this.” I stop in front of him, close enough to feel his heat, close enough to see the way his breath catches. “You want me. I know you do. I felt it when you touched me. Saw it in your eyes before you ran.”
His jaw tightens. “What I want doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” Another step closer.
Our bodies are almost touching. I can feel the heat radiating off him, can smell the forest and smoke that cling to his skin.
“I want you, Drayke. I’m done pretending otherwise.
Unless you can look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me back, I’m done waiting. ”
His throat works as he swallows. “You don’t understand what you’re asking for.”
I reach up, press my palm flat against his chest. His heart hammers beneath my hand. “We’ve already done this dance. Try something else.”
Silence. Heavy. Charged.
His hands flex at his sides. His breathing has gone ragged. The gold in his eyes is starting to glow.
“You have no idea what this could unleash.”
I kiss him.
Not gentle. Not hesitant. I rise on my toes and fist my hands in his shirt and drag his mouth down to mine with every ounce of want I’ve been suppressing since the moment I first saw him.
For one terrible second, he’s frozen. Rigid beneath my hands, his lips unmoving against mine. I have time to think I’ve made a horrible mistake, that he’s going to push me away, that—
His control snaps.
A groan tears from his chest—low, raw, desperate. His arms wrap around me, lifting me off my feet, spinning us until my back hits the wall. The impact drives the air from my lungs, but I don’t care. His mouth devours mine, all that careful restraint dissolving into hungry, consuming heat.
He kisses like he fights. Like he flies. With absolute focus and devastating skill, his tongue sweeping against mine, his teeth catching my lower lip, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.
I moan into his mouth and wrap my legs around his waist. His skin burns through his clothes—that impossible dragon heat that marks him as more than human. It should be uncomfortable. It’s not. It’s intoxicating. It’s exactly what I’ve been craving.
“Selene.” My name against my lips. Prayer and curse combined. “We shouldn’t—”
“Shut up.” I bite his jaw. Drag my nails down his back. “Stop thinking. Stop fighting. Just feel.”
He growls—actually growls—and the sound sends heat pooling low in my belly. His hands slide under my shirt, palms flat against my bare skin, and everywhere he touches lights up with sensation.
Fire meets fire.
My power rises to meet his heat, and where our skin connects, sparks dance. Literal sparks—tiny pinpricks of light that flare and fade with every caress. My breath catches. His does too.
“What—”
“Fire-Bringer.” His voice is barely recognizable—deeper, rougher, edged with dragon. “Your power recognizes mine. Calls to it.”
“Is that dangerous?”
“Everything about this is dangerous.” He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. The glow in his is brighter—not frightening, but beautiful. Otherworldly. “We can still stop. I can still—”
I grab the front of his shirt and yank. Buttons scatter across the floor.
“Does that answer your question?”
His eyes flare brighter. His hands tighten on my hips. “Selene—”
“No more talking.” I run my hands over his bare chest, feeling the muscles jump beneath my palms, the furnace heat of his skin. “No more stopping. I want you, Drayke. All of you. Right now.”
He shudders. Actually shudders under my touch. Four hundred years of control, of restraint, of holding himself apart—and I’m the one making him shake.
The power is intoxicating.
I push his ruined shirt off his shoulders. Lean in and drag my tongue along his collarbone. He tastes like salt and smoke, and the sound he makes—low and broken—goes straight to my core.
“If you stop now,” I murmur against his skin, “I’ll set your clothes on fire.”
A sound escapes him. Half laugh, half groan. “You probably could.”
“Don’t test me, Guardian King.” I roll my hips against his, gratified by the sharp intake of breath, the way his fingers dig into my thighs, the unmistakable hardness pressing against me. “Take me to bed. Or I swear to every god you’ve ever worshipped, I’ll take you right here against this wall.”
His eyes go molten. His grip shifts, hitching me higher, and his mouth finds my ear. “You want to give orders, Fire-Bringer?” The words are a rumble that vibrates through my whole body. “Be careful what you wish for.”
He carries me to the bedroom like I weigh nothing.
The bedroom is dark except for the moonlight streaming through the window.
He sets me on the edge of the bed and steps back, chest heaving, eyes glowing. I can see him fighting for control. Trying to slow down. Be careful.
I don’t want careful.
I grab his belt and yank him toward me. His hands catch himself on either side of my head as he stumbles forward, and I use the distraction to work the buckle free.
“Impatient.” His voice is gravel and smoke.
“You have no idea.” The belt comes loose. I shove his pants down, and he kicks them away while I yank my shirt over my head. No bra—I hadn’t bothered. His sharp intake of breath makes my nipples tighten.
“Fuck, Selene.” His voice cracks. His hands hover near my breasts, not quite touching. Still holding back.
I grab his wrists and press his palms against my chest.
“Stop being noble and touch me.”
He cups my breasts, rough and possessive, thumbs dragging over my nipples until I gasp. The dragon heat of his palms is almost too much—burning in a way that makes me arch into his hands rather than pull away.
“More,” I demand. “I need more.”
He pushes me back onto the mattress and follows me down. His mouth replaces his hands—tongue circling one nipple, teeth grazing, sucking hard enough to make me cry out. I fist my hands in his hair and hold him there while his fingers work the other breast.
“Pants,” I manage between gasps. “Off. Now.”
He strips me with rough efficiency—hooking his fingers in the waistband and dragging the fabric down my legs. His boxers follow. Then we’re both naked and he’s kneeling between my thighs, looking at me spread open beneath him with eyes that burn.
“You’re sure.” Not a question. A last chance.
I reach down and wrap my hand around his cock. He’s thick and hard and as hot as a brand, and the groan that tears from him—raw and desperate—sends a rush of wetness between my thighs.
“Does that feel like I’m not sure?”
“Fuck.” His hips jerk into my grip. I stroke him once, twice, feeling him pulse in my hand, watching his face go slack with pleasure. Then he catches my wrist and pins it above my head. “Keep that up and I’ll come before I’m inside you.”
“Then get inside me.”
He reaches between us, fingers sliding through my wetness, and the sound he makes is pure male satisfaction. “So fucking ready for me.”
“I’ve been ready since the moment I saw you.” I hook my leg around his hip, pull him closer. “Now stop teasing and fuck me, Drayke.”
He notches himself at my entrance. Pauses. Meets my eyes.
“Mine.” The word comes out rough. Possessive. A claim.
“Yours.”
He drives into me with one hard thrust.
I shatter. Not an orgasm—not yet—but the feeling of being filled, stretched, claimed. My back arches off the bed. My nails score down his back. His name tears from my throat, broken and desperate.