The Dragon Lord's Unexpected Mate

The bell above Ashvale & Daughter’s Herb Shop had not rung in three hours, which meant one of two things.Either Oakhollow was having a miraculously healthy week, or everyone was pretending the fever going around wasn’t real so they wouldn’t have to pay for willowbark. Ember was betting on the second one. She swept the same three feet of wooden floor for the fourth time that morning, mostly to keep her hands busy and her skin from catching fire. Again. It wasn’t normal fire. Not real flames licking out of her palms like the stories said. It was worse in some ways. A heat that started in her chest, crawled up her throat, and pooled under her skin until her cheeks went red and her vision swam gold at the edges. The apothecary cooled down ten degrees the moment she stepped outside. “Stop that,” she muttered to herself, pressing the broom harder against the floorboards. “You’re not sick. You’re not special. You’re just warm.” Warm. That was the word she used when Mrs. Daley asked why Ember was fanning herself in January. When her brother’s kids asked why Aunt Ember’s hugs felt like sitting by the hearth. When she woke up at 3am with sweat soaking the sheets and the distinct, ridiculous feeling that something inside her wanted to stretch wings it didn’t have. She was twenty-three. She ran a shop. She paid taxes. Warm was fine. The bell finally jingled. “Ember? You here?” Mira. Thank the gods. Her best friend pushed through the door with a basket on one hip and mud to her knees. Apothecary apprentice by day, disaster magnet by nature. Her dark curls were escaping her braid and there was a leaf stuck behind her ear. “You look like you fought a goat,” Ember said, leaning the broom against the counter. “I did. And the goat won.” Mira dumped the basket. Comfrey, yarrow, and three bruised sprigs of something Ember didn’t recognize. “Trade you gossip for tea. The council is meeting tonight about the ‘mountain sickness.’” Ember moved to the back room and put the kettle on. The stove always felt better than her hands did. “Mountain sickness is what people call it when they don’t want to say plague.” “Exactly. And Old Thom says he saw lights in the Whispering Woods last night. Not lanterns. Like... fire. But moving.” The kettle whistled too early. Ember jerked her hand back from it. A faint scorch mark bloomed on her palm and faded in three seconds. Mira didn’t notice. She was already unpacking. “Also, Jaren from the mill asked about you. Again. Said he’d pay double for a headache tonic if you delivered it.” Ember handed her a mug. “Jaren can walk his own headache here. I’m busy.” “Busy sweeping the same spot until the wood begs for mercy.” Mira sipped. “You’ve been off for weeks, Em. You’re paler. And you’re hot. Like, actually hot. I touched your arm earlier and nearly burned my fingers.” “I’m fine.” The lie came out easy. She’d been practicing. Mira gave her the look. The one that said _I’ve known you since we were nine and stealing apples_. “Fine doesn’t mean sleeping at the shop. Fine doesn’t mean jumping when the wind blows. What’s going on?” Ember opened her mouth. Closed it. "How do you explain nightmares of flying over black mountains? How do you explain waking up with claw marks in your bedsheets that weren’t there when you went to sleep? How do you explain that sometimes, when you get angry, the world went gold?" she thought to herself. “My mother had a fever when she was pregnant with me,” Ember said instead. It was true. “Maybe it did something. I run hot. Big deal.” Mira didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. “Alright. Then come to the market with me tomorrow. Get out of this stuffy place. Fresh air will help.” Fresh air. Right. The last time Ember went to the edge of town she’d gotten dizzy and had to sit down because the sky looked too big. Like it was calling her. “Maybe,” Ember said. They talked until the light went orange. When Mira left, she hugged Ember and hissed through her teeth. “Yep. Still a furnace. See a healer.” “I am the healer,” Ember called after her. She locked up at dusk. Counted the till. Wrote in the ledger. Did everything normal people did. Then she climbed the stairs to the room above the shop and tried to sleep. She failed. At midnight she gave up and went to the back garden. The air was cool for late August. It helped. Barely. She sat on the stone bench her father had built and pressed her palms to the cold rock until the heat in her bled out. That’s when the dream came, even though she was awake. Gold. Wind. Mountains so high they tore the clouds. And a roar that wasn’t a roar, but a name. Mine. She gasped and the vision shattered. Her hands were shaking. There was a faint smell of smoke in the air, but nothing was burning. “Oh gods,” she whispered. “What is wrong with me?” The next three days passed the same way. Customers. Tea. Sweeping. Heat. On the fourth day, the herbalist from the next town over came through with a cart and a warning. “Don’t go into the Whispering Woods,” he said, trading her lavender for coin. “Something’s stirring. Hunters came out last week with burns on their arms. Said the trees were breathing.” “Woods breathe all the time,” Ember said, but her stomach twisted. “Not like this.” That night the heat was worse. She couldn’t keep food down. Her skin felt two sizes too small. In the mirror her eyes looked normal. Hazel. Brown. Human. But when she blinked, she swore she saw gold. She needed something. Moon-moss. It only grew in one place and it was stupid and dangerous and exactly what her hands needed to stop shaking. The Whispering Woods. The sign at the tree line said: _No Entry. By Order of the Crown. Everyone in Oakhollow ignored it. The woods were good for mushrooms and bad for anything else. Ember told herself she’d be in and out. Ten minutes. Grab the moss near the creek and leave. The woods were quiet. Too quiet. No birds. Just the sound of her boots and her own breathing. The air got colder the deeper she went, which should have helped but didn’t. The heat inside her was building again, like a pot left on the stove. Her knees felt weak and her breathing was uncontrollably fast. “Just the moss,” she told the trees. “And then I’m gone.” She found it on a fallen log by the creek. Pale blue and glowing faintly. Rare. Perfect. Her fingers closed around it and— Something hit her. Not a branch. Not an animal. A person. They collided hard. Ember went down on her back, air knocked out of her lungs. The moss scattered. “Ow,get off!” The person above her was huge. Seven feet if he was an inch. Broad shoulders. Black hair. And eyes like a storm. Gray, furious, and staring at her like she’d personally insulted his ancestors. For half a second neither of them moved. Then the world went white-hot. Pain, but not pain. Heat, but not burning. Something snapped in Ember’s chest and reattached somewhere else, somewhere in him. A mark flared on her collarbone. Gold. It felt like a brand and a promise. At the same time, the man’s eyes widened and his hand flew to his own chest, right over his heart. “What—” he started. “Who are you?” Ember finished, because her brain had stopped working. He looked at her. Really looked. From her messy hair to her dusty boots to the faint gold now fading from her skin. His expression went from shock to something worse. Anger. Confusion. “You’re human,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. “I—yes? Who are you?” He stood in one fluid motion and hauled her up with him. His hands were freezing cold. That should have been a relief. Instead it made her shiver. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “No human should be here.” “I’m just getting moon-moss. For medicine. I’ll go.” She tried to step back. Her legs wobbled. The man took a step closer instead. The air between them went thick. Ember could smell snow and smoke and something ancient. “Do you feel that?” he asked quietly. Feel what? The way her heart was hammering? The way the heat in her chest had gone from painful to... right? Like a missing piece clicking into place? “No,” she lied. “Liar.” His voice was low. His hands begun trailing her her skin wear the mark appeared, Ember couldn't resist the gentle touch. Her body responded to his touch, her eyes closed and her lips parted as if waiting for him to kiss her. An inner heat that was felt by both of them ignited and their eyes turned gold, the only thing on their minds was one thing and one thing only. He plunged a passionate kiss on her and she didn't hesitate for a second, it just felt right. They were lost in each other's arms as time recorded their first romantic encounter. They lay in grass and moss, her head on his chest listening to his heart beat. The heat she'd been feeling for years was no longer there and she finally felt normal, what could this mean? "Who are you?" he asked her again breaking the silence. Before she could answer, something in the trees moved. A snap. Then another. The man’s head whipped toward the sound. For a moment his shadow stretched wrong behind him. Too big. Too wide. Like wings. “We’re being followed,” he said. “Go. Now. Back the way you came and don’t stop.” “What about you?” “I’ll handle it.” He turned to leave and Ember, stupid, brave, fever-hot Ember, grabbed his sleeve. “Wait. What’s your name?” He looked over his shoulder. For a second the storm in his eyes softened. “Don’t follow me, little mysterious human.” Then he was gone, moving between the trees faster than any human could. Ember stood there for a full minute, hand pressed to her chest where the mark had been. It was gone now. No scar. No proof. Except the heat. The heat was different. Calmer. Like something had answered it. She gathered what moss she could and ran. She didn’t tell Mira. She didn’t tell anyone. ******** Two weeks later she threw up her breakfast, thought about it for split second then brushed it off. A month after that, the healer put a hand on her stomach and went pale. “There are two heartbeats,” the old woman whispered. “And they’re not human.” Ember thought of gray eyes and snow and a voice that called her little human. She thought of wings in the dark. And for the first time in 23 years, she understood why she was always so warm. But how?