The morning after the dream left me raw. My skin felt too tight, my limbs too aware. Every breath carried the phantom touch of him—his hands, his mouth, his voice. Even though I had woken alone, a part of me remained tethered to him in that space between dreaming and waking.
The mark on my neck had deepened overnight. No longer just a bruise or bite, it pulsed with a soft golden glow that shimmered faintly beneath my skin. I tried to cover it with my hair, but it burned when I touched it, like it resented being hidden.
I should have been ashamed. I had been taught obedience, silence, modesty. A slave's place was to serve—not to burn with need, not to cry out in pleasure, especially not for a creature like him.
But there was no shame in me now. Only confusion. And an aching hunger I couldn't silence.
I wasn't alone for long.
The door opened with a groan, and in walked a woman.
She was tall and cloaked in midnight blue. Silver tattoos ran along her throat and down her hands, symbols I didn't recognize. She carried a bowl of steaming water and a folded black dress. Her eyes met mine, unreadable.
"You'll bathe. The king has summoned you."
I froze. "Why?"
She gave no answer, only gestured toward the basin. Her gaze flicked to the glowing mark on my neck. For a heartbeat, I thought I saw pity in her eyes.
"He won't harm you," she said. "Unless you give him reason."
---
The dress was made of shadow—lightweight, sheer, and far too revealing. It clung to my hips and chest, leaving my back bare and the tops of my thighs exposed. There were no shoes.
The woman didn't follow me as I was led through the halls by a silent, armored male. The palace pulsed with ancient magic—veins of fire glowed under glassy obsidian, and I passed murals of dragons locked in battles that painted the ceilings with blood and flame.
Finally, we came to a massive archway flanked by two burning braziers. The heat struck me like a slap.
He stood at the center of the chamber—bare-chested, wings folded, eyes locked on mine like I was prey.
"Come," he said.
My feet moved before my brain could think. I stepped inside the chamber, swallowed by heat, shadow, and him.
"I felt you last night," he said, voice low. "Your dreams opened the bond."
My lips parted. "It wasn't real."
He stalked toward me slowly. "Wasn't it?"
I didn't move. Couldn't.
"I marked you," he said. "You bear my flame now. You've tasted the beginning of what you are."
"What I am?"
He circled me. I could feel the heat of his body, the gravity of his power like a tide pulling at my soul.
"You're not just a vessel, little flame."
He paused behind me, fingers ghosting down my spine.
"You're a fireborn. The last of a dying line."
The room spun.
"I'm not—I'm no one. A servant."
"No," he growled. "You were born for this. Born to burn. Born to belong to me."
His mouth found the mark again. I cried out, heat exploding through my veins.
My skin lit up—literally. Fire flickered along my arms, dancing from my fingers like living flame.
I screamed.
But he didn't move away. He gripped my shoulders and forced me to face a tall, rune-carved mirror.
"Look."
I saw myself—eyes glowing with fire, flames licking across my collarbone and hips. My pulse raced. I was a lantern of heat and color, no longer a shadow.
"I can't control it—"
"You can. You will."
He turned me around, pressed my back against the mirror. His lips hovered just above mine.
"You're not prey anymore."
My knees buckled. He caught me.
"You're mine. That fire inside you? It woke because of me."
I believed him. Gods help me—I believed him.
His hand curled around my waist, possessive and firm. He leaned down, nose brushing mine.
"But I won't take you yet. Not until you beg me with your fire."
And then he stepped back, wings flaring.
"Learn to control it. Or it will consume you."
---
I was thrown into training.
The woman with silver tattoos—her name was Sereth—became my teacher. She taught me to hold fire in my hands, to call it, shape it, bury it beneath my skin.
"It's tied to emotion," she said. "The dragon king's touch awakened it. But now it feeds on your desires. Your fear. Your hunger."
Every night I dreamed of him. Every night I woke burning.
Every day I learned to shape that fire.
Weeks passed. My body grew stronger. My confidence, sharper. My fire, more deadly.
And every time he saw me, Vaerion's eyes darkened with something close to… worship. And rage.
He wanted me. But he waited.
Because he knew what was coming.
Because I was no longer weak.
I was fire.
And I would soon be ready to burn the world beside him.