Page 39 of Ashfall
She doesn’t hesitate."Go to hell."
Malek vanishes in a plume of smoke and flame, his laughter curling through the scorched air like a poison. It's not just amusement—it's a promise. A warning. His voice lingers even after he's gone, echoing in the heat like a threat carved in fire.
We turn to run, urgency snapping back into our limbs like a jolt of electricity. The air is thick with scorched ozone, but there’s no time to breathe, no time to assess. The codes must still beactive—somewhere behind those walls, the ignition command ticking toward detonation. We need to reach the server core, purge the upload, and do it before Malek circles back. Before he turns the sky to fire again.
Ember stumbles. Her knees buckle as if gravity has doubled its grip on her, her breath hitching in her throat. Then she drops, collapsing in a boneless heap that sends panic ripping through me.
I catch her before she hits the ground. Her skin is too hot, glowing at the edges. Her pulse is erratic. And then she whispers my name—not loud, not even clear—but just enough to hit like a strike to the chest. It's the same way she said it the night we almost kissed, with that stubborn mix of heat and hesitation. That sound... it’s her. Still fighting. Still holding on. And it shreds me. I remember the first time I saw her with fire in her eyes and defiance on her lips—so damn alive. Now, that fire is consuming her from the inside out. And it’s my fault. I started something I couldn’t finish.
She’s burning. The partial bond—unsealed, unstable—has turned volatile, its power unraveling inside her like a live flame with no tether. It should’ve been completed, sealed, protected. Instead, it lashes at her from within, her body caught in the crossfire of something ancient and unrelenting. If I don’t claim her soon, if I don’t anchor that flame to mine, I’ll lose her. Not just her body. Her soul. Her fire. Everything.
Forever.
CHAPTER 19
EMBER
The dream starts like all the others: smoke thick in the air, flames licking at the edges of my vision. The heat is familiar—almost comforting in its intensity—but something's wrong. It coils tighter, presses harder. This time, it doesn’t feel like a dream. This time, it feels like dying. Like something inside me is unraveling, a thread pulled too far, too fast. And I’m helpless to stop it.
Fire wraps around my body like a lover and a noose—intimate and terrifying, as if it knows every secret I’ve tried to bury. It coils into the cracks I pretend don’t exist, finding the weak spots I show no one. It pulses in time with my heartbeat, every beat slower, heavier. My skin blisters and peels—but there’s no pain, just pressure, building and building until my lungs seize and the world narrows to a single scream I can’t release. I’m burning from the inside out. The fire is alive. And it wants more.
A voice cuts through it—low, rough, furious. It cleaves through the firestorm raging inside me like a lifeline tossed into chaos. Dax. His voice, tethered to memory and need, drags me toward the surface—toward reality. It’s not just sound. It’s an anchor.
My eyes fly open. I’m not in the dream anymore—I’m convulsing on the bed, heat rippling off me in waves. The dream lingers in my chest like smoke, curling through my ribs. For a second, I don't know where I am or what’s real—only that I’m burning from the inside out, and terror claws at the edges of my mind. I try to speak, to scream, but my body is no longer mine. I’m trapped in fire and silence. My back arches. My skin glows. I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. I’m cracking apart.
He’s there. Dax. Shirtless, wild-eyed, crouched at my side like a warrior in a storm, his bare chest rising and falling with frantic breaths. Sweat gleams on his skin, his eyes glowing faintly—panic and fury swirling behind the gold. His hands hover inches above me, like he’s afraid touching me might make it worse... or not touching me will let me slip away.
"I’ve got you," he growls, voice broken with urgency. "You’re not dying. Not on me."
I want to laugh, to cry, to scream—but all I can do is writhe. The fire inside me surges, furious now. Uncontrolled. Unclaimed.
"Burning," he whispers—maybe to himself, maybe to someone else.
I know what he means. I know he’s the only one who can save me.
Dax leans close. I smell smoke, salt, skin. Heat licks along my spine.
"You’re mine, Ember. I should’ve done this sooner."
His mouth crashes to mine—hot, possessive, a kiss that isn’t asking. A jolt of relief floods through me, tangled with fear and something deeper—surrender. It’s like the storm inside me finally has somewhere to go, someone strong enough to catch it. It’s taking. And I let him. Because this fire doesn’t scare me. He doesn’t scare me.
His hands brand a path down my body. Every touch sears. Clothes vanish—I don’t know how, don’t care. I’m nothing but flame and nerve endings.
He whispers something in Draconic—an oath, a plea, a promise.
His skin burns golden, his eyes glowing as if his fire pulses just beneath the surface. His breath grows hotter, charged with the magic that fuels their kind. He leans in and exhales a stream of flame—not enough to scorch, but just enough to brand. The heat sears into my skin at the curve of my shoulder, where neck meets collarbone—just above my heart. It’s not a bite. It’s a mark. A dragon’s claim, rendered in sacred fire.
It’s not gentle. It’s not tame. It’s a brand. A claim. Fire surges from the mark into every vein. My scream finally breaks free as my back bows and light explodes behind my eyes.
I see stars. Galaxies. I see him—his power, his vulnerability, the raw truth of who he is beneath all the heat and fury. All of him laid bare to me in this blaze of light and soul. And somehow, I know he sees all of me, too.
Then I burn... not with pain, but with power.
My body arches like a bowstring beneath him, every muscle taut and trembling as his weight pins me down. His cock—thick, veiny, and hard—slams into me with a force that makes my vision blur. My hands claw at his back, leaving angry red welts as I try to anchor myself against the tidal wave of pleasure threatening to drown me. The bond between us isn’t just some poetic legend—it’s a fucking live wire, crackling with electricity as our bodies collide again and again.
His mouth is everywhere—biting, sucking, claiming. His teeth sink into the tender flesh of my neck, and I scream, my nails digging deeper into his skin as he growls against me. His tongue flicks over the mark, soothing and stinging all at once, before he moves lower, his lips closing around my nipple. Hesucks hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud, and I writhe beneath him, my hips bucking uncontrollably as he fucks me with a rhythm that’s both brutal and perfect.
“Fuck, Dax,” I moan, my voice ragged and broken. His name is a prayer, a curse, a fucking plea. He doesn’t answer—just grunts, his hips slamming into mine with a force that makes the bed creak in protest. His cock stretches me wide, filling me so completely that I can feel every ridge, every pulse of his arousal as he drives deeper, harder, faster.
