Cedric snorted, a hot gust of air hitting Finn square in the face.
Finn coughed, half-laughing despite himself. “Yeah, yeah. Seems unlikely to come true at this point. But I wanted to tell you what it was.”
The pupils in Cedric’s eyes contracted—inhuman, predatory.
“I wished for more nights like that,” Finn whispered. “More time with you.”
The dragon huffed, a great exhale that stirred Finn’s hair. His wings twitched, tail curling—not in a strike, but in something almost thoughtful. Finn swallowed hard, hope rising like a tide. Gods, was this working?
Cedric’s muscles coiled, talons flexing against the sand.
The thread between them stretched. One more pull and it would snap.
Finn swallowed hard, his voice little more than a whisper. “So, you know. If you could not roast me alive right now, that’d be a good start.”
And just like that, it was gone.
The dragon’s pupils narrowed to slits. His fangs bared. A sound—not quite a growl, not quite a snarl—rumbled through his chest, and then he moved.
Finn had just enough time to suck in a breath before the world came crashing down. With a rumbling bellow that shook the arena, Cedric lunged.
Finn braced himself, every muscle in his body taut. He snatched up his shield and raised it to absorb another impact. The collision was cataclysmic—scales against steel, raw power against fragile flesh. The force sent Finn hurtling backward, his body weightless for half a second before crashing into the sand.
The enchantments woven into his armor flared to life, softening the worst of the impact. Even so, pain erupted everywhere at once, blooming sharp and hot as he skidded across the arena floor. His armor scraped against the coarse grit, metal screeching, bones jarring.
Blood filled his mouth, a nauseating warmth against his tongue. His whole body screamed stay down, but Finn had never been great at listening to advice—even from himself.
Get up. Move. Or you’re dead.
With a groan that was equal parts agony and defiance, he forced himself upright. His legs shook, his lungs burned, his breath came in short gasps, but he was still standing.
“I know you’re in there, Cedric,” he panted, swiping a shaking hand across his mouth, smearing blood at the corner of his lips. His body felt like a warhorse had stomped on him. Or, more accurately, a very large, very pissed-off dragon.
Another step. Another breath. He had to keep talking. Had to keep pulling Cedric back.
“I know you can hear me,” he rasped, wincing as the effort sent another stab of pain through his chest. “Any chance we could go five minutes without you knocking the breath out of me? I know you don’t enjoy talking about your big, bad secret, but I think we’re past that.”
Every word scraped like glass in his throat, but he pushed through it. He had to.
Cedric snorted, another gust of hot breath washing over Finn.
Finn let out a wheezing laugh, barely holding himself upright. “See? You do hear me.” His vision swam, the world tilting, but he held firm. “Please,” his voice cracked, “come back to me.”
The dragon froze.
For one agonizing heartbeat, Finn thought he might have won.
The world was red. Hunger and fury and fire.
The rich scent of blood filled the dragon’s lungs, calling him forward. The prey stood before him, chittering like a squirrel. He prowled closer, savoring the scent of sweat, the way his quarry trembled, the way its pulse beat a frantic rhythm—weak, erratic.
Mine.
The fire deep in his throat burned. It was time to finish this.
“You don’t want to do this, Cedric. And I sure as hell don’t want to fight you.” The prey stared up at him, still bleeding. And somehow, defiant.
The name cracked through the dragon’s mind like a hammer striking glass. He reared back with wings flared, shaking his head as if to dislodge something burrowing inside his skull.
