I wake to the sensation of warmth against my back—Ghatak's body curved around mine, his arm draped possessively across my waist. The room is dim, early morning light filtering through the curtains of our lodging, and for a moment I simply lie there, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Safe.
It's a strange feeling. One I'm still getting used to.
I shift slightly, and his arm tightens around me, pulling me closer. His lips brush against my shoulder, a sleepy kiss that sends warmth pooling low in my belly.
"Awake already?" His voice is rough with sleep, vibrating against my skin.
"We have a long day ahead," I murmur, but I don't move away. Not yet.
"Then we should make the most of the morning."
I turn in his arms, meeting those dark eyes that see everything—all my calculations, all my ruthlessness, all the parts of myself I hide from everyone else. And he doesn't flinch. Doesn't judge.
He just sees me.
"The bathing chamber," I say softly. "Join me?"
His smile is slow and devastating. "Always."
The water is hot, almost scalding, steam rising in thick clouds that fill the small bathing chamber. I step under the spray and let it cascade over my skin, washing away the grime of yesterday's travels and the weight of constant vigilance.
Then Ghatak is there, his hands sliding around my waist from behind, pulling me back against the solid wall of his chest. I lean into him, letting myself be held, letting myself be vulnerable in a way I never allow with anyone else.
"You're tense," he murmurs against my ear, his hands moving up to my shoulders, kneading the tight muscles there.
"I'm always tense."
"Not with me."
He's right. With him, I can let the armor fall away. Can be something other than the calculating strategist, the ruthless survivor, the villain who trades life-draining artifacts without guilt.
With him, I can just be Astraea.
His hands slide lower, tracing the curve of my waist, my hips, and I feel the shift beginning—that uniquely dragon transformation that only happens in moments of deepest intimacy. My body responds to his touch, to his presence, reshaping itself in ways that no other species could understand. The dual nature of our biology awakens, and I feel both aspects of myself coming alive under his hands.
"Mine," he growls against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, and I feel his own transformation beginning, his body responding to mine in that sacred dance only pure-blood dragons can share.
"Yours," I breathe, and it's the truth. The only truth that matters.
This is what makes us different. What makes us sacred. We're not bound by the limitations of other species—we can give and receive in ways they never could, can experience pleasure from every angle, every position, every configuration. With Ghatak, I can be everything I am, show him every facet of my nature without shame or hesitation.
I turn in his arms, water streaming between us, and pull him down into a kiss that's all heat and hunger and desperate need. His hands tangle in my wet hair, angling my head so he can deepen the kiss, and I press against him, feeling the hard length of him against my thigh even as I feel my own arousal building, dual and overwhelming.
This. This is what I need. Not strategy, not planning, not the cold calculations that keep me alive.
Just him. Just us. The last two pure-blood dragons in existence, coming together in the way our species was meant to.
His hands slide down my back, gripping my hips, and he lifts me effortlessly, pressing me against the tiled wall. I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as he enters me, filling me completely. But it's more than that—I can feel my own body responding, hardening against his abdomen, and the dual sensation is almost too much to bear.
"Ghatak—"
"I have you," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I always have you."
And he does. He moves inside me with a rhythm that's both tender and demanding, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure racing through my body from both sources. The water streams over us, hot and relentless, and I cling to him, my nails digging into his shoulders as the pressure builds and builds.
Then he shifts, and suddenly I'm the one pressing into him, our positions reversed in that fluid way only we can manage. He gasps, his head falling back against the tile, and I take control, moving against him with a desperate hunger that comes from two thousand years of loneliness, of being the only one of my kind.
But I'm not alone anymore.
We shift again, and again, trading dominance and submission, giving and receiving, until I can't tell where I end and he begins. Until we're just us—two dragons, two souls, two bodies moving as one in a dance as old as our species itself.
The pleasure builds to an impossible peak, dual sensations overwhelming every nerve, and when I finally shatter, it's from both sides at once—a cascade of ecstasy that tears a cry from my throat. Ghatak follows a heartbeat later, his own release triggering mine again, and we spiral together into bliss.
For a long moment, we just stay like that, breathing hard, the water washing over us both. Then he sets me down gently, his hands steadying me, and I lean against him, feeling boneless and sated and complete.
"We should actually bathe," I murmur eventually, though I make no move to step away.
His laugh rumbles through his chest. "Probably."
We do, eventually—washing each other with a tenderness that makes my chest ache. His hands are gentle as they move over my skin, washing away the last traces of yesterday, and I return the favor, memorizing every scar, every line of muscle, every part of him that I've claimed as mine. Every part of him that understands what I am in ways no one else ever could.
This intimacy—this complete vulnerability, this sacred sharing of our true dragon nature—is something I could never give to anyone else. Not my wives, not my future mates, not anyone. They can have my body, my protection, my loyalty. But this? This belongs only to Ghatak.
Because he's the only one who can truly match me. The only one who understands.
When we finally step out of the bathing chamber, wrapped in towels and trailing steam, I feel... lighter. Ready to face whatever the day brings.
Because I'm not facing it alone.
The meeting point is a small courtyard near the eastern edge of the settlement, where the paved streets give way to packed dirt and scrubland. Regina's list had been specific: Dawn. Eastern courtyard. Ask for Kael.
We arrive to find three figures waiting—two men and a woman, all dressed in practical desert gear. Leather wraps protect their arms and legs, and their faces are weathered by sun and sand. The tallest, a man with dark skin and silver-streaked hair, steps forward.
"You're the ones Regina sent?" His voice is gravelly, assessing.
"We are," I say. "You're Kael?"
"I am." He gestures to his companions. "This is Mira and Jax. We know the eastern desert better than anyone. But I'll be honest—the route to Thronkaville isn't easy. It'll take at least a week, maybe more, and the dangers—"
"We can handle danger," Ghatak interrupts smoothly.
Kael's eyes narrow, but before he can respond, another voice cuts through the morning air.
"Actually, you won't be handling anything."
I turn to see four figures approaching from the opposite side of the courtyard. Three men and a woman, all armed, all moving with the confident swagger of people who think they're dangerous.
The leader—a broad-shouldered man with a scarred face and cold eyes—stops a few feet away, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword.
"These guides are already hired," he says flatly. "By us. So you can turn around and find someone else."
I glance at Kael, who looks distinctly uncomfortable. "Is that true?"
"They approached me last night," Kael admits. "But I told them I'd already agreed to take you—"
"Agreements can be renegotiated," the scarred man interrupts. He pulls a pouch from his belt and tosses it to Kael, who catches it reflexively. "Ten thousand platinum. More than whatever they're paying you."
Ten thousand. More than double what we'd agreed on.
Kael looks at the pouch, then at us, conflict clear on his face.
"We'll pay fifteen thousand," I say calmly.
The scarred man's eyes snap to me, and I see the calculation there. The assessment. He's trying to decide if we're worth the trouble.
"Twenty thousand," he counters.
"Thirty."
His jaw tightens. "You don't have that kind of money."
I reach into my pouch and withdraw a handful of platinum coins, letting them catch the morning light. "Don't I?"
For a moment, there's silence. Then the scarred man's expression hardens into something ugly.
"You know what? Keep your money." He draws his sword in one smooth motion, and his companions follow suit. "We'll just take the guides. And everything else you're carrying."
There it is.
I don't move. Don't reach for a weapon. I just stand there, watching him, and I see the exact moment he realizes he's made a mistake.
"You really don't want to do this," Ghatak says quietly.
"I really do," the scarred man snarls, and lunges.
He's fast. Well-trained. His sword cuts through the air in a perfect arc aimed at my throat.
I catch the blade between two fingers.
The shock on his face would be comical if this weren't so tedious. He tries to pull the sword free, muscles straining, but it doesn't budge. I hold it effortlessly, chaos energy crackling along the steel, and watch as the metal begins to warp and twist.
"You made two mistakes," I say conversationally. "First, you assumed we were easy targets. Second, you drew a weapon on me."
I release the sword—or what's left of it. The blade has twisted into a useless spiral of metal, and the scarred man stumbles back, staring at it in horror.
"What the fuck—"
Ghatak moves.
One moment he's standing beside me. The next, he's behind the scarred man, one hand wrapped around his throat, lifting him off the ground like he weighs nothing.
"She said you made a mistake," Ghatak says, his voice utterly calm. "Would you like to apologize? Or should I demonstrate what happens to people who threaten my mate?"
The other three attackers rush forward, weapons raised, and I sigh.
Fine.
I let my power unfurl—just a fraction of it, just enough to make a point. Chaos energy explodes outward in a wave of violet light, and all three of them are thrown backward, slamming into the courtyard wall with bone-cracking force.
They crumple to the ground, groaning, and I walk over to where they've fallen. One of them—the woman—tries to reach for her dagger, and I step on her wrist, pinning it to the ground.
"Don't," I say softly.
She freezes, staring up at me with wide, terrified eyes.
"You came here looking for easy prey," I continue, my voice pleasant. "You thought you could intimidate us, take what we have, maybe kill us if we resisted. But you didn't ask the right questions. You didn't wonder why Regina sent us to the best guides. You didn't wonder what we are."
I lean down, letting her see the silver and green of my heterochromatic eyes, letting her feel the weight of my power pressing down on her.
"We're dragons," I whisper. "And you just tried to rob us."
The color drains from her face.
Behind me, I hear a wet thud as Ghatak drops the scarred man to the ground. He's still alive—barely—but he won't be threatening anyone for a long time.
"Kael," I say, straightening and turning back to the guides. "Are we clear on who you're working for?"
Kael is staring at me with something like awe. "Crystal clear."
"Good." I pull out the agreed-upon payment—five thousand platinum—and hand it to him. "We leave within the hour. Gather whatever supplies you need."
He takes the coins with shaking hands and nods. "Yes. Yes, of course. We'll be ready."
The three guides hurry away, and I turn back to the four would-be thieves. They're all conscious now, huddled together, bleeding and broken and utterly terrified.
"Leave Shadow Grove," I tell them. "If I see you again, I won't be merciful."
They scramble to their feet and flee, half-carrying their leader between them.
Ghatak moves to stand beside me, and I feel his hand settle on the small of my back—a possessive, grounding touch.
"That was efficient," he murmurs.
"I don't have time for games," I reply. "We have a desert to cross."
The eastern desert stretches before us like an ocean of sand and stone, endless dunes rolling toward a horizon that shimmers with heat. Kael leads the way, with Mira and Jax flanking us, and Ghatak and I follow, our packs light, our steps steady.
The settlement disappears behind us within the first hour, swallowed by the vastness of the landscape. The sun climbs higher, turning the sky into a dome of merciless blue, and the temperature rises until the air itself feels like it's burning.
But I barely notice.
My mind is elsewhere, turning over everything we've learned. The legend of the silver-haired woman. The eastern desert. Thronkaville. The connection between them all—threads of a mystery that pulls at something deep within me, something I can't quite name.
If she's alive—if she's really out there—then everything changes.
We walk for hours, the sun beating down on us, the sand shifting beneath our feet. Kael sets a steady pace, pausing occasionally to check landmarks—a particular rock formation, a cluster of dead trees, the angle of the sun.
"How much farther to the first waypoint?" Ghatak asks.
"Another three hours," Kael replies. "There's an oasis where we can rest and refill our water. After that, it gets harder."
I nod, filing the information away, but my thoughts are still elsewhere.
"There," Kael says, pointing ahead. "The oasis."
I look up and see it—a cluster of palm trees surrounding a pool of clear water, impossibly green against the endless brown and gold of the desert.
We make our way down the dune, and the temperature drops slightly as we enter the shade of the trees. The water is cool and clean, and we refill our canteens while Kael and his companions set up a small camp.
"We'll rest here for an hour," Kael says. "Then we push on. The next stretch is the hardest—no shade, no water, just sand and heat."
I nod, settling onto a flat rock near the water's edge. Ghatak sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch, and I lean into him slightly.
"Thinking about her?" he asks quietly.
"Always."
He doesn't ask who. He knows.
*Flashback*
The silver head woman doesn't know how long she runs. Hours, maybe. Days.
The desert is endless, and she's so tired*, but she can't stop. Can't let herself be caught.*
Eventually, she collapses in the shadow of a rock formation, her body shaking with exhaustion and fear. The eggs are heavy inside her, a constant reminder of what was done to her, and she wants to scream, wants to tear them out, wants to forget*.*
But she can't.
So she lies there, curled around herself, and waits for the sun to set.
When night falls, she forces herself to move again. To keep going.
Because survival is all she has left.
"We should move," Kael says, breaking the silence.
I stand, brushing sand from my clothes, and shoulder my pack. Ghatak does the same, and together we follow the guides back out into the desert.
The sun is lower now, casting long shadows across the dunes, and the heat is finally beginning to ease. But the landscape is no less harsh, no less unforgiving.
Ahead of us, somewhere beyond the horizon, lies Thronkaville.
And answers.
I'm coming, I think, my jaw set with determination. I'm coming, and I'm going to find you.
No matter what it takes.