Chapter 15 Serenya
FIFTEEN
SERENYA
Serenya tried not to stare at Vaelrik’s naked body, but it was impossible not to.
He sat on his bed, blood drying around the gash on his side, and his arousal becoming evident—every line of him cut from restraint and raw power.
The sight sent heat flooding through her veins and her pulse thrummed in her throat like a caged bird.
Maybe we should try and find out.
His words struck something deep inside her—a point of no return that made her lumen magic flare beneath her skin.
The golden light responded to his curse’s hunger, but something else entirely overwhelmed it.
His dragon’s hunger was stronger, more ancient and more powerful than any curse could ever be.
His fated mate. She could hardly believe it. A witch being the fated mate of a dragon?
It should have been impossible. But it made perfect sense with everything she’d been feeling—this safety around the most dangerous man in the Ashen Realms, this want that defied logic, and this sense that he truly saw her in ways no other person ever could.
And then there were their ancestors’ sigils carved into the ground at the Gloam, where both their bloodlines had fought together many centuries ago to stop the Gloamrot.
This must have been written in the stars long before they ever existed. There surely had been other fated pairs of dragons and witches before them. But time and fear had split their peoples apart.
Maybe it was up to them to bring peace and understanding back to this place.
“I need to bandage your wound first,” she said softly, reaching for the clean cloth with hands that trembled only slightly.
He nodded, but as she leaned closer to tend to the gash on his side, he began kissing her neck—soft, testing brushes of his lips that made her breath hitch. His hands traced along her back and arms with the most tender reverence, as if testing his dragon’s power and control over his curse.
She believed his dragon already knew how to do this, but Vaelrik didn’t trust himself yet.
He’d told her days ago that no woman had come near him since his curse, that she was the first to touch him in a century.
That fact sent a thrill through her—she wanted to be the one to show him pleasure, to show him how much he was starting to mean to her.
“There,” she whispered as she finished securing the bandage, her fingertips lingering against his warm skin.
He caught her wrist gently, his eyes searching hers. “Are you ready to be with me now?”
“Yes, I’m ready,” she breathed.
Something shifted in his expression—hunger and reverence tangled together in a way that sent shivers through her body.
With careful hands, he began removing her blouse, his fingers brushing her skin as the fabric fell away.
Then he gently laid her back on his bed, removing her leather pants with the same deliberate care until she was bare before him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly as he drank in the sight of her in the dim light of his quarters.
With an unsteady breath, he began exploring her body with his hands and mouth—so slowly, so carefully, like she was something precious he might break. When she looked down, his expression was pure hunger and pure worship tangled together, his dragon recognizing what belonged to him.
Her lumen magic sang beneath her skin, wrapping around his shadowfire in perfect harmony.
The curse snarled somewhere deep inside him, but it was no match for this—for a dragon claiming his fated mate.
Some things were just more ancient and powerful than corruption, and the mate bond was one of them.
She pulled him up to her mouth, and their kiss was passionate, hungry, and inevitable. His dragon was running the show now, and her magic did everything it could to help by keeping his curse at bay. The balance between his dark and her light felt natural. Perfect.
Like they’d always been designed to do this. His dragon had always recognized her and would never harm her, even cursed.
This was a dragon returning home.
Serenya’s breath caught as Vaelrik’s mouth left hers, his voice rough and low against her jaw. “I can feel your magic… calling me home.”
She trembled, not from fear but from the sheer intensity of his words.
Her lumen magic flared beneath her skin, golden light wrapping around him like silk, gentle and insistent.
It was as if her magic was guiding him, teaching his shadowfire how to obey without overwhelming her.
It wasn’t dangerous. It wasn’t chaotic. It was destined.
For the first time, Serenya felt it clearly. His dragon wasn’t something he needed to train to claim her. His dragon was made for her. For this. He just needed to trust what was already written into his bones. The realization sent a jolt of heat straight to her core.
His lips trailed down her neck, slow and deliberate, and she arched into him, her fingers tangling in his black hair.
When his mouth found her breast, she gasped, her body tightening with anticipation.
His tongue circled her nipple, teasing, before he sucked gently, and then he bit down with just enough pressure to make her moan.
He alternated between her breasts, his large hands roaming her body with a possessiveness that made her head spin.
When his lips finally moved down her abdomen, his hands gripping her hips to keep her still, she was already trembling with need. He paused at the top of her thighs, his storm-gray eyes flicking up to meet hers.
“Are you okay?” he rasped, his voice thick with desire.
“More than okay,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He kissed the inside of her thigh, his lips warm and soft, before he finally buried his face between her legs. His tongue was slow at first, exploring her with a gentleness that made her squirm.
But when she gripped his hair and whispered, “More,” he obeyed, his tongue pressing firmer against her, licking and sucking until she was gasping, her hips bucking against his mouth.
“Vaelrik,” she moaned, her voice breaking as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside her.
She didn’t care if anyone heard her, didn’t care if the entire Citadel knew what was happening. Right now, it was just him and her, and the way he was making her feel. His hands gripped her hips firmly, holding her in place as he drove her closer and closer to the edge.
When her orgasm finally crashed over her, her body convulsing and her back arching off the bed, her magic flared bright around them. He didn’t stop though, his tongue relentless, drawing out her pleasure until she was shaking uncontrollably.
When he finally pulled away, she collapsed back onto the bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He crawled up her body, his chest brushing against hers.
“You’re mine,” he growled against her mouth, his voice raw and possessive.
Her heart was still racing, her body still buzzing with the aftershocks of her orgasm, but she felt something else too—something deeper and more profound. This wasn’t just desire. This was their destiny.
He kissed her again, his hands exploring her body and his touch igniting her all over again. Her magic surged to meet his curse, steadying him and binding them together in a way that felt ancient and inevitable.
“Vaelrik,” she whispered against his lips, her voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve never felt like this before.”
“Neither have I,” he murmured, his voice rough with need.
Her heart swelled at his words, and she pulled him closer, their kiss deepening, filled with promise, with passion, with a connection that neither of them could deny.
Serenya’s breath hitched as Vaelrik pulled back from their kiss, his storm-gray eyes burning with primal hunger.
The way he looked at her—like she was both salvation and ruin, like he wanted to devour her whole—sent liquid heat pooling between her thighs.
His body trembled against hers, every corded muscle taut with restraint.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, the words scraping raw from his throat. His shadowfire pulsed beneath his skin. “But I want to claim you now.”
Her fingers traced the sharp angles of his jaw, feeling the tension there.
She could sense his dragon prowling just beneath the surface, all possessive instinct and ancient magic.
The realization should have terrified her—this was the Shadow Scourge, the Council’s most lethal weapon—but instead, a reckless thrill shot through her veins.
“You won’t hurt me.” She pressed her forehead to his, their breaths mingling. “Your dragon knows me. Trust him. Trust yourself. Trust us.”
The moment the words left her lips, she felt it—the seismic shift through their bond.
His pupils dilated, the black swallowing the gray entirely as understanding crashed through him.
His dragon recognized her in ways neither of them could articulate, in ways that transcended curses and wars and centuries of bloodshed.
A ragged sound tore from his chest as he lowered his mouth to hers again, this kiss more desperate than the last. His hands—those lethal weapons that had razed cities—cradled her face with devastating tenderness. When she spread her thighs in silent invitation, his entire body shuddered.
He positioned himself at her entrance. The first slow push stole her breath—his thickness stretching her in the most exquisite way. Her lumen sigils flared gold along her arms, reacting instinctively to the shadowfire writhing beneath his skin.
“Serenya—” Her name was half prayer, half promise as he sank deeper. “You feel like everything.”
She arched beneath him, her nails scoring down his back as he filled her completely. The sensation was overwhelming—not just the physical joining, but the way their magic intertwined.
“Please, move,” she gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist.
His first thrust drew a broken moan from her lips.
The pace he soon set was relentless, each snap of his hips hitting that sweet spot inside her with terrifying precision.
His large hands gripped her thighs, holding her open as he drove into her again and again, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the chamber.
“Harder,” she demanded with raw need, her magic sparking along her skin.
A low growl escaped him as he obeyed, his thrusts turning brutal. The bedframe groaned in protest beneath them. She could feel his control fraying, his dragon rising closer to the surface with every passing second.
“I’m close,” he gritted out, his muscles coiled tight.
She could see it in his face—the moment his dragon nearly took over. His hand pressed down firmly over her heart, and searing heat bloomed across her skin. His Obsidian mate brand began forming—wings and thorns etching themselves into her flesh.
“Wait—” She gasped, her hands flying to his wrist. “Not yet.”
The effect was instantaneous. He wrenched his hand away as if burned, his shadowfire recoiling. The half-formed brand glowed angrily on her skin, the sigil incomplete but unmistakable.
Panting, he stilled above her, his entire body trembling with the effort of restraint. “Serenya, I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay.” She cupped his face, forcing his wild gaze to meet hers. “I want this. I want you. Just... not the mark. Not yet.”
Not yet. But someday.
Understanding flickered in his eyes. With a ragged nod, he resumed his thrusts, this time gentler and more controlled. But the intensity between them hadn’t lessened—if anything, the near-claiming had stoked the fire higher.
“Come inside me,” she whispered against his lips. “Claim me that way for now.”
His groan was pure sin as his pace turned punishing once more. She could feel him teetering on the edge, his massive body taut as a bowstring. When her orgasm hit, it tore through her like lightning, her back arching off the bed as she screamed his name.
That was all it took. With a roar that shook the very walls, Vaelrik followed her over, spilling deep inside her.
For several heartbeats, the only sound was their ragged breathing. Then, with surprising tenderness, he gathered her against his chest, his lips brushing the half-formed mate mark with reverence.
“I’ll wait until you tell me when,” he vowed, the words vibrating through her very soul.
Serenya traced the incomplete sigil with trembling fingers, her magic still humming from their joining. The brand pulsed faintly beneath her touch—a promise of what was to come, when she was ready.
Curling into his embrace, she pressed her ear to his chest, listening to the steady thunder of his heartbeat. His fingers trailed lazy patterns down her spine, his touch so tender it made her throat tighten.
This—this was what terrified her most. Not his strength, not his curse, but the way he looked at her as if she was the answer to every prayer he’d never dared speak aloud.