Bound To The Dragon Who Dreamed Of Me

Chapter 4

Lyra — Age 8

Blackwood Pack Territory, Alaska

By her eighth birthday, Lyra Blackwood knew that Alaska wore beauty and brutality like twin crowns. Jagged mountains loomed beyond the windowsill, their snow-packed peaks gleaming like sharpened ivory fangs. Endless forests of spruce and fir stretched into shadowed depths, their needles whispering secrets the wind alone could carry. Winter draped the land in ice too long, while spring arrived hesitantly, as though afraid to break the frost’s hold. Even daylight felt reluctant—pale and fleeting, as if it belonged somewhere warmer, more forgiving.

The pack called this endurance strength. Lyra called it isolation. At eight, she recognized that her world was intentionally narrow. Blackwood territory lay buried deep in the wilderness, miles from any human highway or town’s bright glare. Her father claimed that distance wove a shield around them. Her mother insisted that tradition outweighed all comforts. Lyra suspected that such remoteness made vanishing disappearances too easy.

That morning, she pressed slender palms against the frost-chilled pane of the upper window, peering past the skeletal trees and the distant ridge. Her breath patterned the glass with tiny clouds. Somewhere beyond those pines, beyond the silent expanse, the world stretched wide. Somewhere, the air might taste free instead of watched. She felt the ache of that possibility deep in her chest, and she did not want to admit how fiercely she craved it.

You are thinking of leaving.

His voice, warm and low, slipped into her mind with practiced ease. He no longer startled her with that intrusion, as he had when she was six. Now, each year of her life seemed to draw him nearer—his presence settling around her like a second skin.

Maybe, she answered quietly.

A pause, then that unmistakable certainty: You have thought of it often.

Lyra’s gaze dropped to the yard below, where children in thick furs lined up for drills, their crisp commands puffing white in the cold air. Warriors padded past in heavy coats, their breath trailing after them.

I don’t belong here the way they do.

A ripple of warmth threaded through her thoughts at his silence.

No, he said. You do not.

She should have felt hurt. Instead, a slender relief unfurled in her belly.

Just after midday, her mother’s call echoed down the hall. The upper solar—the only bright room in the packhouse—welcomed Lyra with shafts of pale gold. Sunlight slanted through tall windows and gilded the carved table where Luna Selene Blackwood sat surrounded by leather-bound ledgers. She looked up, silver-gray eyes cool and assessing.

“Sit,” her mother said.

Lyra crossed the room and lowered herself onto a sturdy chair. She had learned her mother’s tones. This one carried the weight of importance.

Selene’s gaze measured Lyra as though searching for some hidden truth. When she spoke, her voice was calm, each word deliberate. “When you are older, your father and I will grant you time away from the territory.”

Lyra’s heart stalled. “What?”

“A few years,” Selene continued. “Enough for you to see more of the world, to form your own judgments before duty calls you back.”

A thrill of hope shot through Lyra’s veins, sharp as ice. “Leave Alaska?” she whispered.

“Temporarily,” her mother confirmed.

Lyra clenched the edge of her chair, afraid she might float away on relief. “Why?”

Selene’s silver eyes softened. “Once you return to take your place as Luna, your life will no longer belong solely to you.”

The truth of those words settled heavy in the room. Luna. Heir. Duty. Chains disguised as honor.

“And distance may help with another matter,” her mother added.

Lyra’s pulse sped. She already knew where this was heading.

“With what?” she forced out.

“With a mate,” Selene said quietly.

The word landed on Lyra’s skin like winter’s sting. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Nevertheless, we must,” her mother replied.

Lyra fell silent.

“You will have time to find one on your own,” Selene went on. “More freedom than most heirs receive.”

Generous, Lyra thought—yet still a warning.

“And if you do not?”

Selene’s gaze never wavered. “Then a match may have to be considered for you.”

The walls seemed to close in. A male chosen for politics or power—someone she would never know, someone she would stand beside out of obligation. The thought made her stomach churn.

“I don’t want that,” she whispered.

“Few ever do,” her mother said softly. “But leadership rarely waits on desire.”

Lyra’s throat constricted. The worst part was not her aversion to a forced mate, but that none of the boys she had ever met stirred anything in her heart. All her thoughts of closeness, of warmth and safety, belonged to someone impossible—someone whispered in dream and shadow.

“Lyra,” Selene said gently, “you must at least be open to possibility.”

Lyra nodded once—an answer expected, not a confession of truth.

Vaelrion

Though Lyra was only eight, her fate worked itself out miles away, beneath the earth and stone of a hidden mountain chamber. There, Vaelrion lay in an enchanted sleep designed centuries ago, his great form immobile under scale and spell. Fire slumbered deep within him, held in check by magic as old as the peaks above. Still, the bond between them rippled through silent stone.

Her thoughts brushed him—hesitant flickers of longing, fear, hope. Her mother’s words on mates tasted of danger on her tongue, and something ancient stirred in him: possessive, fierce. Flames licked the smooth cavern walls, flaring blue-gold in a silent roar. Smoke coiled overhead even though no fire breathed. The mountain seemed to tremble.

He restrained the blaze, fearing to overwhelm her tender mind. She was too small, too human, too unready for the full force of his need. Yet the notion that any other male might claim her ignited molten heat in his blood. He had waited centuries for her. He would endure more, but he would not lose her.

That night, Lyra curled beneath heavy blankets in her narrow bed. The vibration of her mother’s decree pressed against her ribs: a few years away, return, claim her station, find a mate or be matched.

“I don’t want them to choose for me,” she whispered into the dark.

Silence answered. Then warmth slid up from her feet, pooling at her heart as if something promised.

They will not.

Relief rose so fiercely she wanted to demand proof.

“You don’t know that.” Her whisper trembled.

Then his voice—deeper, closer than ever: I know more than they do.

Sleep claimed her before she could speak.

And in her dream, fire broke loose. Not the gentle glow she’d come to expect, but a wild inferno rushing through cracks in black stone. Flames curled like living ribbons of gold, blue, and violet. Smoke rolled across the cliff face in slow waves. Sparks drifted upward like fallen stars.

He was there. Massive and coiled, scales shimmering with secret hues she could almost name. But tonight his form blurred at the edges. Beneath dragon hide lay a face—fleeting, half-shadows, but human enough to stir her heart: dark hair, firm cheekbones, a mouth that softened as he gazed at her.

Lyra’s breath caught. “You’re changing,” she whispered against the roar.

His golden eyes held hers and burned. I am drawing closer.

The flames climbed higher, and she stepped forward as smoke curled around her ankles. “My mother said I’ll have time away,” she said.

I know. His voice rumbled like distant thunder.

“She said I must find a mate.”

The fire pulsed sharp. “And if I don’t,” she said, “they may choose one for me.”

At once the inferno snapped fiercer. Stone cracked. Sparks cascaded down. When he spoke, his tone was no longer gentle warmth but raw demand.

No male will be chosen for you.

Lyra’s heart thundered in her ears. “You can’t know that.”

I do. His certainty struck her like a physical blow.

She should have stepped back. She did not. “Why?”

He lowered his massive head until heat rolled over her limbs. Because I have waited too long for you.

The fire leaned toward her, drawn by the promise in his voice. She stared, pulse trembling, at the shifting lines of his dragon face, at the glimpse of a man beneath. “What does that mean?”

He exhaled a breath that tremored like a promise. Before you were born, I knew there would be one—a female meant to alter the fate of my kind.

Lyra’s chest ached. “I’m just… me.”

Something like sorrow hummed through him. There is nothing ‘just’ about you.

Her eyes stung with tears he somehow perceived. You do not belong to their plans, he said. If they dare speak of giving you to another male—

The flames leaped, scorching the night’s edge. His gaze sharpened, half dragon, half man: fierce, ancient, utterly devoted. -they will learn what it means to touch what was never theirs.

Lyra’s breath caught as she lifted a trembling hand. At her touch, where dragon scale melded with soft skin, warmth surged, and he closed his eyes. The fire bowed, hushed as if the world itself held its breath.

“Why can I see you more now?” she whispered.

Because the bond grows.

“And when it’s stronger?”

After a beat, softer: Then you will know me in full.

His words drifted through her like smoke.

In that dream-lit space, he drew his forehead to hers, still keeping the faintest distance between them. I have waited in darkness for you, Lyra, he murmured. Do not ask me to welcome another.

Her eyes burned with a fierce promise of her own. “I don’t want one.”

The world stilled. Then his expression cracked open—raw, unguarded, devastating. Somewhere in his silence lay something older, possessive. Across the distance, through hefts of earth and centuries of magic, a dragon prince stirred, closer to waking than he had ever been.