When Dragons Burn

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Rayna

By the time the rangers made it through the door, Miron looked like a man held together by tape, pain, and pure stubbornness. He was sitting on the edge of the cot, hunched over, one hand braced against the wall to stay upright. The torn shirt hung off him in strips. Sweat slicked his hair back. I was still shaking from what had just happened, but I forced my face into the calm, neutral expression I used on scenes with too many bystanders.

“Ma’am?” the taller ranger asked, stepping inside. Rain dripped off his hood. “We got your call. You said he was semi-conscious and injured?”

“He is,” I said, stepping aside so they could see him.

The younger ranger set down the stretcher and gave Miron a once-over. “Sir, we need to get you to the hospital. That wound looks deep. Can you stand?”

Miron looked at me first, not them. Not a word spoken, but everything in his face said no. Not refusal out of pride. Not stubbornness. Fear. A cold, quiet fear I hadn’t seen from him until that moment.

I knew instantly why.

Hospitals meant charts. Needles. Imaging. Blood tests. More people. Bright lights. All the things someone who wasn’t exactly… human… couldn’t hide from.

His jaw clenched. “I’m not going.”

The older ranger frowned. “With respect, sir, you don’t look like you’re in any shape to decide that.”

“He’s lucid,” I said quickly, stepping between them before this went bad. “And he's right. Moving him now is going to tear the wound open again. We just stopped the bleeding or I would have radioed you sooner so you didn't waste your time. I'm sorry.”

The younger one looked at the dried streaks of blood on the floor and the mangled remains of the cot legs. “He did all that?”

I didn’t blink. “Pain makes people thrash. He’s stable now.”

Miron’s eyes never left mine. His hands were trembling. He was holding himself together with nothing but willpower and the last thread of control after everything that had just happened between us.

“I’d like to reassess him in the morning,” I told the rangers, keeping my tone steady. “Storm’s too heavy. The roads are still blocked. Let him get a few hours of rest, and we’ll meet you down at the station as soon as daylight hits.”

The rangers hesitated. They weren’t used to being told no, especially by someone who looked like they could fit inside their coat pockets. But neither wanted to drag a grown man out into a storm when he clearly looked like he’d rip open whatever was holding him together.

Finally, the older ranger nodded. “All right. First light. If he’s not down the mountain by ten, we’re coming back up.”

“Fair,” I said.

They packed up the stretcher, took one more uneasy look at the wrecked floorboards, then stepped outside. The door shut. Their voices faded into rain.

When their truck engine finally rumbled away, the cabin fell into a heavy quiet.

I turned back to Miron.

“You can’t go to a hospital,” I said quietly.

“No,” he whispered. “I can’t.”

I swallowed the guilt that rose in my throat. I’d just lied for him. Covered for him. Sent the only real help away because he wasn’t human enough for the world outside this cabin to touch.

And weirdly… I didn’t regret it.

“Okay,” I said, taking a breath. “Then we do this my way.”

I stepped closer, checking his pupils, watching his breathing. He was still too hot, still hovering on the wrong edge of control.

“Rayna.” His voice was rough. “You shouldn’t—”

“Stop,” I cut in. “Save the warnings for later.”

I reached for his wrist to check his pulse.

That’s when it happened.

The moment my fingers brushed his skin, something flared under both our hands—bright and sudden, like static jumping between metal surfaces, except warmer. Hotter. Alive. This was much more drastic than when I made contact with his skin before. So what changed?

“Miron—”

But the surge hit faster than either of us could react.

Heat shot up my arm in a single, sharp wave that stole my breath. A streak of golden light raced beneath my skin, traveling from the base of my palm up toward my wrist. I yanked back too late—the damage was already done.

A glowing mark burned into existence just above my wrist bone. Not carved, not blistered. Appeared. Perfect lines. Circular shape. Runes I didn’t recognize. A flicker of light pulsed through it, syncing with my heartbeat… and his.

He grabbed his chest with a choked breath. The bandage glowed from beneath, answering the mark on me—same pattern, same light, same pulse.

Our rhythms lined up.

“What the hell,” I whispered.

His eyes dropped to my wrist, and pure, raw fear hit his face. Not at me. At what this meant.

“No,” he said softly, shaking his head. “No, no, no.”

He tried to stand and failed, hitting the cot hard as his knees gave out. His hands shook violently. The wings he’d managed to pull back twitched beneath the skin of his back, like his body wanted to break apart again.

“You should have let me die,” he said. Not loud. Worse—quiet. Honest.

That sentence was a punch.

“Don’t say that,” I snapped.

“It’s the truth.” He pressed his palm over his heart, over the glow beneath the bandage. “You don’t understand what we’ve done.”

“We didn’t do anything,” I shot back. “You were shifting back. Your body was melting down. I touched you to keep you from ripping the cabin in half.”

“That’s enough,” he said harshly, voice cracking. “That is enough to bind us.”

I stared at him. “Bind us?”

“You carry my mark.” His voice broke again. “And I carry yours. This is a bondmark.”

The word meant nothing. But the way he said it chilled me worse than the storm outside.

“In dragon culture,” he continued, “a bondmark is permanent. Life-linked. Fire-linked. It is not given. It is not earned. It is chosen by the core—the flame inside us. And it should never—ever—happen with a human.”

My stomach hollowed. “How permanent?”

He held my gaze with hollow eyes.

“Until one of us dies.”

The cabin felt too small. The air too thin. I couldn’t look away from the mark on my wrist. It was beautiful in a terrifying way, glowing like the last ember of a dying fire.

“What does it do?” I asked, voice shaking.

“It ties your life to mine,” he said. “And my fire to you. You will feel when it flares. You may even feel when I… weaken.”

“And you feel me too,” I said, realizing it as the words left my mouth.

“Yes.”

I closed my eyes for one second, trying to hold myself together with nothing but willpower. “And your.. council? I heard you talking about them when you were dreaming. What happens if they find out?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Miron,” I pressed.

His jaw clenched. “They will kill me for it.”

My throat went dry. “And me?”

Silence.

“Miron,” I said again, quieter.

He finally looked at me. “Humans don’t handle memory erasure well. And a marked human? They will not take the risk of letting you keep your life with my flame inside you.”

I sat down before my knees could give out. The table edge dug into my palm.

“So,” I said, swallowing hard. “That’s why you think I should’ve let you die.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Because now they will come for you because of me.”

I stared at the mark again. It pulsed once, faintly, answering the slower, pained thud of his heart.

Then I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “Sorry. I don’t accept that.”

He lifted his eyes, confused.

“You’re alive,” I said. “I’m alive. We’ll figure the rest out later. But don’t ever tell me I should have left you to bleed out in the mud. I don’t make that choice. Not for anyone.”

He looked at me like I’d just done something far more insane than pulling a wounded not-human man off a mountainside.

Outside, thunder rolled farther off. The storm was finally pulling away.

Inside, between our two marks, the air still crackled with something new and dangerous and permanent.

But neither of us looked away.

Not this time.