Marked By A Dragon

Zaydon

It stung to fully pull myself away from her. The ache in my chest was sharp, a wound that refused to close. Shade prowled within me, restless and growling, a shadow that moved in the depths of my soul. He wanted me to act, to fix this, to erase every trace of that vampire bastard from her.

But it wouldn't be right. She'd just woken up, for fuck's sake, and the sight of those bruises—dark, cruel shadows etched across her freckled skin—had ignited a fire in me. All I wanted was to rip that son of a bitch apart again. To obliterate him so completely that even his memory would vanish.

Except he wasn't dead. Not yet.

I raked a hand through my damp hair, the cool water tracing a path down the back of my neck and soaking into the collar of my shirt. The chill lingered from her earlier stunt with the water skin, a sharp contrast to the heat simmering just beneath my skin. I could still see the defiance in her hazel eyes as she'd tipped the skin, the splash of water catching me off guard and leaving me drenched.

I grabbed the edge of my shirt and scrubbed it over my face—not to dry off, not really—but to avoid looking at her. I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep myself together under the weight of everything that had happened.

"Coward," Shade growled, his voice coiling in the back of my mind like smoke, thick and suffocating. "You're running, boy. From her. From yourself. You'll never escape your demons if you keep turning away. She's bound to us now—by blood, by fate. You owe her an explanation of what it means to be marked by a dragon."

The words hit me hard, settling like a stone in my chest. He wasn't wrong, but facing it meant tearing open wounds that hadn't even begun to heal.

I gritted my teeth, my fists curling tight at my sides. "Shut up, Shade," I snapped back in my thoughts, my irritation bleeding into my tone.

Shade let out a rumbling chuckle, low and amused. "You can't silence me, boy. You know I'm right. The longer you keep her in the dark, the harder it'll be for her to trust you."

I glanced at her, and the guilt crashed over me like a wave. She was sitting just a few feet away, wrapped in a tattered blanket that was far too thin to shield her from the weight of what she'd endured. Her maroon-red hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the glow of fading light from the fire. The freckles scattered across her cheeks stood out against her fair, tired complexion, but it was her hazel eyes—flecked with gold and green—that kept drawing me in.

Despite the bruises and the exhaustion weighing her down, there was a spark of defiance in her gaze that refused to dim. She looked fragile and unyielding all at once, and it made something inside me twist painfully.

I dragged my gaze away before I did something stupid. Shade's voice rumbled again, softer this time, but no less insistent. "You can't avoid this forever, boy. You marked her. That means something, whether you're ready to face it or not."

I exhaled through my nose, trying to suppress the knot of emotions threatening to unravel. Shade wasn't going to let this go, and neither was I—not really. But right now, she needed rest, not another burden.

I finally steeled myself to glance at her again, and the regret hit me like a fist to the gut.

She was the most broken, beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

Azalea sat on my coat, her back pressed against the jagged remains of the cottage wall. The blanket I'd draped around her shoulders was wrapped tightly, her knuckles pale from the force of her grip. Shafts of golden sunlight poured through the shattered roof, casting fractured beams across her maroon-red hair.

Normally braided with precision, her hair now fell in soft, loose waves, framing her face and tumbling over her shoulders. One unruly strand curled against her neck, brushing the scabbed-over bite where my mark now covered Prince Darrin's. Shade rumbled in the back of my mind, his rage echoing mine, though his growl softened into something like grim satisfaction. As much as I hated how the mark had come to be, seeing it there felt… right. She carried our mark now, not his.

Her hazel eyes, flecked with warm green and gold, glimmered with a mixture of exhaustion and defiance. Even now, when she looked as though she might crumble, that stubborn fire remained. She refused to meet my gaze, her full, flushed lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line.

The oversized shirt I'd dressed her in swallowed her curvy frame, the hem brushing the tops of her bare thighs. Her legs, pale and speckled with faint scrapes, were tucked beneath the edge of the blanket as if shielding herself from the world—or maybe just me.

I'd burned her old clothes. They'd been soaked with blood and reeked of him. The thought of her waking in them had been unbearable. I knew she'd be furious when she noticed, but I didn't care. That filth didn't deserve to linger on her skin.

Let her be mad, I thought grimly, my jaw tightening. Better that than waking up wrapped in his stench.

She deserved better—better than those tattered rags, better than me, better than this godsdamned ruin of a life she'd been forced into. But she was here, and whether she hated me for it or not, I would give her everything I had left.

The air shifted, a sharp whistle slicing through the silence.

Instinct kicked in. I ducked just in time, feeling the rush of something heavy flying past my head.

My own sword came hurtling toward me, slamming into the crumbled stone wall behind me with a deafening clang. Shards of rock scattered across the floor, skittering over the scorched wooden beams beneath my boots.

The blade hit the ground with a metallic thud, but her voice was sharper than any weapon.

The air in the ruined cottage hung heavy with dampness, the scent of moss and charred wood thick in the stillness. Sunlight filtered through jagged holes in the crumbling roof, flickering as the wind stirred the leaves outside. Loose shards of glass glittered faintly where they lay scattered among the rubble, remnants of what might have once been a window.

Her voice cut through the quiet like a blade. "You fucking undressed me," she hissed, her tone trembling with barely-contained fury.

Slowly, I turned to face her, keeping my hands raised in surrender. The tension between us was suffocating, thick as the stagnant air in the forgotten wreckage of the cottage.

"Easy, Princess," I said cautiously, my voice deliberately calm. "I didn't look. I swear."

Her hazel eyes burned, flecks of green and gold catching the fractured sunlight like fire. The blanket she clutched hung loose around her shoulders, but her grip on it was tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

"Liar," she spat, venom dripping from every syllable. She took a single, shaky step forward, her body trembling with anger—or perhaps weakness, though she'd never admit it.

I didn't back away, though the weight of her glare threatened to crush me. My hands stayed up, a gesture of peace. "I'm not lying," I said, softening my tone slightly. "You were unconscious. You needed clean clothes."

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, the color stark against her fair skin and the freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. The blanket bunched further in her hands as though it were the only thing keeping her anger in check.

The accusation struck harder than I cared to admit, a pang of guilt worming its way under my skin. Her words were a blade, cutting deeper than they should have.

She wasn't wrong. I had decided for her. Again.

My jaw tightened as memories clawed their way to the surface—the dragon bond spell, the moment I convinced myself I was doing the right thing. I'd assumed I knew best then, too. Forced her into something she hadn't asked for. Something she might never have wanted.

And look where it's gotten us, I thought bitterly.

Her eyes burned into me, relentless and accusing, demanding answers I didn't know how to give. The trembling in her voice echoed in my mind, amplifying the ever-present weight of my failures.

Shade's voice slithered through my thoughts, low and biting. "You're doing it again, boy. Thinking you know better. Perhaps this time you should try listening instead of deciding for her."

I gritted my teeth, my fists clenching at my sides. "Not now, Shade," I growled silently, forcing my thoughts to stay anchored in the present.

Her knuckles whitened around the edges of the blanket she held, her face a storm of defiance and pain. I could see the exhaustion shadowing her features, the fight it took for her to keep her voice steady, her shoulders squared. She wasn't going to back down, and I didn't blame her.

"You're right," I said finally, the words heavy as stone. My voice was quieter now, the heat from my earlier frustration cooled into something rawer. "I did decide for you. And maybe I was wrong to do that. But waking up in those blood-soaked rags—his stench all over you—I couldn't... I couldn't let you go through that again if it triggered you."

She straightened, her hazel eyes narrowing as they drilled into me. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she tightened the blanket around her shoulders like armor. "You burned my clothes, didn't you?"

I hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. Long enough.

Her nostrils flared, and her expression darkened, a flash of fire in her gaze. "You bastard."

Dragging a hand down my face, I let out a slow, measured exhale. The faint rustle of leaves outside and the soft chirping of birds drifted through the shattered walls of the ruined cottage, a mockery of the storm brewing between us.

"You can be mad," I said finally, my voice steady and low. "Hell, you can throw the whole damn cottage at me if it'll make you feel better. But I'm not apologizing for what I did."

The silence stretched thick and tense between us, the kind of silence that spoke louder than words. Then, without warning, she moved.

The sharp whistle of air was my only warning. I ducked instinctively, just in time to avoid the brick sailing toward my head. It crashed into the crumbled stone wall behind me, fragments scattering across the floor with a sharp crack.

Straightening slowly, I raised my hands in surrender. "Easy, Princess. I didn't look. I swear."

Her response was another brick, this one grazing my shoulder before hitting the ground with a dull thud.

"Stop it," I said firmly, my tone sharpening as I held my ground.

Shade's laughter rumbled in my mind, dark and full of amusement. "This girl is amusing," he barked. "I'm glad we're keeping her. If only I could join her in this game—it might finally teach you some humility, boy."

"Not the time, Shade," I shot back silently, trying to maintain my composure as Azalea bent down to pick up yet another piece of rubble.

"Bastard," she snarled, hefting the brick with alarming ease. "I will—"

"Stop," I cut her off, my voice sharp enough to slice through her anger. "I did not look. But it had to be done. I wasn't going to let you wake up in those old clothes. They reeked of... him. And blood."

The words came out harsher than I'd intended, my frustration bleeding into my tone. It wasn't directed at her—it never was. The rage boiling in my chest was entirely aimed at that cowardly vampire prince and the mark he'd left on her.

Her grip on the brick faltered, her fingers trembling slightly. But she didn't lower it completely. At least she was hesitating now, which was progress.

"If I find out you looked," she hissed, her voice like a blade against my skin, "I'll make sure you sleep in the stables for the rest of your existence."

I forced a sharp exhale, letting a smirk curl at the edge of my lips. "Fair enough, sweetheart. But don't get your panties—or lack thereof—in a twist."

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.

Her eyes flared with renewed fury, and before I could react, an empty water skin slammed into my face. The dull thwack wasn't much, but it was enough to sting my pride.

I let the water skin fall into my hands, glancing down at it before tossing it aside. "I probably deserved that," I muttered under my breath.

Shade snorted in the back of my mind, his amusement as loud and irritating as ever. "More than deserved it, boy."

I swallowed the knot forming in my throat, forcing myself to look at her again. Azalea still clutched the blanket tightly around her shoulders, her hazel eyes blazing, unyielding. She was a picture of defiance, even as exhaustion threatened to pull her under.

The air in the ruined cottage felt stifling, heavy with the dampness of moss and the lingering scent of charred wood. The light filtering through the jagged holes in the roof flickered faintly, catching the edges of broken stone and curling shadows. Each gust of wind outside stirred the trees, creating a low, mournful rustle that only seemed to amplify the tension in the room.

Azalea crossed her arms over the blanket draped around her shoulders, her glare sharp enough to cut through steel. The silence stretched, taut and brittle, until she finally broke it.

"I can't wear this, Zaydon," she snapped, her voice biting and uncompromising. "Go buy me real clothes. Or at least a pair of fucking pants."

I seized the opportunity to diffuse the simmering tension, pressing a hand to my chest and feigning exaggerated shock. "A princess? In pants? Scandalous. The gossip would be endless."

Her lips curled into a mocking smile, her hazel eyes narrowing into slits. "You know," she began slowly, each word a weapon, "you remind me of an iguana. Big, ugly, scary-looking, but goofy as hell and so annoying."

I tsked, dropping my hand with dramatic flair as if wounded. "Ouch. An iguana? That's all I get? Not even something more dignified?"

Her glare remained unwavering, and without breaking eye contact, she bent down and grabbed the same brick she'd hurled at me earlier. This time, her aim was even sharper—the brick sailed past my head by mere inches, colliding with the cracked stone floor behind me with a loud thud.

"Hey!" I barked, stepping back instinctively as my hands flew to guard my crotch. "What did I say about throwing things?"

Azalea didn't even blink. Her fingers curled around another chunk of rubble, her movements as deliberate as her words. "I'll stop throwing things when you stop talking," she said flatly, her tone casual and unnervingly calm. It sent a chill down my spine.

I let out a long, exasperated sigh, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender. "Alright, alright. By the gods, take it easy." Reaching into my pack, I pulled out my cloak and tossed it toward her. "Here. That should keep you covered for now. We'll head to the village and get you proper clothes."

She caught the cloak effortlessly, draping it over her shoulders, but her expression didn't soften. Her sharp gaze locked onto mine, unyielding as ever. "And then we resume traveling to Rola?"

Her question wasn't really a question—she was trying to give an order, one I didn't have the patience for.

The words hung between us like a challenge. My jaw tightened as I exhaled slowly through my nose, forcing myself to stay calm. She was so insistent on completing this damn royal nonsense, pushing forward as though sheer stubbornness would solve everything. It felt like I was the only one here giving a damn about her mental and physical well-being.

"No, Princess," I said, keeping my voice steady even though my patience was stretched thin. "You're going to recover first. I'll get us into the local tavern—they've got an inn. Perfect for what we need while you rest. And I need to contact Riyal."

Her brows furrowed, and I caught the defiance sparking in her hazel eyes, but she stayed silent. Good. Maybe she was finally realizing this wasn't up for debate.

The way her lips tightened, I could tell she hated the idea of anyone taking control, even if it was for her own good. But for now, she didn't argue. That was enough of a win for me.

Her expression remained stoic, but I saw it in her eyes—she'd already pieced it together. Of course, she had. Azalea likely suspected the betrayal long before I had even considered it. She was quicker than I gave her credit for, though I'd never admit that aloud.

"That attack wasn't random," I said, my voice dropping lower, almost conspiratorial. "It was planned. We need someone on the inside, and Riyal's the only one I trust in the castle right now."

Her gaze drifted toward the shattered walls of the cottage, her lips pressing into a thin, contemplative line. She didn't respond right away, but her silence wasn't laced with doubt. It felt more like validation—like she'd been waiting for me to finally catch up to the conclusion she'd already reached.

The wind rustled through the trees outside, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and burnt wood. Her fingers tightened slightly around the blanket, her knuckles whitening for just a moment before she exhaled and let them relax.

"I know," she said at last, her voice quiet but steady.

Of course she knew. Azalea always knew.

That's my princess, I thought, but wisely kept the words locked in my head. If I said it aloud, I'd probably find a brick—or worse—flying at my crotch.

Shade's deep, rumbling laugh reverberated through my mind, sharp and teasing. Careful, boy, he purred, the amusement in his tone undeniable. She may rip your tongue out if she hears you calling her yours.

I'm sure she would, I shot back dryly, though a flicker of warmth crept unbidden into my thoughts. But I'm also fairly certain she secretly likes it, judging by how flushed she gets whenever—

You never learn, do you? Shade interrupted with a low growl, unimpressed. You know what they say about assumptions, boy—there's an ass in there for a reason.

A sharp exhale escaped me before I could stop it, the sound too close to a snort.

"Something funny, Zaydon?" Azalea asked sharply, her head tilting as she turned her sharp gaze back to me. Her tone carried that particular edge—the one that made me wonder if she was about to throw something again.

Gods I hope not.

I froze, schooling my features into a neutral mask. Damn it, Shade. "Nope," I said quickly. "Nothing at all." Desperate to change the subject, I moved closer and extended a hand to her. "Can you stand?"

She shot my hand a glare that could've turned me to stone. "I don't need your help," she bit out, pulling the cloak tighter around herself.

She swatted my hand away and pushed herself upright. Too fast for someone who'd lost that much blood.

I saw it coming before she did. Her knees wobbled, and the color drained from her face as she swayed unsteadily. Before she could hit the ground, I stepped forward, catching her easily. Her head came to rest square in the middle of my chest, her soft maroon hair brushing against my chin. Her hands instinctively clutched at my forearms, her grip weak but desperate.

"Not. A. Word," she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice as sharp as ever despite her clear exhaustion.

I stayed silent, holding her steady as her trembling form leaned against me. Words felt irrelevant in the moment; I was more concerned about whether she was even strong enough to stand. Her breath was shallow, her weight light in my arms—a stark reminder of how much she'd been through.

"You okay?" I asked finally, my voice coming out deeper and far gentler than I intended. "Take as much time as you need."

She stiffened in my hold, as if my words stung her rather than soothed. Her reaction hit harder than I cared to admit. 

Gods above, what would it take to get through to her?

Shade's familiar growl rumbled through my thoughts, his voice dripping with exasperation. "The hell gods must truly hate me to have bound your soul and mine together. You're stupid, boy. Stupid and beyond lucky the goddesses of beauty gave you a handsome face, or you'd be hopeless."

I bit down a growl of my own, resisting the urge to strangle the ancient gecko. "Oh, like you're some kind of expert?" I shot back in my mind.

Shade's laugh was dark and amused. "Boy, my soul has lived in fifty others before you. I have ample experience. But honestly, watching you stumble through this like a clueless teenager is endlessly entertaining."

"Shade. Shut up." My response was curt, my focus snapping back to Azalea.

"You only silence me when you know I'm right," Shade drawled, his tone prickling with disapproval. "Talking with you is dull. You realize I am an ancient, powerful dragon whose soul has already mastered what you now fumble through, don't you? You'd do well to follow some of my advice."

I clenched my teeth, choosing to focus on Azalea instead of admitting Shade might have a point. The damn lizard talked too much, but that didn't mean he didn't know what he was talking about.

Her breathing had steadied slightly, her shoulders rising and falling in a slower rhythm now. She finally pushed back, her hands slipping from my forearms. She avoided my gaze, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush as she straightened with a shaky breath.

Without a word, she turned and started walking—or, more accurately, stumbling—in the direction of the crumbled doorway.

I frowned, my concern rising as I took in the unsteady way she moved. Where does she think she's going now?

"Princess!" I barked, striding after her. "Wait! I still need to put on my armor and gather our belongings."

She didn't turn, but she stopped near a gnarled tree just outside the cottage. Her hands gripped the rough bark for support, her knuckles white as she leaned heavily against it. Her head tilted back, exposing the pale curve of her neck as if just standing upright was too much effort.

"Go on then," she said, her voice edged with exhaustion and annoyance. She waved me off dismissively, her fingers curling weakly before falling back to the tree for balance. "Hurry up."

Her words were sharp, but her body betrayed her. She was fragile right now, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

"She's going to keel over like a newborn lamb," Shade muttered in my mind, his voice tinged with dry amusement. "Better pick up the pace, boy, or she'll end up sprawled out before you can even blink."

"I'm going, I'm going," I snapped back mentally, moving quickly to gather my armor and belongings. As much as I hated to admit it, Shade was once again not wrong—if I didn't hurry, she'd probably end up face-first in the dirt before I could stop her.

Almost an hour later, I had finished strapping on my armor, the familiar weight settling over my shoulders as I secured the last buckle. Our belongings were packed and slung over my back, the straps digging into my muscles. The air in the ruined cottage was damp and heavy, carrying the lingering scent of moss and charred wood. Sunlight streamed through jagged gaps in the ceiling, casting fractured beams across the broken walls and rubble-strewn floor.

Azalea leaned against what remained of the cottage's fireplace, her hazel eyes following my movements. At least some color had returned to her fair, freckled cheeks, though she was still swaddled in my oversized cloak. The fabric dragged along the dusty floor, making her look like a moving bundle of shadows. Still, the fact that she was upright and watching me—rather than sprawled unconscious—was progress.

"Need me to carry you too, Princess?" I asked, breaking the silence as I approached her, my tone teasing.

Without hesitation, she lifted her hand, flipping me off with a perfectly poised middle finger.

I couldn't help the smirk that tugged at my lips. "Only if you want me to, Princess. I love to be of service."

Her hazel eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, a glimmer of sharp green and gold flickering in the light. "I believe you stopped being useful earlier, so I guess your only purpose now is as a glorified pack mule," she quipped, her voice biting and unrelenting.

My jaw tightened. "It was a joke, Princess," I said through clenched teeth, fighting to keep my frustration in check.

"A poor one," she shot back, pushing off the wall with surprising grace. "Good thing you're not assigned as court jester. Come on." She turned and started walking—or wobbling, rather—in the direction of the door.

Shade groaned in the back of my mind, the sound of his mental claw scraping against something invisible, like nails on a chalkboard. It was almost as grating as her attitude. "Boy, if you're trying to charm her, you're doing an impressively bad job of it," he drawled, his voice brimming with exasperation. "A dragon hatchling could do better, and they usually just set things on fire to get attention."

I ground my teeth, forcing my tone to stay calm. "Not now, Shade."

"Oh, it's definitely 'now,'" he fired back, a sharp chuckle rumbling through the recesses of my thoughts. "I'll reiterate what I said earlier—watching you fumble through this is the most fun I've had in centuries. You're like a blind hatchling flapping around in the dark."

"Doesn't that make you a blind hatchling flapping around in the dark too, since we're soul-tied and all?" I shot back, my mental tone sharp.

The silence that followed was brief but brimming with Shade's simmering exasperation. I could practically feel him slap a claw to his face, the mental image so vivid it almost pulled a laugh from me. Instead, a faint snort escaped before I could stop it.

"Seriously, what's so funny, Zaydon?" Azalea's sharp voice sliced through the moment, her hazel eyes snapping to me with the precision of a predator catching the scent of weakness.

I froze mid-step, caught in the awkward space between responding to her and not revealing the ongoing commentary in my head. Damn it. I really needed to work on ensuring my conversations with Shade stayed firmly in my thoughts and didn't accidentally bleed into my expressions.

"Nothing," I said quickly, too quickly, shaking my head like it might dislodge the tension building in my chest. "Nothing at all, I assure you." My hand shot up to rub the back of my neck—a poor attempt to appear casual, though I doubted it fooled her for a second.

"Smooth," Shade's voice drawled in my head, thick with mocking amusement. 

"I swear to the gods, Shade—shut it," I snapped back silently, focusing on keeping my expression neutral as Azalea's narrowed eyes lingered on me.

Ignoring him, I adjusted the pack on my shoulders and gestured toward the broken doorway. "Let's go."