When Doryan was around five, a patrol of our warriors had found him and his mother camped high in the mountains. She was an exile from the Barrens, cast out for being caught with a Tyrian soldier who’d slipped past our borders. When our warriorsapproached, she panicked, not believing their claims of harmless intent. Desperate to save herself, she shoved Doryan into the campfire as she made a run for it.
She didn’t get far.
They brought Doryan back to the Hollow, treated his burns, and gave him a home. A lieutenant took him in, and we’d been best friends ever since.
“Still here?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow as he shook off the pain, flashing me that familiar, resilient grin.
“Still here,” he replied, his voice rich with pride. For all his scars, both seen and unseen, Doryan’s spirit was something even fire couldn’t burn away.
I’ve always believed Doryan’s past was why Yorro chose him as his rider. We were sparring under a bright blue sky, the sun streaming down, when a shadow suddenly darkened the light. A massive green-scaled belly covered the sky as Yorro descended, his landing shaking the ground and flattening three huts nearby. I had leapt out of the way, but Doryan didn’t flinch. He stood firm, jaw set, as if he knew that if fire couldn’t kill him the first time, it wouldn’t kill him now.
Yorro loomed over him, his enormous eyes narrowed as he assessed Doryan’s steady stance. Then, in a move that made my heart lurch, the dragon opened his jaws and unleashed a torrent of flames, engulfing my best friend in fiery heat. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I watched as the flames consumed him—but instead of turning to ash, Doryan stood unwavering. The fire that had once scarred him now solidified the bond between them, leaving behind a distinctive crimson pattern on his back. Yorro’s flames marked him, not with burns but with protection, granting him resilience against fire as much as any human could have.
That day, Doryan became more than a survivor—he became a dragon rider.
We squared off for another round when a voice cut through the air.
“Fitzroy.”
Doryan’s gaze shifted over my shoulder, and I sighed without turning. “I’m busy,” I called, keeping my focus locked on my opponent.
“It’s Scarlet.”
The wicked grin spread across my face before I even turned. I pivoted slowly to face Rhodes Wylder, who stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed, exuding that infuriating air of authority. The sun caught him just right, outlining the sharp angles of his jaw and setting his eyes ablaze. His expression was unreadable, but his posture said it all—this wasn’t a request.
Smug. Arrogant. Just like his father.
“Relationship problems already, Wylder?” I drawled, raising a brow. Behind me, Doryan stifled a laugh.
Rhodes didn’t flinch.
I smirked, leaning into the moment. “If it’s just her looks you’re after, I’m a spitting image. My bed’s open.” I winked for good measure.
“Pass.”
The clipped response was so quick it might have stung if I hadn’t noticed the tension radiating off him. His jaw flexed, his stance rigid. I could practically feel the frustration simmering beneath his skin.
I tilted my head, popping a hip as my eyes drifted down my own frame. “Literally identical,” I mused, dragging the words out. “See? Even down toour—”
“Pass,” he repeated.
I clicked my tongue, wagging a finger at him. “If you’d let me finish,” I said, my eyes lighting up with feigned enthusiasm. “I have afantasticidea. We could go back to my place, and you could practice your moves on me. That way, when your girlfriend finally lets you in, you might actually know how to satisfy her next time.”
Rhodes stepped forward, his nostrils flaring as a spark of rage lit a fire in his eyes. His hand shot up, hovering for a moment as though he might choke me. I couldn’t help my reaction—I giggled. My gaze flicked down to his hand as he hesitated, then clenched it and folded it stiffly behind his back.
“Ah,” I drawled, a smirk tugging at my lips. “I have a hard time submitting in the bedroom, but for mylovingsister, I suppose I could make an exception.”
“Are you always this big of a—” Rhodes growled, but Doryan’s sharp voice cut him off.
“Watch it.”
The shift was immediate. Rhodes snapped his gaze to Doryan, his expression flickering with restraint. He stepped back, straightening his posture. His chin tilted upward, the move deliberate as if to reassert control. He regarded me with the same haughty, piercing stare, looking down his nose.
But then Rhodes shifted. His shoulders dropped slightly as he lowered his chin, his gaze falling to the ground between us. He let out a deep, controlled breath before lifting his eyes back to mine. His gaze was softer now, not sharp or commanding. They were pleading.
“Please,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “She needs someone, and it isn’t me.”
An unfamiliar and unwelcome emotion stirred in my chest. It was fleeting, but it loosened the tightness in my shoulders, leaving me momentarily unguarded. I forced myself to push it away, to pull the walls back up.
