Survive My Fire Read online

Choking, I was choking on my shattered dreams, my ruined hopes, my darkest fears. I was a selfish bitch. I would rather kill than surrender. I murdered what I couldn’t have. I hated what refused to love me. Hurt before I could be hurt again; kill before I could love again.

  Yet I could not kill this warrior with the stone face and the gentle hands.

  He stood and pulled me up with him. I wanted him again, although the tormenting hatred blazing in my heart was calm for now. He truly had subdued my dragon heart.

  “I have water. May I come within your tent and take shelter from the sun?”

  I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry, I wanted to throw my arms around him and kiss him again. Shyest fragile hope sprouted in the barrens of my heart. “My tent is yours, Jalan tal’Krait, such that it is. Come share water in my shade.”

  He graced me with the largest, most genuine smile I’d seen on his face yet. “Perhaps you’ll share a bath with me.”

  Mouth dry, knees trembling, I could only stare at him as he fetched his strewn clothing. A bath. Oh, Somma. I felt moistness between my thighs, a new fire roaring to life. “Do you have oil too?”

  Smiling, his eyes dark with rising need, he slipped an arm around me and bent close. “Of course. I’ll oil you head to toe.” My legs gave out completely. Scooping me up to drape me over his shoulder, he trotted up the gravel slope to my lair. “We mustn’t waste a single drop of such precious fluid.”

  Chapter Four

  Sitting on the floor in the center of my cave, I watched him explore my home, my prison all these centuries. I’d never taken food inside my lair. It felt very strange to see another living being here after so long, to watch him trail a hand along the stone walls, the candle stub he held wavering gentle light.

  “How did you make the walls shine?”

  Only someone who knew him would recognize the tiny hint of wonder in his voice, the barest widening of appreciation in his eyes. That I already knew him so well made my eyes burn and my heart ache.

  “Dragon Fire. I had nothing better to do, and my temper—” I shrugged, a wry smile twisting my lips. “Once I realized the Well of Tears would never fill, I tried to bring the mountainside down on myself. All I managed to do was melt the rock.”

  He followed the crack deeper into the mountain, much further than I could ever go in my dragon body. I don’t know what he thought he might find—a sacred pool, a secret passage—but I was content to sit, breathing our mingled scents in my home, my shade.

  Returning, he sat before me and set a flask between us. “My water is yours.”

  I had no cup, no food, no utensil, certainly no pot to brew tea for a traditional hospitality ceremony. I had no need for such things when I hadn’t tasted water in... I couldn’t even remember how long. Blood was the only moisture I needed as the White. With shaking hands, I picked up the leather flask, wet my lips, and held it out to him.

  “Drink, Chanda. Taste it.”

  I took a full mouth of water, held it, the flat warm taste rolling on my tongue. Something jarred my taste buds, a sharpness, an unfamiliar bitter edge.

  “It’s the last Well, our last water.” His voice echoed with sorrow, and his eyes, so dark, so full of misery. “Have you seen the Krait lands in recent years?”

  Wordlessly, I shook my head. I rarely left my domain. The Well of Tears was my constant torment. I had no desire to see the inland Venom Sea, the black Island of Despair rising up in the flat plains like a massive coiled serpent.

  Where Somma’s body died, there flowed poisoned acid. Rains ceased across all of Keldar. Agni blasted our lands with fury, with heat, with flaming sun to dry the precious water never replenished.

  Our devalki.

  “Our last Well is tainted. Not enough to kill, not yet, but my tribe’s final days are nigh. Without water, we can’t keep our land, poisoned though it is. Without water, the tribes will slaughter us. Between Somma’s Poison and Yama’s Despair, the Krait will be no more.”

  Tormented eyes drilled into mine. His hands remained in his lap, but he leaned slightly toward me, his bond tugging, trying to compel me to believe, to assist him in this bitter, desperate war.

  “The Red Dragon Comes to burn us all, but the Krait will be the first decimated. My tribe, my people, we who have lived on the shores of Venom and Despair all these generations—we carry the bulk of Yama’s black blood.”

  “What do you want from me?” I didn’t try to keep the sharpness from my voice. My anger returned, and my disappointment. He tantalized me with a bath, when all he truly cared about was gaining my assistance in his war. “I murdered my own tribe, Jalan. Why should I care about yours?”

  Pressured, I forced myself to catalog my defenses. His scimitar lay on the floor beside him, but not in his hand. He didn’t reach for it or even look at it, but he knew I realized it was there, almost within my grasp. I felt my accursed dragon rouse, scenting the possibility of blood, of battle. My heartbeat quickened. Every feral instinct I possessed told me to seize that weapon and take his head.

  He knew my thoughts, but he didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His muscles didn’t tighten or brace for my attack. Instead, he looked at me with... acceptance.

  If I chose to kill him, so be it.

  If I commanded his heart to cease beating, he would die without a sound on the gravel floor of my lair.

  Such sacrifice. I couldn’t comprehend it. None would dare call Jalan tal’Krait weak. But how could he bear to sit, helpless, accepting, peaceful, while all the world blazed and died?

  His chiseled face softened, his white teeth flashing against his sun-baked face, his eyes glowing in the candlelight. The smile was gone in a heartbeat, but I saw. I knew. I felt his pride, his amusement, his affection—

  :Not affection. My love.:

  —Through his bond.

  I blew hard through my nostrils, unable to make as disgusted a grunt in this form.

  “Would you care if you knew the Mambas have chained a dragon for warfare?”

  I blinked. How could such a feat even be possible? None would chain me. Other than Jalan, I let no one touch me with blade or iron.

  “The tal’Mamba succumbed to his dragon a fortnight ago. Unluckily for him, his rav suspected he was close to turning and plotted to capture him in those first weak moments of transformation.”

  Horror and rage pulsed in my veins, my dragon clawing with talons to escape, to protect, to fight.

  “They bound him in chains and call him the Red Dragon. All know he is not truly Agni, but he is mostly red, mostly Agni’s blood. They use him to further the destruction of the other tribes. As such, he is definitely a forerunner of the Last Days. Fire Comes.”

  He leaned closer and took my hands in his own, forcing me to meet the sorrowed gaze in his stone face. “The warrior I fought at sunset nearly drove me to succumb to my dragon by threatening to take you. To chain you as their Red’s mate. They would breed dragons in captivity for use in warfare. Do you understand? They hope to decimate Yama’s blood to gain some forgiveness before Agni Comes.”

  I clutched his hands to keep from grabbing the scimitar. Not to hurt him, necessarily, but my dragon’s urgent sense of self-preservation knotted my muscles. “We all carry Yama’s blood to some degree. The Mambas are just as guilty as the Kraits, as my Adders, as any.”

  Jalan nodded. “They hope to atone some of their devalki by sacrificing those with Black blood, starting with my tribe. I’m the last dra’gwar, the last warrior with enough dragon blood in my veins to fight and risk the Fire within, yet the Mambas have nearly one hundred dra’gwar plus the chained Red. They will attack our tents this rising. I tracked their progress before returning to you. I have warriors, true, but none with enough dragon blood to hold the Mambas back.”

  Awful finality rang in his voice; agony etched his face. Even if he somehow managed to kill the Red Dragon alone, the other warriors would kill his people. Even if by some miracle he managed to protect his people from the warriors, the last Well woul
d soon be gone, swallowed by Venom and Despair. His only hope—

  Fire blazed on my skin, my dragon rising. His only hope was me. If I killed the Red and helped him drive the Mambas back. And then...

  “Don’t think of it,” he whispered, drawing me closer to him. His breath fanned my face, and his scent rolled over me, roasted spices and warrior. “Let us fight the Mambas and the chained Red. That’s all I ask.”

  “No. You ask for my heart.” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of his timeworn face, his dark eyes filled with such miserable love. “You ask me to lay down my life for a tribe not my own.”

  His lips brushed my forehead, and I shuddered. That quickly, need rose in me, frantic, desperate, fully aware of how short the hours were until dawn, until the full moon waned, until his fragile human life would end.

  “Not for my tribe, but for my love. I will die when you die, Chanda. Lay down your life with me.”

  Her heart thundered so loudly he could hear it. Releasing her hands, Jalan took a wooden bowl, a square of linen, and a clay vial of oil from his knapsack. He tipped the precious flask of water and filled the small bowl. At the sound of trickling waters, she shuddered, her breathing quickening even more.

  Dampening the square of cloth, he began the ritual cleansing. He touched the cloth to his lips, his forehead, his heart. “May Somma’s waters cleanse us of our devalki.”

  He took Chanda’s hand and gently wiped her fingers, her palm, the delicate skin of her wrist. Dipping the cloth again, carefully wringing excess drops back into the bowl, he washed her other hand. Then he pressed a kiss into each, deliberately curling her fingers around his gift as he moved his mouth to her wrist. Her pulse beat frantically against his lips, leaping at the deliberate graze of his teeth.

  Tugging her hand, he spilled her into his lap. She came to him without complaint, her limbs languorous, her eyes heavy with need. Need to be touched, to feel such tenderness, to have someone care for her, just a little. Silently, he swore to make this bath last as long as possible.

  This one time must last them through all eternity.

  He stroked her body with the cloth, wiping away dust, dried blood, an eternity of scale and hide. His mark was branded on her shoulder, braided black highlighted with touches of pulsing red in the ring left by his teeth. His dragon twisted and clawed in his gut, burning to bite her again. A fight he relished, a fight that told him he lived, that she was worthy of his heart and blood.

  Warm and supple, her skin came alive for him. The barest brush of his fingers tightened her body. The hint of moisture turned her muscles to liquid. Pliant, aching, she lay in his arms, utterly relaxed. No fight, no rage, no hatred—nothing burned in her but need.

  Need for his touch.

  Deliberately, he let a drop of water fall on her breast. Dipping his head, he captured the bead, tonguing her skin, the aching tip of her breast, drawing her flesh into his mouth. She buried her hands in his hair, holding him close, her cry echoing in her lair.

  “We mustn’t waste a drop, Chanda. Not one precious drop.”

  He eased her to the sand floor, spreading her out flat on her back for his full attention. Moistening her lips, she struggled to find words, to make her tongue remember how to speak.

  “Shhh, Chanda. Your body speaks to me well enough.” Dripping a trail of water down her belly, he kissed and nibbled every inch. “Touch me, it says. So long, so very long, I’ve been alone. Stroke me. Love me. I hear it all. I am here and you are not alone.”

  Glide of cloth, hint of water, followed by his tongue. He spread her legs, her folds, rasping first with cloth and then his tongue. She made a deep-throated moan, trembling, her hands clutching at his shoulders, twisting her fists in his hair.

  He set his mouth hard on her, sucking, using the force of his tongue and teeth, to bring her shivering and crying in a rush. So he could draw her legs higher and cup her buttocks in his hands. So he could lick every sweet curve. So he could savor every drop.

  He brought her again, her body singing and crying with pleasure. Pausing only long enough to reach for the clay pot, he poured oil into his hands, rubbing his palms together to warm it.

  She cracked an eye open at the rich scent of sage. “No more,” she whispered, shuddering. “I can’t take the oil.”

  “Ah, but you can. You must. I will accept nothing less than a full ritual. Do you realize how precious oil has become in these hard times? Nearly as dear as water. Not even the bitters bear much seed. We’ve resorted to—”

  He hesitated, unsure how she would take such news. She was a dragon at heart. Hearing where the bulk of their precious oil came from these days might bring her rage to full life.

  “If I die, I want you to take my scent glands.”

  Throat aching, he nodded, his heart full to bursting with love and grief. “If I succumb to the Fire within, I hope you will do the same for me. I want no other carrying my scent but you. This oil is mostly bitters with some Krait dragon scent, but I mixed it myself with my own taste for herbs. I hope you find it pleasing.”

  He wrapped both hands around her neck just beneath her chin and slid his palms down her neck, stroking, massaging, spreading oil and heat. The scent of warm spiced oil flavored by her scent filled his head. Dragon, Fire, pride, courage, all vulnerable to his hands and mouth.

  Tremors shook her body as he made his way down her curves, her muscles both pliant and tight, vibrating with need and limp with the pleasure he’d already given. He dribbled oil on her breasts and stomach, using firm, strong strokes of his palms to rub the oil into her skin. Then his tongue. The oil tasted bitter, rank with another dragon’s scent, but it couldn’t mask the lush scent of her skin.

  Her dragon called to him. He stroked and massaged her arms, her thighs. The dragon moved beneath her skin. Power rippled, moonlight and flames flickering over them both.

  Oil soaked into her skin.

  Oil slicked his hands, his face, his tongue.

  Fire spread, searing his lips, heating her skin.

  Dragon oil, dragon Fire.

  Her scent roared at him, drowning his senses. Magic burned his skin. Wings of power beat the air, talons digging into him, clutching him closer.

  She blazed through the bond, worry and need and soaring pleasure. :Can you survive my Fire?:

  In answer, he plunged his tongue deep, spearing the blazing oil into her body. Every crevice, every tender fold. Magic blazed higher, blistering his skin, boiling the blood in his veins. Braiding her Fire with the inner furnace blazing in his heart, he shoved the flames back into her, spreading Fire with the oil. :Can you survive mine?:

  Fire blazed on the walls of her cave, adding another layer of burnished gold.

  Panting for breath, I blinked sweat out of my eyes and concentrated on calming my dragon. Trapped in my human body, constrained by my human thoughts, the beast fought with wings and talons and jagged teeth to escape.

  It—I—wanted to sink teeth into Jalan. I wanted to decorate every inch of his flesh with my teeth marks. I wanted to lick blood from his skin as he’d done with that accursed oil. Forcing my shaking body upright, I placed a hand on his chest. “My turn.”

  A slight quirk of his lips and the smugness in his eyes said that he knew he’d done well, with a hint of challenge as he placed the cloth in my hand.

  “I request that you mark me.”

  I didn’t have his skill at hiding my emotions. My face sagged a moment, my eyes blazing, I’m sure, with immediate need and hunger. “Where?”

  “Anywhere you desire.”

  My gaze dropped to the previous bites I’d given him. The dragon bite was an angry red, the flesh around my human bites bruised, his shoulder and throat tender. I should have blazed my Fire into those wounds and made the scars permanent instead of leaving them to heal slowly.

  “Lay down.”

  For a while, I simply caressed him with my gaze. Roped muscle and sinew, lean and tight, not an excess ounce of flesh on him, bla
sted by heat, dried by constant thirst and suffering. His skin was darker than mine and dry, confirming the precious resource oil had become.

  I trailed the damp cloth over the chiseled planes of his face, down his powerful neck to clean the angry-looking bites as gently as possible. Guilt tightened my throat. I could have hurt him so badly. I might yet.

  “The oil will help,” he whispered. “Besides, I enjoyed it. You hear no complaints from me.”

  I squeezed the cloth, carefully dripping water onto his shoulder. Tasting his skin, I fought to keep from sinking my teeth into him again. There was just something about his shoulder, the act of biting him, holding him with my mouth in that particular spot, that tempted me.

  “It’s a sign of dominance.” His voice lowered, a rumble of bass that thrummed down my spine. “A very strong, very proud female dragon will take her mate this way sometimes in the wild. Never forget, though, that the male consents in the first place. It’s my sign of trust in you.”

  “Acceptance,” I breathed against his skin. I licked the holes left by my teeth, remembering his blood, his pleasure exploding through our bond. “Trust. I still think you’re crazy to trust me. Even from the beginning, when I was the White, you let me hold you in my jaws.”

  “Hold me now, Chanda, and never let me go. Use your teeth and claws to grip me close to your heart.”

  I felt a foreign tenderness. The moon would descend. All too soon I would be returned to my prison, my doom, and the harsh reality of Keldari life would intrude once more. For now, though, I had this warrior to bathe, this magnificent male to touch, to taste, to drive insane.

  Moving down his body, I tormented him with bites. No blood, no breaking skin, just the threat, the promise. I tried to work his flesh between my teeth, but he was so tight, muscles coiled and lean, that I couldn’t fill my mouth like I wanted. Not until I reached his groin.

  Slowly, I gazed up his body, appreciating my handiwork. His face was granite as usual, but ah, his eyes blazed with the Fire within. I smiled wickedly and dipped the cloth into the small bowl. His gaze tracked my hand