Warriors of Wind and Ash - Page 99

I shiver again. Kyreagan starts to put his arm around me, then hesitates. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

He leads me outside onto the parapet, where he hands me his clothes and shifts into dragon form. We take off from there and glide over the forests of spiked rocks and plains of black stone, until Kyreagan seems satisfied with our location.

“Stand here, on this ridge,” he tells me.

I stay put, rubbing my chilled arms as he prowls down the slope to the bottom of the valley, where the ancient lava flow hardened in ripples of ebony rock.

Under the overcast sky, with his black scales and spikes, Kyreagan blends into the landscape almost perfectly. His yellow eyes blink at me to make sure I’m watching. Then he faces the length of the valley, and a river of fire pours from his jaws. The heat is so intense I can feel waves of it from where I stand.

Kyreagan roars, flames shooting from his mouth, and the black rock beneath his feet begins to glow amber. With another burst of his magic, the rocks themselves seem to melt, and rivulets of orange lava trickle through the dark ground.

The texture of the slow, oozing lava fascinates me. It swells, rich and thick and molten, and along the bright glowing edges it holds intense color, deep purple or blue, before it fades to chalky black again.

Kyreagan shifts to human form and stands there, beautiful and naked and powerful, his black hair flowing behind him and his horns glimmering with traces of his fiery magic. He’s motionless, glorious, surveying the flaming destruction he wrought.

I can’t bear being this far from him, not after everything. I need to be touching him so I’ll know he’s real, that all of this is real, that I’m not feverish and hallucinating deep in some infested dungeon, waiting for Rahzien to come and give me a drink of water laced with poison….

I can feel myself going deeper into my head, into a dangerous and frightening place, so I halt that course of thought, and I pick my way cautiously down into the valley, avoiding any fiery spots or trickles of lava, until I reach my dragon prince.

“I told you to stay on the ridge,” he says, with a half-smile.

“You knew I wouldn’t listen. At least not for long. When do I ever do as I’m told?” Forcing a smile, I hand over his clothes. He pull the pants on and fastens them, but before he gets the shirt all the way on, I stop him. My palm presses to his skin… his hot, smooth, perfect skin. He’s still bruised and scraped in a few places, and there’s a seam of dried blood on the right side of his lower lip, but he’s whole. He’s safe.

My fingers glide over his chest.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper. “And you looked like a king just now. Not the Bone-King, maybe, but a king nonetheless. And a king needs a crown.”

I remove the silver band from my hair and exert a little pressure, bending it ever so slightly wider so it will fit Kyreagan. I set it above his brow, with the silver swirls arching back beyond his temples.

“It suits you,” I say softly. “Better than it ever did me. Ky, I don’t want to take my mother’s place. I can’t think of anything I want less than ruling Elekstan, honestly. The people are free of Rahzien, and I’m happy to let Meridian and the rebels take it from here. Let them set up a government of their choosing, or none at all.”

“So you’d rather not be a queen?” His face is sober, his gaze uncertain.

“No. But I don’t mind being the life-mate of a king.” I slide my left hand around the back of his neck, delighting in the silken flow of his hair beneath my fingers. “As long as that king is part human, part dragon, and completely, obsessively, ridiculously in love with me.”

“I think I know someone like that,” he murmurs. His claws disappear, and one of his hands glides along my arm, while the other presses warmly against my waist. “But living with me on Ouroskelle won’t be easy. Our clan is new to being shifters, and our way of life will have to change accordingly. Things may be difficult and confusing for a while. The work of discovering ourselves and raising the next generation will not be easy.”

“All the more reason for me to be there and help you. I’ve never been afraid of hard work.”

“Though when I first captured you, you wanted me to believe otherwise.” His dark eyes sparkle, and he attempts to mimic my voice. “‘Dragon, bring me soap, and a towel, and a cup of fucking tea!’”

His shrill fake voice is too much. I’m laughing so hard I have to let go of him, and I double over, holding my stomach, wheezing with laughter. He laughs too, a deep, rich sound that’s so contagious I can’t stop until there are tears in my eyes and my sides hurt.

“Oh god,” I gasp finally, gripping his arm for support as I stand upright again. “That felt so good.”

“So fucking good,” repeats Kyreagan. Amber sparks glitter hotly in his dark eyes, and my heart flutters at the warmth, the deep affection, the desire in his gaze.

The fire in the valley has died out, and the molten rocks are cooling again, though an orange glow still mingles with the blue mist from the ash-roses. Kyreagan spewed an incredible amount of fire across the landscape, and he did it after burning several Vohrainians in the market square, too.

“How do you feel?” I ask. “You once told me that if you use too much fire, it takes a while for you to recharge. Do you feel—empty?”

“Not at all,” he replies. “It was satisfying. I’d been saving it up for Rahzien, so I needed somewhere to put it. And ever since you and I started fucking, my magic has been stronger.”

“Then it’s true. Being active during mating season strengthens a dragon’s magic. Do you think Fortunix’s magic has lessened, since he spent the season alone?”

“Most likely.” Kyreagan’s expression darkens. “I’d rather not hear his name again, Serylla.”

“Of course. Though I do wonder where he went.”