Azalea
Whenever the red glow filled Zaydon's eyes, the air around us seemed to thicken with an energy that was hard to describe, charged with a heat that seemed as close to dragon fire as I could imagine, mixed with something equally wild as it was ancient and steady… Yet, his features softened beneath that crimson sheen, as though even the dragon in him gentled once his gaze found mine. What I loved most of all is that I could still catch the ring of the rich green I knew so well, faint embers of the man I cared for.
His hand was still so gentle as it tilted my face up, his breath hot on the skin of my cheeks, with so little distance between our faces.
"Zaydon?" I whisper, voice hushed and steady, eyes locked on those shifting colors.
He remains utterly still, every muscle taut, and I wonder if that stillness is for my sake, as if he didn't want to scare me and so he made an effort of restraint.
He tilts his head and shakes it once, slow and controlled, in response to my question.
My mind took me to the memory of a few nights ago when he mentioned the name of his dragon…what was it again?
"Shade?" I breathe the name so softly, the forest hush seems to cradle it.
He remains unnervingly still, power thrumming beneath his skin, but I do not look away. Then he lifts his head and nods with confirmation. So did that mean whenever he took the demiform, his dragon, Shade, was in control? Was Zaydon able to see me, or did his consciousness turn black while Shade's took over?
A flush of heat rises in my cheeks. My tongue drags across my suddenly parched lips in the dry winter air.
"Is he still in there?" I whisper, the words nearly lost in the silence of towering pines and damp earth.
I watch him, noting every subtle shift, the same face, yet so different. It is like seeing twins, identical until one step reveals a world of distance between them. With Shade in command, Zaydon's usual rich baritone has deepened; each syllable carries an accent I cannot place, as though forged in dragonfire rather than human speech.
"Yes, we are one," he says, voice low and resonant.
"One simply dominates when control is given. The other is still present, like an internal voice speaking in the mind." His words of explanation hang heavy between us as he tilts his fingers and lets them slide down to my throat. The rough pads of his fingers felt the curve of my neck and the frantic drum of my pulse beneath his touch. As if trying to affirm to himself, I was alive and well.
"You did not answer me, my princess," he murmurs, concern flickering in his eyes. "Where were you all this time?"
Out of reflex, I want to snap back that it is none of his business, but the gentle warmth of his hand and the sincerity in his tone hold me silent.
I draw in a trembling breath. "I was at the temple, presenting offerings to the goddesses," I admit, voice softer, almost embarrassed. My other hand drifts up to rest against his, fingers curling around his wrist. His skin is firm, just warm enough to banish the chill of the evening air.
He studies me, brow furrowing in a way that makes his profile seem more angular, more vulnerable.
"Why?" I ask, guiding my thumb in a steady, soothing circle over the pulse at his wrist. The scent of pine and damp earth drifts through the stillness. "You look worried."
He tightens his grip, not in threat, but as though to anchor himself.
"The bond… both of them stopped. We could not sense you. We thought—" His hand presses a fraction more firmly against my throat, a silent promise of protection. "We thought the worst."
My heart jolts into my throat. My fingers slide back along his wrist, tracing the fine tremor I feel against my skin.
"That is not possible," I breathe. "I do not know about the dragon's mark, but the dragon's bond cannot be broken unless one of us is dead."
He inclines his head and draws me against his chest, the steady beat of his heart thrumming beneath my ear. The cool weight of his armor beneath my fingers contrasts with the warmth radiating from his skin.
"But it did not break," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my bones, "it felt blocked, as if someone had placed a barrier between us. Even with centuries of knowledge, I cannot explain it. Dragons have walked this world since before the gods departed, and I have never felt or heard of anything like this."
A sudden cold breeze whips around us, carrying the sharp scent of ice on the wind, interrupting our concerns. Clouds churn overhead, thick clouds the colour of charcoal racing across the sky. Shade lifts his head, nostrils flaring as he inhales the charged air. In a single, fluid movement, he wraps his leathery wings around us, the inner membrane soft and warm against my cheek, shielding me from the gusts.
"Blizzard is returning," he says, gaze fixed on the darkening horizon. His red eyes glisten in the fading light, reflections of storm and fury.
He turns back to me, concern and urgency mingling in his expression. "We should go, yeah?"
I press closer, the promise of safety in his arms guiding my answer. "Yeah."
He lifts me effortlessly into his arms, with one strong arm firmly hooked beneath my knees and the other around my waist. My heart thunders, this feels so right, and yet so strange because it wasn't Zaydon, not really, and yet I was still drawn to him as I was Zaydon.
His wings unfold in broad, shadowed arcs, the membrane stretching with a faint, leathery crack. Then, with one mighty beat, we surge upward. The wind shrieks past our ears, icy and sharp, carrying the scent of wet stone and pine needles.
He holds me against his chest, the rigid plates of his armor cool as night frost under my palm. I raise my hand to his neck, seeking his warmth. His skin there is rich heat, like cradling a freshly filled hot water bottle against the cold. I can't tell if his body burns hotter than usual or if it's simply the contrast of his warmth against the chill of his armor—but it sends a thrill through me.
When we touch down at the inn, he hesitates before setting me down, every movement heavy with reluctance. He draws his wings in, folding their immense span until he resembles the Zaydon I know—save for those glowing eyes. Shade still rules his gaze.
Once inside our room, I step forward and sit on the edge of the bed, feeling the spongy spring beneath me. He stands motionless, watching my every shift of weight.
"Do dragons always stare?" I ask, forcing lightness into my tone. At my words, he seemed to force himself to relax and move forward towards where I sat.
I remind myself that Zaydon would never hurt me. But Shade is in control now, and he is a mystery. He might protect me, or he might not, and the fact that the bond had halted still weighed heavily in my mind.
Shade pauses as if he can see every unspoken fear in me. He inhales slowly, then lowers himself until he is squatting before the edge of the bed in front of me. Even crouched, his eyes meet mine without effort.
"Zaydon and I agreed he would let me be in control for a bit so I can speak to you. That is all this is. Is that all right, Azalia?" His voice is soft, almost hesitant.
I nod, my shoulders easing. He seems to relax, too.
"I want you to know that I will never hurt you. Though it may feel terrifying to stand before a dragon even in this form, I know you can still sense the power I hold. I want you to know we are the ones you can trust never to harm you."
I lift a brow, unable to mask my skepticism.
"Because of the dragon's bond?"
He shakes his head. "If that belief comforts you, hold it close. But truly, it is because of this." He brushes my cloak aside, fingertips grazing the mark at my collarbone. His touch is light, reverent, and I feel a sudden warmth as if the scar pulses in response to him.
"I know this mark was made under dire circumstances. But when Zaydon made this choice—when we made this choice—we had to make it together, and we chose you, not to keep you as a possession but as our mate." His voice grows tender as his hand sweeps up to cup my cheek.
A shiver runs through me, both from the heat of his palm and the gravity in his eyes. The mark beneath his touch thrums like a living thing, responding to the promise in his words.
"But there's a catch," he says, voice low and serious, each word vibrating through his chest against mine. "If a dragon chooses a mate who does not choose back, the dragon will spend eternity alone in every lifetime. And a dragon needs a mate if it wishes to have children. These choices are never made lightly. This means, Azalia…" His hand slips beneath my cloak and gown, warm fingers brushing the hollow at my heart. I feel the firm press of his palm, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my ribs. "It means you have to choose us, too. And before you decide, I need you to know me, the beast as you call me. Accepting Zaydon means accepting me, as well. You can claim or reject this bond, but it cannot linger unresolved."
A tight knot of fear coils in my chest. "That's a hell of a lot of pressure, considering if I refuse, you and Zaydon have no mate, you Shade will not be able to choose another in your next life either," I say, my voice shaky as the pressure starts to pull the air from my lungs.
He drops his hand and begins to rub my leg in slow, soothing circles, each stroke sending a warmth through me, grounding me from the anxiety starting to suffocate me.
"I know this is overwhelming. There is so much more we need to share, but I promised honesty, and I mean to keep that promise. We chose you under dire circumstances, yes, and the mark itself was born of necessity. But we had desired you long before that moment. We have always been sure. That is one thing I will never question, and something you should never question either."
His words fall around me like embers, kindling a heat deep in my chest. A sense of want and something deep in my soul seemed to interwine with his in this moment. I wanted to say I did choose them right now, but there was so much we still needed to work through. So much history and politics, I couldn't give in to the impulse…not yet.
"Thank you… for your honesty," I whisper, eyes locked on his.
He nods and continues the gentle rhythm on my thigh, each motion a silent pledge to reassure and protect.
"Zaydon will take over soon. May I leave you with a warning and a gift?"
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and tilt my head, brows drawn together as I nod. "Yeah."
"A dragon will do anything you ask," he says, voice rich and low, the vibration humming through his chest against my palm, "and then some. That power you hold over us can either protect you or turn what you love into the monster you fear. Remember that, princess."
I place my hand over his, feeling the steady pulse beneath his skin. His warmth seeps into my fingers, comforting and strange all at once. "Alright," I whisper, voice soft but certain, "I promise to keep that in mind."
I lean in closer. He holds still, breath faltering as my heartbeat pounds in my ears. At the edge of my courage, I murmur, "I will think … and decide once I know everything. There is so much to unpack, and things Zaydon still needs to tell me himself as well."
Then I tilt my head and press my lips to his. He does not hesitate. His kiss is firmer than Zaydon's ever was, every movement precise and sure, as though guided by ancient instinct. I part my lips, and his tongue slides in, warm and insistent. His hand shifts from my thigh to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, anchoring me against his strength as my mind becomes a haze and swirl of emotion without thought.
He kisses me deep, chest rising and falling against mine, breath hot and urgent. When he finally draws back, our chests heave together in a shared ragged rhythm. He does not say goodbye because there is no need. As he said, they are one. Shade would still be present when Zaydon returned to me.
I watch the red flame in his eyes soften, melting into the deep forest green I know so well. A tentative smile curves my lips.
"Zaydon," I whisper into the quiet of our room, relief and longing swirling in my chest.