Chapter 13 Drayke
THIRTEEN
DRAYKE
I’ve made my decision.
No more waiting. No more excuses. Veylor could arrive any moment, and an unclaimed mate is a dead mate. My dragon has been roaring the same truth since I left my brothers in the forest: claim her or lose her.
So I’ll claim her. Tonight. And pray to every god I’ve ever cursed that her fire is strong enough to survive mine.
The walk back from the eastern ridge feels longer than usual. My boots crunch over pine needles, but my mind is already at the cabin, running through how to tell her. What words to use.
The claiming could kill her. That truth hasn’t changed. But leaving her unclaimed guarantees her death—slowly, painfully, at Veylor’s hands. Between a chance of survival and certain torture, the choice is clear.
Selene is curled on the couch with her grandmother’s journals when I return. Firelight plays across her features, catching the determined set of her jaw. She looks up as I enter, gray eyes searching my face.
“You look like you’ve decided something.”
“I have.” I cross the room. Kneel in front of her so we’re eye to eye. “Selene, I need to claim you. Now.”
Her breath catches. She sets the journal aside slowly, carefully. “You’ve been fighting this for days. What changed?”
“Veylor is coming. Soon. Maybe tonight. And an unclaimed Fire-Bringer—” I force the words out. “They can use you against me. Compel you. Drain you. The claiming mark protects you in ways I can’t.”
“And if it kills me instead?”
The question hangs between us. I don’t look away from her eyes.
“Then at least it will be quick. Merciful.” My voice cracks on the word. “Not what Veylor has planned. Not hours of—” I can’t finish.
She reaches out. Cups my face in her hands. Her palms are warm, steady—steadier than mine.
“I found a journal,” she says quietly. “A hidden one. I know what the claiming requires. Trust. Complete surrender.” Her thumbs trace my cheekbones. “I’m not afraid, Drayke.”
“You should be.”
“Probably.” A ghost of her usual humor flickers in her eyes. “But I trust you. Completely. And I’d rather die in your arms than survive without you.”
My dragon roars triumph and terror in equal measure. She means it. Every word.
“If I lose control—”
“You won’t.” She stands, pulling me up with her. “I’m a Fire-Bringer. Fire can’t burn fire.” Her hands slide down to grip my shirt. “Now stop stalling.”
I carry her to the bedroom.
She protests—“I can walk”—but my dragon won’t allow it. Not for this. She’s mine to protect, to worship, to claim. The short distance from couch to bed feels sacred, ceremonial.
I lay her on the mattress and stand over her, drinking in the sight. Chestnut hair spread across the pillow. Gray eyes bright with want and trust. The racing pulse at her throat that calls to every predatory instinct I possess.
Four hundred years I’ve waited for this. Four hundred years of control, of restraint, of believing I was too dangerous to claim a mate.
“You’re sure.” One last chance for her to change her mind. One last moment of sanity before I lose myself in her completely.
“Get down here.” She grabs my shirt and yanks.
I go willingly. Cover her body with mine, brace myself on my forearms so I don’t crush her. Her legs wrap around my hips immediately, pulling me closer, and the heat of her through our clothes makes my dragon roar.
“Clothes,” she mutters against my mouth between desperate kisses. “Too many clothes.”
We strip each other with urgent hands. Buttons scatter across the floor. Fabric tears. I don’t care. Nothing matters except skin against skin, her warmth pressed to mine, the soft sounds she makes when my hands find bare flesh.
She’s beautiful. Perfect. Every curve, every freckle, every scar from battles I wasn’t there to fight. I trace them with my mouth—the line of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the soft skin of her stomach that quivers under my lips.
“Drayke.” My name on her lips is a prayer and a demand. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging me back up to her mouth.
I settle between her thighs. Press my forehead to hers. Our breath mingles, ragged and hot, and I feel her heartbeat racing against my chest.
“The claiming happens at the peak,” I manage, voice rough. “When the fire releases—it will mark you. Brand you as mine. There’s no going back after.”
“Good.” She rolls her hips, making me groan. “I want everyone to know I’m yours. Want it burned into my skin so deep, nothing can erase it.”
My control snaps.
I slide into her slowly, watching her face for a last moment of hesitation. There’s none. Only pleasure, only want, only trust so complete, it terrifies me and humbles me and makes me swear silent oaths to be worthy of it.
She gasps. Arches into me. “More.”
I give her more. Give her everything. She pulls my head down and our kiss is an explosion of hunger and desire.
Each thrust drives us higher, building toward something I’ve never felt—not just physical pleasure, but a merging.
Her fire reaching for mine through skin and sweat and shared breath.
My dragon straining toward her heat, recognizing its mate, demanding completion.
“Drayke—” Her nails rake down my back hard enough to draw blood. “I’m close—”
“I know.” I feel it building in her, in me, in the space between us where our fires are already starting to merge. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
My hand slides between us, finding the spot that makes her cry out. My other hand presses flat over her heart—over the place where the claiming mark will burn—palm already hot with the fire that’s been waiting four centuries for this moment.
She shatters around me. And I follow.
The fire releases.
It pours from my palm into her chest—hot and golden and alive, carrying four hundred years of loneliness and longing and desperate hope. I brace for her scream, for the smell of burning flesh, for the worst.
Instead, she moans. Her back bows off the bed, but not in pain. Her own fire rises to meet mine—brilliant and fierce and entirely hers—wrapping around the claiming flame, welcoming it home.
The fires merge. Dance. Become one.
And then I feel her. Not just her body clenching around mine, not just the aftershocks of pleasure, but her. Her heartbeat echoing in my chest.
The claiming mark burns into existence over her heart. Intricate, beautiful—dragon scales and flame, intertwined in a pattern that’s never existed and will never exist again. My mark. My mate. Mine.
“Selene.” Her name comes out broken, wrecked. “You’re—you survived—”
“Told you.” She’s laughing and crying at the same time, hands exploring the new mark on her skin, tracing the raised edges where my fire branded her forever. “Fire can’t burn fire.”
I collapse beside her, pulling her against my chest, feeling her heartbeat sync with mine. The bond hums between us—new and raw and permanent, a golden thread tying her soul to mine across any distance.
“I can feel you,” she whispers, wonderment in her voice. “Inside my chest. Is that—”
“The bond.” I press my lips to her hair, breathing her in. “You’ll always be able to find me now. And I’ll always be able to find you. No matter how far. No matter what tries to separate us.”
She tilts her head up, kisses me soft and slow—a contrast to the desperate urgency of moments ago. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go. Not ever.”
Another round of intimacy and I start to wonder if we’re both addicted to each other. I have to remind her we need to keep watch for any rogues. We’re dressed and in the main room for a while, going over the journals.
Marcus, one of the guards, bursts into the clearing with wild eyes and heaving breath. He’s run for miles—sweat soaks through his shirt, legs trembling.
“Gathering,” he gasps. “Major rogue gathering. Three territories east. Veylor, his lieutenants—everyone. If you strike now, you can end this.”
My dragon snarls. The timing couldn’t be worse.
But Selene’s suspicion hits me immediately. Her eyes narrow at Marcus, that sharp intelligence working.
“Convenient timing,” she says flatly. “They terrorize us all day, and now their entire leadership is vulnerable?”
Marcus’s jaw tightens. “War makes strange opportunities.”
I reach out to my brothers through the mental link. Relay the coordinates.
Old ritual site. Pre-war. Auren’s response is sharp. If this is real, we can’t ignore it. But bring Marcus with you. If he’s lying, I want him where we can deal with him.
Smart. If Marcus is a traitor, leaving him here with my newly claimed mate isn’t an option.
We need you. Rurik is en route to guard her, Auren adds. Wait for him before you leave.
Rurik arrives ten minutes later, dropping from the sky in red-gold scales. He shifts mid-landing, grinning.
“Babysitting duty. My favor—” He stops. Sniffs the air. His grin widens. “Well, well. Someone’s been busy. Congratulations, brother.”
Selene flushes
I pull Rurik aside. “Stay alert. Something feels wrong about this.”
His grin fades. “With my life, brother. She’s pack now. I’ll die before I let anyone touch her.”
I turn back to Selene. Her fear hits me—not for herself, but for me. For what might happen three territories away.
“I’ll feel you,” I remind her. “The whole time. If anything happens—”
“Then you’ll come running.” She rises on her toes, kisses me hard. “Go. End this. Then come back.”
I shift in the clearing. Marcus climbs onto my back—silent, pale. Zyphon and Auren circle above.
I launch into the darkening sky, and for the first time in four hundred years, I leave behind something that matters more than duty.
The bond pulses warm in my chest the entire flight. Selene—alive, safe, mine.
The ritual site is empty.
Ancient stones stand silent and cold beneath us, moss-covered and crumbling. No fires. No dragons. No ritual. The clearing hasn’t been touched in centuries.
I round on Marcus, my dragon already surging beneath my skin. “Explain.”
“I don’t—the intelligence was solid—” His voice cracks with fear. Real fear, or a good performance of it.
Zyphon’s hand closes around his throat, lifting him off his feet. “How much did they pay you?”
But I’m not listening. Selene’s sudden terror slams into me. Pain. Fear. A scream that echoes through my skull even though I can’t hear it with my ears.
And then—nothing. The bond goes silent. Not broken, but muffled. Wrapped in something that blocks my sense of her, like a blanket thrown over a flame.
MATE. DANGER. FIND HER.
“They have her.” The words tear out of me, barely human. “I felt it—she’s in pain—the bond is muffled—”
“Go!” Auren drops Marcus, who crumples to the ground, forgotten. “I’ll deal with the traitor. Find your mate.”
I don’t wait. My wings catch the night air and I launch toward the cabin, following the muffled thread of the bond. It’s faint—so faint—but it’s there. The claiming mark guides me like a compass pointing toward true north.
The cabin is destroyed when I arrive. Door splintered off its hinges. Wards shattered, their broken edges still crackling with the violence of their destruction. Scorch marks and claw gouges everywhere.
Rurik lies on the porch, unconscious, blood matting his red hair. He groans when I shake him awake.
“They took her,” he gasps. “Dozens of them. I killed three before they took me down. Drayke, I’m sorry—”
But I’m already reaching for her. Straining against whatever blocks my sense of her. Searching with everything I have.
There. Faint. South. Underground.
I’m coming. I push the thought toward her with all my strength. Hold on, Selene. I’m coming.