A charged chuckle ripples through the assembly. The ground thrums louder.
My thumb traces the hinge of her jaw. “And she’s terrible at obedience.”
Alana’s teeth graze my calloused fingertip. “You’d die of boredom if I wasn’t.”
The hunter lunges, dagger drawn. I don’t bother turning.
She disarms him with a med-tech’s precision—pressure points, a twist, his blade clattering against her boot. “I’ll return this,” she says sweetly, “after I sterilize it. Foreign pathogens, you understand.”
The city’s pulse syncs with ours as I drag her against me. My lips find the shell of her ear. “Mine.”
Her nails dig into the scars along my neck. “Only if you’re mine.”
The challenge ignites me. I crush her mouth to mine, all teeth and desperation. Her moan vibrates through my bones. The clearing’s braziers flare, bathing us in gold.
When we break apart, her swollen lips glisten. “Well,” she pants, nodding toward the stunned crowd. “Still think I’m the delicate one?”
Vekar slams his staff. “This filth desecrates?—”
Alana whirls, her braid slicing the air like a whip. “Your filtration system runs on my desecration. Breathe your next insult through a ventilator if you prefer tradition.”
Silence.
I flex my hand against her hip, the glow beneath our skin brightening. “Council will reconvene at dusk. Bring grievances. Bring proof.” My stare lands on the southern hunter, still cradling his wrist. “Or bring better blades.”
Alana’s laugh is wildfire—bright, dangerous, alive. The stones hum their approval.
The southern hunter'sblade gleams at Alana's feet. I step over it, leathers creaking. "Your steel's duller than your threats, Kevra."
Alana's fingers curl around my bicep, anchoring. "Give him a medical waiver. Poor reflexes suggest neurological damage."
Laughter erupts from the northern smiths. Even Elder Vekar's second-in-command hides a smirk behind scaled knuckles.
I seize the momentum, hauling Alana against me. Our joined glow intensifies, casting jagged shadows across the council dais. "You want to debate her qualifications?" My palm slams against the resonance stone embedded in the central pillar. The city's pulse thrums through my bones, syncing with the rhythm of her breath against my collarbone. "Argue with Paragon."
The ground shudders. Fracture lines spiderweb across centuries-old tiles.
Alana's nails bite into my wrist. "Careful. Your dramatic flair's overloading the seismic dampeners."
"Then give them something better to absorb." I spin her, her back pressing against my chest. My forearm locks across her torso, branding her to me. Her pulse races under my grip—not fear. Never fear. Anticipation.
Elder Vekar rises, staff trembling. "This human poisons?—"
Alana tilts her head, all false innocence. "What's the Baktu punishment for perjury? Oh right—mandatory colonoscopy equivalents. Shall I prep the scopes?"
A young healer from the eastern clan chokes on his ceremonial wine.
I tighten my hold, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. "Stop charming my enemies."
"Stop hoarding all the fun." She arches, her ass grinding against the undeniable proof of my restraint fraying. "You're glowing, chief."
"So are you."
The observation cracks something in my chest. Her reinforced medic's gear now pulses with faint amber light whereour bodies meet—Jalshagar energy seeping through synth-fabric barriers.
A clan leader from the western mesa steps forward, his scaled armor clattering. "If she's truly bonded, let her pass the Bloodrite."
Murmurs swell. Alana tenses.
