Azalea
I held my breath. Even the blizzard outside seemed to quiet, as if the world itself was waiting for Zaydon's next words.
Did he know what I meant? The why left unspoken could have given him a way to deflect, to sidestep the truth I needed. But of course he knew. He always knew. He knew me better than anyone else ever had, and I hated that even now, some part of me clung to that understanding.
I hadn't asked the question to trap him. I had asked to test this fragile new truce between us. Would he cross the bridge I offered, or would he burn it like he had so many others?
He had given me back a small piece of my control tonight, and I wanted to give him something too, even if it scared me. A chance. A sliver of possibility. Maybe it was foolish, but the truth was, the anger that had fueled me for so long had begun to twist into something else. I wasn't sure when it started, but it had tightened around my heart like a noose, leaving behind a terrible, undeniable craving for what we once had. For him.
Behind me, I heard him swallow thickly. A raw, almost pained sound. His arm tightened around my waist, tugging me closer, until I could feel the steady, heated thud of his heart against my back. For a single heartbeat, I let myself relax into it. Pretend, just for a moment, that this—this warmth, this closeness—was how it was always supposed to be.
"Az—" His voice cracked, rough with something that sounded suspiciously like fear. He cleared his throat and corrected himself. "Azalea. I want to tell you everything. Gods, you have no idea how much I want to just tell you… but I can't."
I turned sharply to face him, my body reacting faster than my brain. The movement was jerky, angry. I glared up at him, brows drawn tight together, and for a second, all the old fury flared in my chest.
Damn him. Why did he always have to ruin everything?
I opened my mouth to snap something back, but his hand lifted, and two calloused fingers pressed gently against my lips. I froze, the world narrowing to the rough texture of his touch against the softness of my mouth, the heat radiating off his skin.
Slowly, my gaze dropped, tracing the strong column of his throat where it bobbed with tension, the sharp edge of his jaw, the slight bruising of his lips still swollen from earlier. My heart stuttered, and I forced my eyes higher, catching the faint scar across the bridge of his nose—the one I had accidentally given him when we were kids, sparring too rough.
And then, finally, I met his eyes.
Gods, they were beautiful. As green and wild as a deep forest, the gold near-blinding this close, like he had stolen sunlight itself and forged it into something that burned behind his gaze. A faint rim of red lingered around the edges, barely visible, a quiet reminder of the dragon that lived beneath his skin.
His arm wrapped around my lower back, pulling me even closer, pressing every inch of me to the hard, unyielding strength of him. He was desperate. I could feel it, the way he clung to me, as if even the thought of emotional distance was unbearable.
"Az," he said again, voice low, rough, almost broken. "Please. Just… listen. Don't talk. Let me do this."
I searched his face, feeling the tremor running through his muscles, the thundering rhythm of his heart. Slowly, I nodded.
His hand dropped from my lips, sliding back to cradle my head, anchoring me to him with a tenderness that made my throat tighten painfully. His eyes closed briefly, as if gathering strength, and when he spoke again, his voice was hoarse.
"When I took the Dragon's Bond," he began, "I was given—" He broke off, gasping, his entire body jerking violently against mine.
Panic punched through me. I tried to sit up, but his arms tightened, holding me in place, and he shook his head fiercely.
"You promised," he rasped, sweat beading on his forehead, muscles trembling.
I froze, heart hammering in my chest, unsure what to do. My hand moved on instinct, lifting to gently cup his cheek, my thumb stroking the sharp line of his cheekbone. His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into the touch like a drowning man.
"I was given an ultimatum," he whispered after a moment, voice shaking. "By the people who did the spell."
I looked down—and nearly choked on a gasp.
His bare chest was glowing, cracks of molten red and orange spiderwebbing across his skin, steam hissing softly into the cold air. It looked like he was breaking apart, burning from the inside out.
Fear surged through me, sharp and blinding.
I reached for him, but he caught my wrist tightly, stopping me before I could touch the glowing fissures.
"Zay," I whispered, horrified, "what's happening to you?"
He didn't answer right away. His thumb stroked steady circles against my pulse, trying to calm me even as his own body betrayed him. After a few ragged breaths, the fiery cracks slowly receded, the glow fading until only smooth, overheated skin remained.
"The spell was modified," he said finally. "I can't talk about who did it, or why I accepted it. If I try to tell you…" His throat bobbed. "It activates. It burns me alive."
A cold chill ran down my spine, colder than the snowstorm raging outside.
He tugged me closer again, until I was practically lying on top of him, and even through my clothes, his body radiated heat like a living forge. His hands stroked soothing patterns along my spine, giving me time to breathe.
"What was that?" I asked hoarsely, my fists tightening against his chest.
He took another shaky breath.
"The consequence," he said quietly. "The punishment if I break the rules of the bond."
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to process it. Gods, the cruelty of it. Who would force that on him?
My fists clenched tighter, and Zaydon lifted a hand to cup my jaw, tilting my face back up to meet his gaze.
"Azalea," he said, his voice breaking apart, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I was too much of a coward to explain. I should have told you everything, even if it killed me."
His hand shook slightly where it cradled me.
"I just needed you," he whispered. "That night, after I took the bond—I needed you because I knew I was going to lose you. And Az… you're the only person who has ever truly grounded me."
The first tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. He caught it with his thumb, brushing it away like it physically pained him to see me cry.
"Az," he said, voice hoarse, "if there's anything you can be sure of in this world, it's that my breath, my heart, my soul… they all beat for you. You are my sun. Without you, there is no life. No warmth. Nothing."
I bit down hard on my lip, struggling to keep myself together.
"There is almost nothing I wouldn't do if you asked it," he continued, voice rough and desperate. He grabbed my hand, pressing it flat against his chest, over the frantic beat of his heart. "Want me to drive a sword through my own heart? I will. Want me to never touch you again? I'll bind my hands forever. Want me to bleed, or make others bleed for you? My blade is yours."
I sucked in a shaky breath, overwhelmed.
"You have undeniable power over me, Azalea," he whispered. "You always have. I will be whatever you need… so long as you are mine."
I didn't realize I was trembling until he kissed my palm, then framed his face between my hands.
"I don't expect you to forgive me instantly," he said, voice breaking. "But please… give me a chance to earn it."
A sharp ache tore through my chest. Relief and heartbreak warred inside me.
I stroked his cheekbones gently, breathing in the rough, smoky scent of him, the heat radiating off his skin.
"I need time," I whispered.
I watched him start to close off again, the walls going up. But I cupped his face firmly, refusing to let him retreat.
"But I'm willing to try," I added. "I'm willing to try to forgive you. I just need time. Can you give me that?"
Hope flickered in his eyes, so fierce it left me breathless.
"I meant what I said, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips brushing my fingers. "If time is what you want… then I will wait an eternity."
I laughed, wet and broken, but real.
"Are you going to be this dramatic every time I ask something of you?" I teased, trying to lighten the choking emotion between us.
He let my hands fall only to growl low in his throat and grab my hips, hauling me forward until I was fully straddling him.
The sudden shift stole the air from my lungs. My hands braced against his chest automatically, feeling the hard, steady thrum of his heart through my fingertips. His heat seeped into me, overwhelming and all-consuming.
"Only you," he said, his voice a dark, playful rumble, "could make me feel dramatic when I'm declaring myself before your altar, you little brat."
I giggled, unable to help it, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me. It felt foreign, unfamiliar, but gods, it felt good too. Before I could think twice, I flicked the sharp point of his ear with my finger.
He flinched, growling under his breath, and I grinned mischievously.
"Perhaps," I said sweetly, "you could ask the court jester when we return if he has any friends willing to let you partake in a play?"
His hands tightened on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh just enough to make my breath hitch.
The position wasn't lost on either of us. Straddling him like this, pressed so intimately together, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to the heated, charged space between us.
"I think I'll stick to my current role," he said, his voice dropping lower, sending a shiver down my spine. "How else would I have time to keep up with your bratty demands and still protect you?"
I narrowed my eyes, heart hammering.
"I am not a brat," I huffed, trying to ignore the way my body pressed into his with every tiny movement.
His dark brow arched, his grin widening to reveal sharp, glinting canines.
"Exactly what a brat would say."
I scowled, feeling the pout threaten to pull at my lips and hating that he was right. Again.
"How do you do that anyway?" I muttered, desperate to steer the conversation away from the heat pooling low in my belly.
He chuckled, the deep, rough sound vibrating through his chest beneath my palms. His fingers roamed lazily over my hips, possessive without even trying.
"This?" he said, smirking. "Changing the subject, sweetheart?"
I glared at him, but there was no venom behind it anymore. Not really.
"Answer the question, you overgrown gecko," I grumbled.
He laughed, a rich, throaty sound, and slid his hands up my sides, fingertips grazing my ribs.
"Be specific," he purred, mouth brushing so close to mine I could feel the words against my lips. "How do I do what?"
A light blush crept over my cheeks, and I cursed my body's betrayal.
He leaned up, mouth inches from mine, his breath fanning across my face.
"Breathe, princess," he whispered.
I sucked in a sharp breath and shoved at his shoulders, pressing him back into the mattress. He went willingly, laughing under his breath.
"Quit teasing," I muttered, but my voice lacked conviction.
He chuckled again, the sound low and intimate, stirring the already simmering heat between us.
"I meant," I said, gathering my courage, "how do you manage to be High Commander and still act as my protector? Those are two separate, massive responsibilities."
His hands stilled at my waist, grounding me.
"Riyal fills in where I can't," he said simply. "I trust him with my life. I can do a lot, Azalea, but I can't be in two places at once."
I lowered my gaze, tracing a slow, idle circle across his bare chest with one fingertip. His skin was so warm under my touch, like he carried a furnace inside him.
"You trust him then," I murmured. "Riyal."
"With my life," he answered without hesitation.
I flattened my hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
"Then can I ask," I said carefully, "why you acted like a complete neanderthal that day… the day we kissed before you took the bond?"
His body tensed beneath me. The red flared brighter in his eyes, his grip on my hips tightening just enough for me to feel the tremble of restraint.
"Because," he growled, voice rougher, "my life is nothing compared to yours. Without you, there is no me. I trust him with my life, not yours."
Something inside me twisted painfully.
"You shouldn't treat your life like it's worth less," I said, voice shaking with quiet anger. "It's not."
"It's the truth," he snapped back, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Besides, I didn't like how you were blushing while looking at him."
The red in his eyes bled into the gold, his pupils narrowing to slits.
"What was that, princess?" he demanded. "What did he do to make you blush like that?"
I couldn't help it.
I laughed.
"You were jealous," I said, the realization dawning like the first crack of sunlight through storm clouds.
He growled low in his throat and lifted one hand, gripping my chin between his fingers with a possessive strength that made my breath catch.
"Zaydon," I muttered, trying and failing to glare at him. "You're giving me emotional whiplash, you bastard."
"Answer," he demanded, the rumble of his voice vibrating against my chest. "I want to know what he did."
I sighed, cheeks heating.
"It's nothing he did," I mumbled.
His grip tightened slightly, not painful but firm, commanding.
"It's embarrassing," I muttered.
"Tell me, Azalea," he said, his voice a deep, gravelly growl now.
I swallowed thickly.
"I imagined..." I whispered, my face burning. "Something. And he saw it."
I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear.
"He said…" I cringed, forcing the words out. "He said virgins are the most amorous creatures."
For a second, there was silence.
Then he chuckled, a low, dangerous sound.
He leaned closer, his nose brushing the shell of my ear.
"I beg to differ," he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. "What kind of filthy things could a sweetheart like you imagine that rattled my second-in-command?"
I bit my bottom lip, mortified.
"I may have… imagined myself between you two," I muttered.
His entire body tensed. His nose flared, and in the next instant, he crushed his mouth to mine.
The kiss was savage, consuming, desperate. His tongue slid into my mouth, claiming, possessing, and I melted against him with a helpless moan.
"You're mine first," he growled against my lips, nipping sharply before flipping us, pinning me beneath him in one fluid, unstoppable movement.
The red in his eyes was almost pure now, the dragon beneath his skin surging forward.
"I'm not a possession, you possessive lizard," I gasped, even as my hands fisted in his hair.
One hand slid up from my belly, over the curve between my breasts, and finally curled carefully, deliberately, around my throat.
His grip was firm, sure, but not tight. It was possessive. Claiming. Reverent.
"To be mine," he said, voice a low, guttural growl, "doesn't mean you're an object. Objects can be replaced. You can't."
I stared up at him, heart hammering, chest heaving, caught in the raw, primal certainty in his gaze.
"Is this you," I whispered, threading my fingers through the short, damp hair at the side of his head, "or the beast talking?"
"Both," he murmured. "And his name is Shade. He doesn't like being called a beast."
I hummed softly, acknowledging the revelation, though my body trembled beneath his.
"And if I precede all else," I whispered, "what does it mean to be yours?"
Something shifted behind his eyes. Something ancient. Something raw.
"It's difficult to explain," he said. "You are mine in the same way my soul belongs to me. Mine in a way that surpasses time and mortality. Simply… mine."
I ran my hand down from his hair to his shoulder, grounding myself.
"I still need time, Zaydon," I said softly, the words catching on my tongue. "But maybe one day... maybe one day I'll let you show me what that truly means."
He tilted my chin up with a gentleness that broke me apart from the inside out.
"Alright, Az," he murmured, his forehead brushing against mine. "When you're ready... you tell me."
"And I'll show you."