Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
VAELA
T he flight back to the castle is silent.
Tense.
And utterly delicious.
Nyxara doesn’t speak a word, her wings slicing through the night air, each powerful beat reverberating through my body where I straddle her back. The warmth of her scales seeps through my thighs, but it’s the tension in her frame, the rigid coil of fury beneath my hands, that makes me grin.
She’s seething because of me.
Because of the way I teased that soldier. The way I let my fingers linger on his armor, let my lips curl just enough to tempt. I hadn’t done much, not really. A smirk, a look. A whisper of possibility. But it had been enough to make the Dragon Queen burn.
I feel it now, radiating off her in waves, her anger barely contained.
She wanted to kill him.
She wanted to burn him alive.
Not because he was a threat. No. It was because I was the one toying with him. Because I had looked at someone else the way I sometimes—unintentionally—look at her.
And that, I think, is what she truly hates.
That she cares .
I run my fingers along the ridges of her scales, dragging them deliberately slowly. A taunt. A reminder that I sit atop her now, that she let me, that she carries me through the night like something precious.
The second we land in the castle courtyard, she shifts beneath me, forcing me to jump off or risk being crushed under the sheer weight of her dragon form.
The moment her feet hit the stone, she storms toward the castle doors.
But I am not one to let an opportunity for mischief go to waste.
“Nothing to say?” I call after her, my voice dripping with amusement as I trail behind. “I expected more fire from you, Dragon Queen. Maybe some petty threats? Or are you simply going to smolder all night instead?”
She doesn’t respond.
A shame.
So I press.
“Or perhaps,” I muse, stepping just close enough that she can feel the heat of my body, my voice a purr at her back, “you’re realizing how foolish it is to claim what you refuse to touch.”
That does it.
Nyxara spins so fast I barely register it before my back slams into the stone wall of the corridor.
I let out a breathy laugh, reveling in the way she cages me in, her hands on either side of my head, her claws biting into the stone. Her body is inches from mine, heat rolling off her in waves.
Her emerald eyes burn with something dark, something deep and unrelenting.
Possession.
She guides me through the door, into her chambers. The air in Nyxara’s inside is thick, laced with the scent of heated embers and something distinctly her —a mix of storm-soaked earth and ancient power.
"Did you enjoy yourself back there?" she asks, voice low, lethal.
I smirk, stretching lazily where I sit on the edge of her massive bed, the black silk sheets cool against my bare thighs. "Enjoy myself? Oh, Nyxara, if I had truly wanted to enjoy myself, I wouldn't have stopped at just a few coy words with your general."
Her nostrils flare.
A flick of her wrist, and the iron cuffs snap around my wrists, humming with magic— dampening magic. They don’t sever my power entirely, but they weaken it, making it difficult to summon even a whisper of control.
Heat coils in my gut.
"Oh? Binding me already?" I taunt, tilting my head. "I didn’t know you were so desperate to keep me in your bed."
"You think this is a game?" she breathes, her voice dangerously low.
"Everything is a game," I whisper back, my smirk widening. "And I love playing with you."
A growl rumbles in her throat, her patience fraying, her control slipping.
Good.
Before I can react, she is over me, pressing her body against mine, pinning me down with the sheer heat of her presence. Her thigh slides between my legs, a deliberate motion that makes my breath stutter, makes my pulse hammer.
Goddess.
She is fire—searing, consuming, relentless.
Her nails drag down my collarbone, slowly and deliberately, tracing the delicate lines of the gold chains that drape over my shoulders. The pearls on my bodice shift with the movement, cool against the heat of my skin.
"You parade yourself around my castle half-dressed," she murmurs, her voice silk-wrapped steel, the edge of a blade grazing my throat. Her sharp nail circles the peak of my nipple through the sheer fabric, watching, waiting, as my breath hitches. "Tempting me."
I smirk, tilting my chin defiantly. "Didn’t realize you found me so distracting."
Her lips curve, slow, lethal. "I don’t." She leans in, her breath ghosting against my jaw. "I find you infuriating."
She parts my bodice, the intricate shells and pearls shifting beneath her touch, her claws scraping ever so lightly against my skin. The cool air kisses my exposed flesh, but it's nothing compared to the heat of her mouth as she lowers her head, teeth grazing the soft swell of my breast.
A sharp gasp escapes me, my body arching instinctively toward her.
"Tell me," she murmurs against my skin, lips dragging lower, down my stomach, a path of fire and ruin left in her wake. "Did you want me to burn him alive for looking at you?"
Her words coil around me like a vice, tightening, intoxicating.
My head spins as her mouth continues its descent, as her fingers splay possessively over my hips, keeping me exactly where she wants me.
"Or did you like it?" she muses, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just above where I need her, teasing, tormenting.
I exhale sharply, my smirk lingering despite the haze of anticipation thrumming beneath my skin. "Jealous, are we?"
Her nails dig into my thighs, parting them wider, her breath hot as it ghosts over my aching center.
"Jealous?" she repeats, her voice dark, dangerous, deliciously slow as she rises to her feet. "No, little siren. Possessive."
And then—gods—she kneels.
Right there, at the edge of the bed, Nyxara, the feared Dragon Queen, the scourge of kings and conqueror of realms, is on her knees before me.
My breath falters, my pulse a riot in my veins.
She spreads my thighs further apart, her hands strong, commanding, her fingers leaving faint indentations in my flesh. A shiver races down my spine as she leans in, her mouth a whisper away from where I burn for her.
Then, her tongue flicks out, teasing, tasting.
A strangled sound escapes my throat. My hands fist in the silk sheets, my entire body going taut as she drags her tongue slowly up my slick folds, a deliberate, devastating stroke.
"Fuck," I whisper, my voice trembling.
She hums in satisfaction, the vibration sending shockwaves through me. Her fingers flex against my hips, holding me still as she delves deeper, her tongue swirling, pressing, teasing, devouring.
The pleasure is slow at first—cruel, measured—like she is savoring every reaction, every breathless gasp, every shudder that racks my body.
And then she speeds up.
Her tongue works me open, her lips sealing over my clit, sucking just enough to make my back arch, my nails clawing at the sheets. Her fingers slide up my inner thigh, tracing fire along my skin before slipping inside me, pressing deep, curling just right—
I shatter.
A sharp cry rips from my throat as my body locks, pleasure slamming through me in waves, my thighs trembling against her shoulders. But she doesn’t stop.
No, Nyxara is relentless.
Her tongue flicks, her fingers thrust, dragging me through another peak before the first has even faded. My body writhes, the pleasure too much, too sharp, too overwhelming.
"Nyxara—" I pant, barely coherent.
She pulls back slightly, her lips glistening, her emerald eyes dark with something savage, something hungry. "Not so defiant now, are you?" she murmurs, pressing a final, torturous kiss to my inner thigh.
I try to catch my breath, but it’s useless, because she is still touching me, still stroking, still keeping me teetering on the edge of pleasure and ruin.
But then, I feel it.
Heat.
The metal cuffs around my wrists have grown warm, my body, her magic, the sheer force of energy between us weakening their hold.
A little more.
Her fingers slide deep, her thumb circling in slow, devastating strokes, her mouth moving lower again, her tongue finding me with precision, with purpose, with the intent to utterly destroy.
My head tilts back, my entire body trembling as my climax builds again, stronger, sharper, my magic coiling, pushing, pressing—
And then—snap.
The cuffs break.
Power rushes through me like a tidal wave, surging through every nerve, every fiber of my being.
Nyxara senses it instantly, but before she can react, before she can pull away, I move.
I grip her by the hair, flipping us effortlessly so that she is the one on her back now, her eyes wide with momentary surprise. I straddle her, my hands bracing against her shoulders, pinning her beneath me.
She growls low in her throat, her claws twitching against the sheets.
"Did you really think I wouldn’t return the favor?" I murmur, my smirk slow, wicked, as my fingers trail down the laces of her bodice, unraveling her piece by piece.
Her pupils dilate, her breath coming hard and fast.
"Vaela—"
I press my lips to hers, swallowing whatever threat she was about to make. My tongue claims hers, slow and deep, as my magic curls around her limbs, holding her in place as my tentacles slither up her thighs.
She shudders beneath me.
And I grin.
"Now," I purr, my lips trailing down her throat, lower, lower— "Let me show you how a siren devours a queen." Water curls around her limbs, invisible yet tangible, holding her in place as my tentacles slither up her thighs, teasing, tasting .
Nyxara shudders.
"Vaela," she warns, voice hoarse, dark, needy .
"Mmm," I hum, dragging my lips down her throat, sucking at the sensitive skin just beneath her jaw, letting my teeth graze. She jerks beneath me, her hips arching, seeking friction. I do not give it to her.
Not yet.
Instead, I take my time.
I dip my head, flicking my tongue over one peak, rolling the other between my fingers. Nyxara gasps, her claws digging into my shoulders, her body writhing beneath my mouth.
I suckle, gently at first, then harder, letting my teeth scrape, letting my tongue soothe the sting. She jerks, a sharp breath escaping her lips.
"Fuck, Vaela—"
I grin against her skin.
"Now, now, my queen," I murmur, moving to the other breast, treating it with the same attention, the same slow, delicious torment. "I seem to recall you making me wait."
She growls, low and dangerous. "I should burn you for this," she grits out.
I laugh. "Maybe later," I whisper against her stomach, trailing lower. My tentacles move in tandem with my lips, sliding up the inside of her thighs, teasing, brushing just where she needs me most.
I look up, meeting her gaze.
She is wild like this. Eyes blown wide with desire, lips parted, her body wracked with barely controlled need.
Nyxara’s body is tense beneath me, coiled like a predator ready to strike, yet she doesn’t move to stop me. Her claws are buried in the sheets, her breath uneven, her emerald eyes dark with something warring just beneath the surface. A flicker of hesitation—uncertainty.
Not fear. Never fear.
But trust is another matter entirely.
I hover over her, letting my fingers trace slow, deliberate circles against her inner thigh, teasing, coaxing. My tentacles shift, winding lazily, waiting patiently. I watch her closely, reading every tiny flicker of resistance in her expression, the way her lips part but no words come, the way her magic hums beneath her skin, bracing.
She is not used to letting go. To relinquishing control.
I smirk, dragging my lips up the center of her stomach, pressing a kiss just beneath her ribs. "You’re fighting me," I murmur, my breath hot against her skin. "You don’t have to."
Her jaw tightens. "I am not—"
"You are." I press another kiss to her hip, my fingers tracing higher, slipping beneath the last barrier of fabric. "Let me."
She exhales sharply, her claws twitching against the sheets, but she doesn’t stop me.
I lift my head, meeting her gaze, holding it. "Trust me," I whisper. "Let me make you feel good."
A long silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken things. Then, finally, she releases a slow breath, her hands shifting, no longer gripping the sheets in restraint, but resting against my shoulders, steady, warm.
She exhales slowly, the tension in her body shifting, something flickering in those emerald depths—uncertainty, trust, something raw and unspoken. Then, after a long moment, she gives a single, slow nod.
A challenge. A surrender. A promise all in one.
"Good," I murmur, a wicked smile curving my lips. "Now, let me show you how good surrender can feel."
And gods above, I do.
My mouth meets her slick heat, tasting her, feasting on her.
Nyxara cries out, her hands flying to my head, gripping my hair tight.
I moan against her, letting my tongue swirl, press, stroke—tasting the heat of her, the intoxicating mix of embers and something uniquely her, something rich and dark, something that sparks against my tongue like fire meeting the tide. She is molten, scorching, and I drink her in, savoring the way she shudders beneath me.
My tentacles join in, teasing, probing, one of them slipping inside, stretching her open, coaxing another gasp from her lips.
She bucks, her thighs trembling around me, her claws raking against my scalp.
"Fuck—Vaela—!"
I hum against her, the vibration making her jolt, her entire body tightening as I consume her completely.
"You like this?" I murmur against her. "Being taken like this?"
Her breath is ragged, her body quivering, pleasure winding so tight it’s about to snap.
"Tell me, Dragon Queen," I purr, my fingers joining my tentacle, stretching her open, filling her, moving in perfect rhythm.
Her walls clench around me, her whole body shaking, her back arching off the bed as she shatters.
I don’t stop.
I drag it out, drinking in the way she writhes, the way her voice breaks, the way she moans my name like a prayer and a curse all at once. My tongue strokes her through the aftershocks, my fingers still deep inside her, coaxing every last pulse of pleasure from her trembling body.
And when the spasms finally begin to slow, when her chest heaves with every desperate breath, I let my magic ebb, withdrawing my power like a tide retreating from the shore. My tentacles dissipate, curling back into me like mist vanishing beneath the sun, leaving only my hands, my mouth, and the lingering heat of my touch.
I lift my head, licking my lips, my fingers still inside her, my nails trailing one final teasing scrape along her inner thigh.
Nyxara glares at me, sated yet furious.
"Don’t look at me like that," I croon. "You loved it."
She pants, her emerald eyes still hazy with bliss, but there is something else there too. Something dangerous .
She shifts, suddenly, fast , knocking me onto my back, pinning me beneath her. Her lips curving, slow and deadly.
"You should run, siren," she murmurs, her claws dragging down my body.
I smirk, tilting my chin. "And if I like the chase?"
"Then you are truly doomed."
Her emerald eyes darken, molten with hunger, with something raw and consuming that steals the breath from my lungs. A slow, wicked smirk curves her lips, sharp as a blade, a predator reveling in the certainty of her claim.
Then she takes me.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until I am nothing but a trembling, gasping offering beneath her hands. Until her name is the only thing I remember how to say, and her fire has scorched itself into my bones, leaving no part of me untouched.
Until I belong to her. To the Dragon Queen.