Chapter 22 The Man in the Dragon
Serafina
“They were people!” I snapped. “They had families. They had people who loved them.” I dragged a trembling hand down my face. “You didn’t have to burn them alive.”
Azerath turned his massive head toward me. Light rippled across his scales as his chest rumbled low and deep.
“They raised weapons against you,” he said. “They threatened you.”
“But—”
“And they served Ironside.” His voice hardened. “They would have taken you. Broken you. Used you. Then killed you once you were no longer useful.”
I stumbled back a step, my breath catching. “Whoever this Ironside is, I don't care. You still didn’t have to burn them alive.”
His nostrils flared. “And what would you have preferred? That I gently chase away the men trying to steal my mate?”
Heat rushed up my neck. “Stop calling me that.”
“I will not.” One brow lifted, sharp with challenge. “Or would you rather I say wife?”
I stared at him. “You are impossible.”
“And you are alive,” he replied calmly. “Serafina, it was them or you. I showed them mercy. Their deaths were instant. They would not have done the same to you. They would have hurt you until you begged for death just to make it stop.”
I rolled my eyes, turning away. There was no point arguing with him.
And worse—he wasn’t wrong.
That choice had followed me my entire life back in the Dust District.
My hands shook so badly that I slid my sword back into its scabbard and lowered the lantern to the ground, just to keep from dropping it. The metal rattled softly as it settled, my fingers numb with leftover shock.
He studied me with an expression I couldn’t read—part anger, part something far more intense, weighing and measuring rather than judging.
“You could have fought them yourself,” he said. "Why didn't you?"
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Fought them? With what magic? With what training?” My voice rose despite myself. “I lived in the slums, Azerath. I scrubbed floors, ash-shifted, scavenged, begged for work, dodged Collectors, and prayed nobody would stab me in an alley because of a few coins. I barely even know what magic feels like!”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “You do not know how to channel your gift?”
“Channel?” I scoffed. “I don’t even know if I have a gift.”
His gaze sharpened. Slowly, his massive head lowered, bringing his eyes closer to my level.
Then his attention dropped—not lingering, not prying—but unmistakably focused on my chest. On the warmth there. The ember-like heat that stirred whenever fear or anger clawed its way up my spine.
Assessing.
I drew my arms in tight, shielding myself.
“That explains much,” he said simply, lifting his gaze back to mine. “We will change that.”
I hugged my arms around myself and turned toward the forest, dark and waiting.
“I need to get back to the Dust District. To my brother. I have to know if he’s okay.” I hesitated, then gestured helplessly at his massive, glittering form. “But you—” My voice faltered. “You’re a dragon. How am I supposed to travel with you like that?”
He arched his neck slightly. “You ride on my back.”
My eyes widened. “I can’t even ride a horse, Azerath. A horse. How am I supposed to ride you?”
His lips curved—not quite a smile, but close. Amused.
“Then I will take another form.”
Before I could ask what that meant, bright violet light erupted around him.
It swallowed his wings first, then his body, then the great sweeping arc of his tail. His silhouette shrank, twisted, folded in on itself, the massive shape compressing as if drawn inward by invisible hands. Heat rolled outward in waves as the air crackled, power rippling through the clearing.
For a brief, absurd second, I imagined him shrinking into a lizard of some kind—small enough to stuff into my bag.
Like a pet.
But when the light finally faded, a man stood where the dragon had been.
He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.
I gasped. The man from my dream. It was him!
He was tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered. Bronze skin caught the fading sunlight, shimmering faintly, as though scales still lived just beneath the surface. His features were sharp, elegant in a way no noble I’d ever seen could imitate. His eyes were still molten gold. His hair looked wind-tousled, like flame brushed by the sky.
He looked no older than twenty-five.
My gaze fell to his lips—soft, pink—and the memory of that kiss surged back with alarming clarity.
Then my eyes dropped lower.
Heat flooded my cheeks.
He was completely, utterly, gloriously—
Naked.
I froze. Every muscle locked. My heart stopped, lurched back to life, then began thudding against my ribs.
He stood with effortless confidence, as if clothing were an optional courtesy. Sunlight traced the lines of his chest, his stomach, his hips—
Oh gods.
I slapped both hands over my eyes. “Azerath!”
“Yes?” His voice held unmistakable amusement.
“You’re—you’re naked!”
“I am aware.”
“Well—put something on!”
“I do not have ‘something.’” A pause. “Unless you wish to give me your dress?”
“NO!”
“Your cloak, perhaps?”
“Just stay right there,” I snapped, keeping my eyes firmly closed as I fumbled with my bag. “I’ll conjure something for you to wear."
He laughed softly, the sound warm and infuriating all at once.
“No need, Serafina. I’ll handle my clothing.”
Mist gathered around him, curling like smoke before shaping itself into black fabric. Simple. Clean. Elegant robes formed seamlessly around his body, fitting him as though tailored by magic itself. The air stilled as the spell settled.
He lifted a brow. “Better?”
I swallowed hard and nodded. “Better… But why didn’t you just appear like this after the blood pact?”
He studied me with open curiosity, a faint glint of humor in his golden eyes. “And miss seeing the terrified—and disgusted—look on your face when I told you I am your husband?” His lips curved slowly. “The dragon you saw, Serafina—that is my true form. Do not forget it.”
He stepped closer. Heat radiated from him, subtle but undeniable. For a heartbeat, I thought he might reach for my hand—but instead, he dipped lower, controlled and fluid.
“Come,” he murmured, lifting the lantern from the ground. “We leave for your brother.” He pulled the hood of his robes over his head, shadowing his face.
The disappointment surprised me.
I scowled and shook my head. That kiss from my dream—clearly it had scrambled my senses. Hallucinations, nothing more.
With a huff, I followed him, drawing my own hood up and tightening my grip on my bag, more for reassurance than necessity.
And then, without meaning to, I looked up at him. Really looked.
I let out a quiet sigh. He was devastatingly handsome, and I hated how much it affected me.
I forced the truth back into focus. The man beside me was still the dragon who had claimed me. Bound me. Terrified me.
And yet, beneath the fear, there was something else.
Something complicated. Something I wasn’t ready to name.
One thing was certain.
Nothing in my life would ever be simple again.