Page 84 of Mate of a Monster

“Haide.” His expression turns strangely serious again. “I fucked up terribly and my mistake is mine to fix. But in trying to right the wrongs I’ve made, I found something I wasn’t looking for,” he says quietly. “I should probably be on my knees in front of you.”

My brows shoot up. “Well, now I’m interested.”

He gestures toward the book again. “Open it.”

I flip it open.

Cramped writing and symbols litter the pages. The contents look older than anything I’ve ever seen on the island. Ink faded in some places, darker in others where someone clearly went back over the lines like they wanted to make damn sure the words survived.

My attention is drawn to the image on the lower half of the page.

An outline of a woman’s hand, and the curved head of a hatchling dragon pressing against her palm. Its snout leans into her skin, wings folded tight against its small body while larger shadows circle above them in looping shapes that look less like beasts and more like guardians marking a sky.

Carved beneath the image is a single title, replicated again and again between the curling sigils.

Drakaryth. The voice of the guardians, crown of the sky, and bearer of the first flame.

My brows pull and I lean a little closer. That name.

I’ve heard it before. That’s what Thyrix called me the day he first slipped into my head.

“What the hell is this?” I breathe, a strange heat building along my temples.

Creed’s expression is tender in a way that doesn’t belong on his face. “What do you know of the first flame, Haide?”

“What the fuck is a first flame?”

“Turn the page.”

My stomach hits the floor. “No.”

He rounds the table, coming to stand behind me. His hand covers mine and he flips the page, though his touch lingers longer than necessary.

My entire body locks tight as I stare at the pictures below.

The first flame.

“Dark as the soil that leaves their souls unseen,” Creed reads quietly. “The first flame is the sacred fire of the fates, the eternal ember carried from the dawn of dragon kind.”

My body seems to lean closer on its own, pulse pounding harder by the second.

“As the first beasts to walk our realm, Dragons became the guardians of all magical beings. They rise and fall in honor, but the fallen are never lost to the sky,” he murmurs, and my fingers shoot up, sliding along the words as he speaks them aloud. “When a dragon falls, its soul is sealed into stone and buried deep within the soil. And so, its power does not fade from the realm, and is only discoverable by the Drakaryth herself.”

My pulse stutters.

Buried in the soil.

My gaze jumps down the page, to the drawing beneath the last script—stones scattered beneath the arch of a cavern, protected by rock walls and twisted roots.

Holy shit, it can’t be…

Creed keeps reading. “It returns its gift to the giver in honor, proud to be bound to the Drakaryth, and in turn, feeding the fire. With every fallen guardian, the bearer of the first flame grows stronger, carrying the will and power of every beast who came before.”

Creed trails off as we get to the last word and I feel him shift behind me. When I glance back, his eyes are on my temple. There’s a brief touch of—heat—a spark—but it’s not in pain. He’s not trying to dig inside my head. It’s something else.

“Turn the page, brat,” he says quietly, finally moving away to circle the table to stand at the opposite side.

My fingers start to shake, annoyance weighing my brows down. I’m not this anxious girl.