Page 31 of Ashborne: Defiance

I’d learned to endure pain. Discomfort. Privation. I’d been warned and educated and tested. I knew how to protect my mind against infiltration, and my heart against the despair borne of ruthless treatment. I’d been prepared for the day I was uncovered by a foe and handed to someone determined to break me.

Yet, no one ever told me pleasure, desire, the need for another human being, could ignite such suffering. I’d imagined a matebond as a thrilling, unique connection. A unity. But never this all-consuming need, as if every stifled instinct, every curbed appetite, every swallowed word of the past awaited release, deep within me. And now, the bond between the dragons had ripped down the walls I’d constructed to keep myself safe, and controlled, and human.

Leaving me bare.

Vulnerable.

Feral.

I was unequipped. And frightened of the creature that the gaping hole in my chest threatened to reveal.

Grace… Grace… Grace… Her name pulsed in my ears alongside my heartbeat until I wanted to scream it.

I’d felt her climax. Felt her wanting me. Felt her drawing closer.

I’d done everything I knew to deflect, to misdirect, to send a false trail. And still she’d found me. She was… inescapable.

No. No. Not her. The bond.

Her dragon, Koa, the feral female that had Chosen her—a mind-boggling miracle all on its own—was my dragon’s mate.

Men’s dragons had been bonding for centuries. And though the link drew their Bonded Ones closer, I’d never heard of two dragon riders sucked into the bond. Not in the same manner as the dragons themselves, with this consuming, undeniable hunger that threatened to strip sanity. That was an animal’s instinct. Not a man’s.

Wrong, a tiny voice in the back of my head argued. There were signs. Clues.

Our Furyknight general, and Battle Commander, Donavyn Arsen—to whom I’d sworn allegiance—had suffered this. His dragon, the Primarch of our herd, had bonded the dragon of Bren, my squad sister, and the only known female dragon rider.

The only other female dragon rider, I reminded myself.

Holy shit.

Timid, proper, scheming little Lady Grace was a fucking dragon rider. She was Flameborne now. A trainee. She could become a Furyknight.

It was unfathomable.

I coughed with derision at myself, and shook my head, shook the sweat out of my eyes that continued to pour down my cheeks and back, turning my riding leathers into a slick cocoon.

Even though I hadn’t moved from this spot in over a day, I fought a battle as surely as any in war. Even the few, blessed hours my body finally failed and I’d slipped into sleep, I was tortured by dreams of her, of needing her, of taking her, of fighting for her. Of hunting her through the trees, dragging her to the clearing where the dragons coiled together, pinning her to the ground and—

The pang of hunger—for my mate’s body, not for food—was so acute, bile rose in my throat.

I wanted to weep. And that thought only disgusted me further.

Brute. Animal. Evil.

I was admired among my brothers. Promoted young, used to train men older than myself. Inducted into the Shadowfang before my superior officer. I’d proven my worth and determination, I’d been recognized, used as an asset, trusted. And the whole fucking thing was about to crash down around me because I couldn’t keep my hands off a woman when her dragon was in heat.

A shiver of fear skated down my spine to join the tingling need that sent me pressing against the bonds I’d had the good sense to place on myself before I lost my mind completely.

What the fuck was happening to me?

‘You denigrate yourself, make yourself small, and resist the bond?’ my dragon sighed in my head.

‘Ignore me,’ I bit back at Kham. ‘Focus on your mate.’

‘My mate is grieved. She says you haven’t even told her Chosen your real name? You harm my mate by your rejection of her Bonded One.—’

‘Don’t start.’