The certainty in her voice, the absolute lack of hesitation, cracks something in my chest. She's not running. She's not fleeing back to the mainland. She's standing in my cave, touching me like I'm not dangerous, planning to fight an immortal phoenix.
Every instinct I have demands I claim her. Now.
"You're human." I force the words out past the claiming urge. "Mortal. Fragile. You don't heal from wounds the way we do. You can't fight Mikhail."
"Neither can you, apparently." She doesn't pull her hand away. "You've been trying for centuries and he's still alive."
"Because I didn't finish it. I broke him. Destroyed his compound. Left him bleeding. But I couldn't deliver the killing blow." The truth scrapes out. "Saoirse was already dead. Killinghim wouldn't bring her back. Revenge felt empty when all I wanted was her."
"And now?"
"Now he's threatened you. Tried to use you as bait. Cut you to power a ritual that would have drained my essence. This isn't about revenge anymore. It's about stopping him before he takes someone else I care about. There's nothing left of the friend he used to be. Just the enemy who needs to die."
Her hand slides to my chest, palm pressing over my heart where it hammers. "So we kill him. You bring the dragon fire. I'll bring the disruption tactics."
"You disrupted the ritual." The acknowledgment comes easier than expected. "Kicked the brazier, broke the circle, saved my life."
"I'm a field scientist. I know how to observe patterns and disrupt them when necessary." Her fingers spread across my chest, and my control starts to fray. "Besides, you were walking into a trap to save me. Returning the favor seems fair."
She hasn't been dragged into a supernatural war that should have stayed buried in my past. She's walked into it with her eyes open, looked at me like I'm worth fighting for instead of a monster who brings death to everything he touches.
My hands come up to frame her face, tilting it so I can see her eyes clearly in the bioluminescent glow.
"If you stay, Mikhail will target you. Use you against me. Kill you to prove his point."
"I understand." No hesitation. "I stand and fight. I help kill him. And I choose you."
The last words shatter what's left of my control.
I kiss her.
Not gentle. Not soft. This is claiming and possession and centuries of loneliness breaking against the reality of her mouth under mine. She gasps and I take advantage, deepening the kiss,tasting her. Salt from dried tears. Copper from where she bit her lip during the ritual. The faint sweetness beneath that's purely Lila, purely mate, purely mine.
Heat explodes through me. Not dragon fire. Something deeper. More primal. The bond recognizing its other half and screaming yes, finally, her.
Her hands slide up my chest and I feel the touch through the borrowed shirt like it's burned away. Every point of contact sends electricity racing under my skin. When her fingers curl into my shoulders, nails digging in through fabric, the small bite of pain makes me growl low in my throat.
She rises on her toes, kissing me back with an intensity that matches my own. No hesitation. No fear. Just raw want that crashes against mine and amplifies it. Her mouth opens under mine and I groan at the taste of her, at the way her tongue meets mine with bold strokes that say she's done being careful, done holding back.
The bond locks into place.
It's not gentle. Not a whisper or a soft click. It's a thunderclap that reverberates through my entire being. Magic surges through me, ancient and undeniable, rewriting something fundamental in my chest. The mate bond doesn't ask permission. It takes. It claims. It brands.
Mine.
The word blazes through me with the force of dragon fire. My dragon roars it, primal and possessive. The man believes it with every fiber of rational thought. And underneath both, the bond itself pulses with absolute certainty.
I can feel her through it now. Not just her body pressed against mine but her. The racing of her heart. The spike of adrenaline mixing with desire. The way heat pools low in her belly, matching the fire building in mine. She's not fighting theconnection. She's leaning into it, opening herself to the bond with the same fierce determination she brings to everything.
My hands slide from her face to her waist, pulling her flush against me. Every curve melds to muscle and the contact isn't enough. Will never be enough. I need her closer. Need to eliminate every millimeter of space between us. Need to feel her skin against mine without the barrier of clothing.
She makes a sound low in her throat—half moan, half whimper—and the noise goes straight to my groin. My hands tighten on her waist, grip probably too hard, but she doesn't pull away. Instead her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging hard enough to sting, pulling me closer like she can't get enough either.
The kiss turns desperate. All teeth and tongue and barely controlled need. I bite her lower lip, not hard enough to break skin but enough to make her gasp. She retaliates by scraping her nails down the back of my neck, the sharp sensation making my dragon surge beneath my skin, demanding I shift, claim, mark.
I break the kiss before instinct overrides reason completely.
We're both breathing hard. Her pupils are blown wide, nearly eclipsing the brown of her eyes. Her lips are swollen and wet, parted as she drags in air. There's a flush spreading down her throat, disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt, and I want to follow it with my mouth. Want to taste every inch of skin. Want to bite down where her neck meets her shoulder and complete the claiming that's screaming through my veins.
