last. He was standing immediately before her within a few heartbeats.
Leyloni’s full, pink lips parted. Arysteon felt her in his heart, in his spark; even when he’d had his clan, he’d never felt this complete.
Arysteon released a slow breath and lifted a hand. It trembled as he moved it toward Leyloni’s face. She did not recoil from his touch, did not break eye contact with him. Gently, he caught a lock of her curls, rubbing it between the sensitive pads of his finger and thumb.
It was soft. So, so soft.
“Amazing,” he rasped.
Leyloni hesitantly placed her hand upon his chest. The heat of her palm baked through his scales, and he groaned at the feel of it, leaning into her touch—craving more of it.
“You are real,” she said, voice awed as she moved her fingers over his scales.
He settled his hand on her cheek and stroked his thumb across her cheekbone. Her skin was soft and smooth, so perfect. Her scent—a mixture of fresh blossoms, exotic fruit, and desire—permeated the air, stronger than ever, and he breathed it in greedily. The ache in his groin intensified, and his stem strained toward her.
“Leyloni,” he groaned, dropping his hands to her hips. He curled his fingers around her, battling his growing desire to feel her body flush against his, fighting to keep himself from yanking her closer. “My mate.”
Saying it out loud seemed the most natural thing in the world—it was right, even knowing what he’d given up to make it so. His shape, his old life, his immortality; they were gone now. But he did not mourn them. Standing here like this, touching Leyloni and feeling her warmth, this alone was worth the price. He wanted this and so much more.
Arysteon wanted her. He wanted all of her.
Leyloni’s cheeks flushed, and she released a soft puff of air. She curled her fingers against his chest, and her blunt nails lightly scraped his scales. A shudder wracked him, coursing all the way to the tip of his tail, and his stem twitched. Seed seeped from its tip.
“You are mine?” she asked, easing closer to him, her eyes dipping to his mouth. Her tongue slid out to wet her lips.
Arysteon flexed his fingers against her hips. His gaze dipped as well, settling on those inviting lips. Did they feel different than the rest of her skin? “Until my final breath and forever after, Leyloni.”
A loud squeal came from behind Arysteon just before something grabbed the tip of his tail and tugged on it.
Arysteon’s brows shot up, and he straightened.
Serek, babbling happily, gave Arysteon’s tail another tug before yanking it rapidly up and down.
Laughter burst from Leyloni. “The little hunter has finally caught his prey.”
The corners of Arysteon’s mouth quirked up, and a different sort of warmth danced in his chest. He turned toward Serek, slipping his tail out of the child’s grasp as he did so. Serek dropped forward onto hands and knees to crawl after his prize. He hadn’t made it far before Arysteon caught him.
Arysteon lifted the hatchling until Serek met his gaze. The little human made more of his happy, nonsensical sounds before pressing his lips together and blowing. Spittle sprayed from between those tiny, flapping lips and dribbled down Serek’s chin, much to the hatchling’s amusement.
Though Serek seemed many times larger than before from this new perspective, he was still so small, so helpless. Arysteon’s spark crackled with new ferocity and determination. It was his duty to protect the hatchling—to protect Leyloni.
Arysteon held Serek as he’d seen Leyloni do so many times, drawing the little one against his chest and cradling Serek’s bottom with one arm. He turned to face Leyloni again, looking directly into her alluring green eyes.
My mate.
“The three of us are now a clan.” Catching Leyloni’s chin between his forefinger and thumb—his claws grazing her tender flesh—Arysteon tipped her face up and leaned closer. “I will blast this whole forest to cinder if that is what it takes to keep you and Serek safe. No creature, whether human, dragon, or otherwise, shall do you harm without facing my fury. You are mine, Leyloni.”
8
It was difficult for Leyloni to sit before this low-burning fire without reminiscing. She recalled so many other fires, so many other dark nights, and in every one of those memories were the people she’d loved.
Fires had been central to the life of the Moss tribe. She and her tribe sisters had built such fires during their hunts, warding off the cold and dark, roasting