He stepped toward her, his presence dominating the space, and she didn’t back down. Instead, she met his gaze, her green eyes alight with a challenge that only fueled his desire.
He reached for her, his hands firm but tender as he guided her to the edge of the bed. “Turn around,” he commanded gently, his voice a rumble that vibrated through her, and she obeyed without hesitation, her trust in him absolute.
She bent over the bed, her hands fisting the sheets and her breathing already uneven as she anticipated his next move.
He positioned himself behind her, his large hands gripping her hips as he pressed the tip of his hard cock against herentrance. She was already wet, her body ready for him, and he groaned low in his throat at the sensation.
“You feel amazing,” he said, his voice husky with need.
With one sharp thrust, he entered her, his cock filling her completely, stretching her in the most exquisite way. She cried out, her voice a mix of pleasure and relief, and he paused, giving her a moment to adjust.
“Tell me,” he demanded softly, his grip tightening on her hips. “Tell me how it feels.”
“So good,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “You’re so deep, Vaelrik.”
He began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one driving him deeper into her. Her inner walls clenched around him, her body welcoming him with a heat that threatened to undo him. He watched her, his gaze raking over her form, the way her back arched, the way her fingers clenched the sheets, and the way her ass moved in rhythm with his thrusts. The sight of her like this, so primal, so perfect, sent a surge of possessiveness through him.
“Serenya,” he growled, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re incredible.”
She moaned in response, her body pushing back against his, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. Pleasure echoed through the bond, doubled and mirrored back until he couldn’t tell where her pleasure ended and his began.
“Harder,” she begged, her voice a sultry plea that sent heat straight to his core. “Please, Vaelrik, harder.”
He obliged, his movements becoming more urgent and more intense. He pounded into her with a relentless rhythm, each thrust driving her closer to the edge. His hands moved to her breasts, cupping them, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in a way that had her crying out.
“Yes,” she moaned, her voice breaking. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”
Her moans were like music to his ears, each one a testament to the pleasure he was giving her. He could feel her body tightening around him, her climax building with every thrust.
“Come for me, Serenya,” he commanded, his voice raw with need.
Her body soon convulsed as her orgasm ripped through her, her cries echoing through the chamber. He could feel her inner walls clenching around him, the sensation pushing him over the edge. With a guttural groan, he came, his seed spilling deep inside her as his own pleasure rocked through him.
They collapsed onto the bed, their bodies tangled together, their breathing ragged. Vaelrik’s fingers traced the mate brand on her chest, the warmth of it a constant reminder of their bond. Her hand rested on his chest, right over his heart.
“I never thought I’d live long enough to feel peace,” he whispered, his voice soft, almost reverent.
She turned her head to look at him, her green eyes filled with a warmth that made his chest tighten. “You were always meant for more than survival,” she replied, her voice quiet but no less certain.
He reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender. “And you were always meant for me,” he said, the words a declaration, a truth he couldn’t deny.
The bond between them pulsed once, slow and sure, a silent affirmation of their sacred connection. For the first time in his life, Vaelrik slept with someone in his arms. And he slept deeply.
TWENTY-THREE
SERENYA
Serenya could hardly believe it had been a full month since they defeated the Shadowbinder, since Archon was exiled from the Dragon Council in disgrace, since she chose to become Vaelrik’s mate. The memory felt both ancient and immediate—like a dream that had reshaped itself into waking reality.
Cinderhollow moved now with the rhythm of a realm recovering from darkness. The lava canals glowed warmly beneath the afternoon sunlight, their crimson glow no longer ominous but welcoming, like the pulse of a healing heart. The sun itself seemed brighter than it had ever been, as if the shadow-plague’s defeat had scrubbed some invisible film from the sky.
Standing at the window of their new home—a modest stone house near the Obsidian Quarter that Vaelrik had quietly purchased without fanfare—Serenya adjusted the simple dress she’d chosen for their wedding ceremony. The fabric was cream-colored silk threaded with subtle lumen ward-sigils that shimmered when she breathed, a gift from the witch enclave that had reformed in the city’s outer district. The sigils weren’tjust decorative; they were protective, woven with intention and hope.
Through the glass, she watched the transformation that still amazed her daily. Witches walked openly across the Lava Bridge, no longer hunched or hurried, and no longer casting nervous glances over their shoulders. Where dragon guards had once patrolled with restriction and suspicion, now they exchanged respectful nods with the witches who passed. A young witch haggled cheerfully with a dragon merchant over the price of sigil ink. Children—both human and dragonborn—played together in the square, their laughter echoing off the obsidian walls.
The relationship between dragon shifters and witches wasn’t perfect. Centuries of fear and hatred didn’t dissolve overnight. But it was becoming more civilized and more equal. Witches were no longer conscripted servants or tools to be used. They were choosing their own paths, their own alliances, and their own futures.
Serenya sensed the fragile but real shift in the air like a change in atmospheric pressure. Peace wasn’t perfect, but it was taking root in the cracks of the old order, growing stronger each day.
