Gamble swallows. “And if Idolike it?”
My control snaps. I kiss him.
It’s not gentle. It’s five years of loneliness, a lifetime of restraint, the roar of a dragon who’s found his hoard.
Gamble gasps into my mouth, fingers tangling in my hair. He tastes like snow and honey andmine. I angle his head, deepen the kiss, swallow his moan. My hand slides down his side, careful of the bandage, to grip his hip. He arches into me, submissive and perfect.
I break the kiss before I lose myself entirely.
“Rule two,” I growl against his lips. “No more secrets. You tell meeverything. Or I’ll spank it out of you.”
His laugh is breathless. “Promise?”
I nip his lower lip. “Brat.”
Gamble grins, wicked and bright. “Yourbrat.”
The words sear into me like a brand. I kiss him again, slower this time, savoring. My dragon settles, content for the first time in decades.
A distant howl shatters the moment. Night Hounds. Closer than before.
I pull back, every sense on alert.
“They’ve circled the village,” I warn. “Tracking the stone.”
Gamble’s face pales. “They’ll burn everything to get it.”
“Not while I breathe.” I stand, stride to the weapon rack. “Stay here. Lock the door behind me.”
“No,” Gamble protests. He’s off the cot, swaying but determined. “I’m not hiding while you fight my battles.”
“Gamble—”
“I’m not useless, Sarak.” He grabs his tunic, winces as he pulls it on. “Elf magic. Illusions. Distractions. I can help.”
I want to argue.
I want to bundle him back into bed and stand guard. But the fire in his eyes stops me. This isn’t a fledgling. This is a warrior.
“Fine,” I say. “But you stay behind me. You follow my lead. Break formation, and Iwilltan your hide later.”
He salutes with mock seriousness. “Yes,Daddy.”
I groan. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Only if Revaster gets there first.”
I grab my sword, buckle it on. Gamble retrieves the fire stone, slipping the chain over his neck. The moment it touches his skin, the pulsing resumes—faster, hungrier. He grits his teeth but doesn’t falter.
We step into the night.
The village square is empty, lanterns swaying in the wind. Snow falls thick and silent. I scent the air—six hunters, maybe seven. Warlocks among them. They’re fanning out, searching.
Gamble’s hand finds mine. “Plan?”
“You create a decoy. I take the real stone and lead them away. You get the villagers to the cellar under the tavern—there’s a tunnel to the river.”
He squeezes my fingers. “And you?”
