Page 26 of Ashfall
"Then let her burn with you," Kade said simply. "As for the team, we've survived being outed before, and we can do so again.But you? You won’t survive losing your fated mate, especially if you lose her to silence."
He was right. And that’s what terrified me the most.
The memory hits like a blade—clean, cold, final.
She had been beautiful. Soft-spoken. Her people offered her to the fire god of their mountain—not knowing the god was me. I took her because she was offered, because I was lonely. I thought I could make her mine.
“She was scared, Dax,” Kade had said years later, after I finally told him the full truth. "But she wasn't wrong to be. You never gave her time to understand what you were. You revealed yourself all at once and expected the bond to form and carry her through the shock."
"I didn’t know better," I’d said, voice rough. "Back then, I thought desire was enough; that I could bend fate to my will; that somehow I could override her fear."
"Fate doesn’t erase fear," he told me. "It just gives you something worth being brave for."
But when I shifted in front of her, revealed the beast beneath the skin, she screamed and ran. Ran back to the village. Back to the people who thought fire was wrath incarnate. Who came with spears and pitch.
The memory clings like soot. I shake it off as if it were ash, but the scorch marks linger under the surface.
Ember isn’t her. Ember is fire-born, steel-edged. She doesn’t run from the flame. She investigates it. She steps closer when others turn away.
And it’s time she sees mine.
I return to the fire camp under moonlight, the wind thick with smoke and unease, the sky washed in shades of steel and amber. The low hum of generators and the distant crackle of fire give the night an edge, like something waiting to ignite. I spot her near her tent, silhouetted against the soft glow of floodlights, arms wrapped around herself like armor. Shadows obscure her eyes, narrowed as she expertly scans the camp, and her mouth sets in that familiar stubborn line that makes my dragon rumble with equal parts admiration and hunger. She looks tired. Fierce. Untouched by anything that’s tried to slow her down. And so damn alive it hurts to breathe.
"I need to show you something," I say.
She narrows her eyes. "Let me guess. Somewhere classified and completely off-limits to a federal agent?"
I nod. "Pretty much. But I’m inviting you back to the unit's home base. Which makes it legal. Mostly."
She crosses her arms. "Blackstrike doesn’t let outsiders in. Not without a warrant or a blood oath."
"You’re not an outsider. Not anymore."
Her eyes flicker, uncertainty clashing with curiosity. But she nods and follows me up to the helipad.
I offer my hand to steady her as she climbs into the chopper—an unnecessary courtesy, but she accepts it anyway, her fingers tightening briefly around mine. That single touch sears more than it should. She settles beside me, strapping in, her sharp eyes scanning the instrument panel like she’s cataloging every switch and dial. She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t fidget. Just waits, like she knows something big is coming, and she’s decided not to blink.
The rotors kick up around us, blades slicing the smoke-thick air as we lift into the night. The base disappears below us, swallowed by trees and dark. The only light now is moon-glow and the dull orange flicker from the horizon—the fire still eatingat the edge of the forest. She watches it all, arms crossed tight, lips pressed thin.
Neither of us speaks.
The ride is silent except for the thrum of engines and the hiss of air through vents. I glance at her once. She’s looking down—but not afraid. Focused. Ready.
And gods help me, more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen against the backdrop of fire and stars.
When we land at the canyon sanctum, she steps out and freezes."Holy shit," she breathes.
Carvings cover the volcanic walls—spirals, flame glyphs, dragons etched in obsidian with the precision of hands long turned to dust. The symbols seem to pulse faintly under the moonlight, catching the flicker of nearby lava vents that steam gently from jagged cracks in the earth, exhaling heat and whispers into the canyon air. The scent of scorched stone and ancient ash hangs thick, grounding every breath with weight and wonder. The air doesn’t just hum—it resonates, alive with something primal. A slow, steady rhythm of power that vibrates through the soles of her boots and into her bones, as though the earth itself remembers what she has yet to learn.
She turns in a slow circle. "What is this place?"
"Home," I say simply. "Ours."
Then I take a step back. My chest tightens, breath thick in my lungs, heart pounding with the weight of what I'm about to do. My dragon pushes forward, not with violence but with certainty—a tidal surge of heat and destiny. Scales prickle beneath my skin, fire curls low in my gut. The space between us stretches taut, humming with unspoken truth and the risk that she might turn away like the first did. Even so, I let him rise. Because hiding from her would be a bigger betrayal than being feared.
"Don’t be afraid... and don't run," I say as the shift begins to overtake me.
Flames rise around me, curling upward like a phoenix reborn, licking at my limbs in tongues of gold and crimson. The fire doesn't consume—it transforms. My skin ignites in a shimmer of molten light, not burning, but unraveling the shell of humanity until the truth emerges. Bones stretch, shift, reshape with a deep, ancient cracking that echoes off the carved stone walls. My breath turns to smoke. Power pours from my core in waves as wings burst forth—massive, obsidian-edged, catching the glow of the lava vents like blades of flame. Scales ripple across my form, each one hard as diamond and etched with age-old patterns. Heat radiates outward in pulses, reverberating like thunder in the earth. I am no longer a man. I am fire incarnate. I am a dragon.
