Chapter 25 Sylvie
Sylvie lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Early light filtered through the linen curtains in pale ribbons of gold, casting long, peaceful shadows over the bed. Beside her, the deep, steady rhythm of Rhavor’s breathing anchored the room—the grounded, heavy pulse of a dragon at rest.
It should have felt calm and peaceful.
It didn’t.
The Drakoryte seed had turned to ash on her bakery floor, and for one suffocating, impossible second, she’d thought she was watching Rhavor’s heart fail right along with it. The memory alone was enough to make her skin crawl with a cold, sharp shiver.
The reality pressed down on her chest like a physical weight. She wasn’t good at waiting. She had to do something to save her dragon from the fate that his father met.
She was halfway through a mental map—part strategy, part desperate prayer—when a warm, massive hand settled on her hip.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight. Rhavor leaned in, his voice a low, rough vibration against the shell of her ear.
“You look so pretty in the morning.”
She felt his amber gaze linger on her lips, heavy and hot. A shiver slid down her spine, but this one had nothing to do with fear. His thumb traced slow, possessive circles through the thin silk of her nightshirt, his iron discipline clearly fraying at the edges.
“Since you’re awake,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that primal register that made her knees weak even while lying down, “and clearly thinking about something that isn’t me... let me fix that.”
Before she could protest, he moved.
He slid down the bed, yanking the sheets with him in one decisive motion. Sylvie gasped as his mouth found her flesh. His breath was a furnace. “I love how you smell,” he growled softly against her skin. “Mine.”
His hands gripped her hips, kneading the soft flesh with a rhythmic, feral reverence. He took his time. His tongue slid through her with unhurried, powerful strokes, circling before pushing deep.
Sylvie’s hands flew into his hair, her fingers tangling and curling around the base of his horns. The smooth, hard texture grounded her as his tongue thrust inside her, withdrawing with a wet, heavy drag that left her gasping.
He built the pace with agonizing precision. His grip on her hips turned unyielding, holding her steady as his mouth worked relentlessly. His tongue plunged deeper, curling inside her while his lips sealed around her clit, sucking with a hungry intensity.
The dual sensation made her thighs tremble. Sylvie rocked helplessly against him, her breaths breaking into ragged, desperate sounds as the tension coiled tight in her belly.
“Please,” she begged, her voice a ragged thread. “Rhavor, I’m so close—”
He followed her lead. His rhythm turned relentless. His fingers circled her clit while his tongue drove inside her with maddening persistence. Stars burst behind her eyelids. Her body arched off the bed, her fingers digging into his horns.
The tension snapped.
“Rhavor—oh, fuck—”
The orgasm tore through her, waves crashing hard and fast. She shuddered violently, her body clenching around his tongue as she rode it out, a total, beautiful wreck. He didn’t stop; he licked her through every tremor, his hands smoothing over her hips until she collapsed back, boneless and spent.
“I’m not done with you, my love,” he said. He positioned himself between her legs, his enormous erection straining at her entrance.
“I want you, Rhavor, please.”
“You have me, my little cherry,” he rasped, his eyes glowing with that low, steady light.
He pushed in, a slow, staggering takeover that filled her completely. He pumped the last of his morning heat into her, his movements heavy and deliberate.
“Your pussy... so perfect around me,” he growled, the vibration hitting her core.
They both came with a shared, guttural roar. Only then did he crawl back up her body, one hand sliding possessively over her hip again.
“Better?” he murmured, kissing his way upward until his mouth found hers.
“Mmm,” she managed, her voice still a bit wobbly. “A lot better.”
“I love you, Sylvie,” he breathed into her mouth.
She saw the raw devotion in his amber eyes and kissed him back, soft but certain. She was hopelessly in love with a dragon who had no idea she was about to gamble her entire world for him. And if she had her way, he wouldn’t know until the ink was dry.
***
At breakfast, Rhavor watched her across the table, his amber eyes narrowed over a plate of toast and strawberry jam. He looked like a storm cloud in a flannel shirt, his presence radiating that steady, draconic heat that usually made her want to abandon her coffee and climb him like a tree.
“You look like you’re plotting something,” he said. His brows furrowed in that specific, heavy way that meant his protective instincts were starting to simmer.
“I’m not planning to rob a bank,” Sylvie smirked, though her heart was doing a frantic, caffeinated little dance against her ribs. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
A flicker of relief crossed his face, but he didn't look fully convinced. He didn't know that robbing a bank would actually be less stressful than what I have planned.
She needed to hit the bakery first. Then she had a “meeting” in town that she couldn't afford to hesitate on.
When she reached Flour and Fire, the air was thick and comforting, smelling of toasted grain and caramelizing sugar.
“There you are!” Bobby called out. “I need a professional opinion. Vera thinks these rolls need more salt. I think her taste buds are burned off,” he added thoughtfully.
Vera drawled from the bread station, briskly shaking the flour from her hands.
“I’m standing right here,” she shot at Bobby, giving him a look sharp enough to slice a baguette.
The usual chaos followed—the rhythmic thwack of dough hitting the bench, the hiss of the industrial ovens, and the high-pitched whistle of the kettle.
The bakery was running like a well-oiled machine.
Bobby was flying through delicate tartlets and turnovers with a surprising precision for a man more accustomed to heavy metalwork than puff pastry.
Vera handled the traditional loaves the locals were already queuing for, and Julian had turned the front-of-house into his own personal stand-up show.
Looking at it all filled Sylvie with a fierce, burning pride. This wasn't just a business; it was her life. It was the dream turning real.
But she also knew her dragon needed her now more than ever, even if his stubborn pride wouldn't let him admit he was drowning.
Vera stepped closer. Her gaze was too knowing.
“Don’t worry,” Vera said quietly, catching her eye. “You did everything you could.”
“I didn’t,” Sylvie replied, clutching her wrists. Her pulse was a frantic thrum under her skin. “Not yet.”
By late afternoon, Sylvie was driving back toward the farm when the sound of distant music hit her. As she approached, she saw a white tent set up across the rolling field, lanterns glowing like fallen stars. Arla, Myrtle, Julian, and Vera were all there together with the town folks.
She was surprised by this gathering but took it for a breathing wall of moral support.
The black limo appeared on the dirt road like a shark in shallow water. Rhavor’s truck pulled in at the same time. He climbed out, eyes widening at the crowd gathered on his land.
A thin, cold-eyed lawyer exited the limo, looking like a vulture in a tailored suit surrounded by towering bodyguards. “This is your eviction notice,” he said, holding up a folder and handing it over to Rhavor as if he were delivering a death sentence.
“He isn’t going anywhere,” Sylvie said, stepping forward before Rhavor could growl and do something that would require a bail bondsman.
“The law is the law, ma’am.”
“This should cover whatever remains owed,” she interrupted, pulling the papers from her bag. Her heart was hammering, but her voice stayed steady. “I’ve put my bakery up as collateral. Here’s the valuation. It’s a guaranteed asset.”
Julian went pale. Rhavor turned on her, a mixture of horror and raw, agonizing fury blazing in his eyes. “No. Sylvie, I won’t allow it.”
“It’s not your decision,” she said, her voice steady even as her heart hammered. She looked him dead in the eye, trying to ignore the way his wings snapped open in a display of pure, painful dominance.
“I don't care about the farm or the seed,” Rhavor said, his voice dropping into a register that made the very air in the field vibrate. He stepped toward her, his eyes locked on hers with a raw, agonizing intensity. “All I care about is you. You’re the one who gives me strength, Sylvie. You are the only thing that matters to me, and I’m not going to let you sacrifice your dreams for my sake. ”
He growled the last words, the sound thick with a desperate, stubborn heat.
“What if I want to?” she challenged.
“It won't be necessary,” Vera boomed, stepping forward. “No one is giving up anything. I won’t let the best baker in town throw away her apron—not even for my nephew.”
“Unless you have a stash of gold under your bed,” the lawyer sneered, “I’m afraid this changes nothing.”
“If you want to nose around my bed, honey, then put yourself in line,” Vera smirked, giving him a look that could have wilted a stone. “I’ve got something a lot more than a stash of gold. I’ve got the whole town behind these two.”
“That’s very noble,” the lawyer drawled, “but it’s not solving the situation.”
“No,” Vera said, her voice dropping into a register of pure triumph. “But I think this will.”
She pulled a small wooden box from behind her back. When she opened the lid, a deep, sapphire light spilled out, reflecting in the stunned eyes of everyone watching. There, on a bed of velvet, lay a fully developed Drakoryte gem.
Julian gasped. “I saw it shatter!”
“That was another,” Vera said calmly. She turned toward Sylvie. “After you left the bakery, I got the phone call I was waiting for. It turns out one person in town actually had one stashed under their bed.”
The silence was absolute.
“Where did you get it?” Rhavor asked, his voice breathless.
“Well, it looks like the Mayor, during all his adventures, got more than just good stories,” Vera smiled.
The Mayor stepped forward with a pleased smirk, leaning on his walking stick.
“Picked it up in an oddities shop back in eighteen ninety... or was it ninety-one? I don’t have much use for souvenirs these days.
I didn’t even know it was worth anything.
I prefer clotted cream on my scones to staring at shiny rocks, anyway. ”
Sylvie watched the lawyer inspect the gem. “It looks authentic. Very well then. Boys, we’re out of here.” He sounded significantly relieved that the situation had solved itself without a dragon rampage.
“Yeah, and if I ever see you around my boy again,” the Mayor shouted, waving his stick at the retreating limo, “you will regret it!”
The limo retreated, kicking up a plume of dust. Rhavor looked at the Mayor, then back at Sylvie, the tension finally bleeding out of his massive frame. “You have my eternal gratitude.”
“Just keep the clotted cream coming,” the Mayor winked.
“And the scones,” he added, looking at Sylvie.
“And the scones,” she smiled, the weight that had settled in her chest this morning finally lifting.
“Well!” Julian clapped, his flair for the dramatic returning in full force. “This calls for fireworks!”
And as the first rocket whistled into the Honeybay sky, Sylvie leaned into Rhavor’s heat. She thought it was the perfect time for something to finally explode in a good way.