The Dragon King's Blind Mate

Shadow Again

Lyra squeezed her eyes shut, pulling her shoulders up to her ears. The air in the room grew suffocatingly hot as Xalvador leaned over her, his heavy, ragged breathing brushing against her cheek. She braced for a blow, or worse, the lethal, soul-sucking drain of his touch.

"You are a brave little thing, aren't you?" Xalvador murmured, his voice entirely devoid of amusement.

Before she could process the words, a pair of massive, unyielding arms scooped her off the mattress. Lyra gasped, her hands flailing in the empty air before instinctively gripping his broad shoulders. He strode across the chamber and kicked open the double doors to the bathing room.

He set her down on her feet, his hands immediately tearing at her soiled clothes.

"No, please," Lyra whimpered, her hands frantically swatting at his fingers, trying to pull the ruined fabric back over her skin. "Don't..."

"Be still," Xalvador commanded, pinning both of her wrists together with one hand.

His tone left no room for negotiation. Lyra forced her muscles to relax, standing completely rigid as he stripped the ruined garments away. With methodical, cold efficiency, Xalvador used a damp linen cloth to clean the grime from her skin. His touch was firm but surprisingly careful, avoiding the dark scars wrapping around her throat. Once she was clean, he threw an oversized, soft silk shirt over her head.

"Sit," he ordered, guiding her down onto a cushioned wooden chair near the basin.

Lyra sank into the seat, her bare toes curling tightly against the cold floorboards. She listened to the rustle of fabric as Xalvador used a telepathic link to summon the servants. Within seconds, the main chamber doors opened, and the hushed, terrified rustle of a maid changing the bedsheets echoed into the bathroom.

Lyra didn't move an inch. She sat perfectly still, her ears straining to track Xalvador's movements. The punishment is coming, she thought, her chest tightening with absolute dread. No one insults a nobleman like that and lives.

Xalvador walked out of the washroom, the wet silk of his ruined robe dripping onto the stone floor. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her. She looked so small in his chair, her head bowed submissively, her unseeing eyes fixed on the floor. A sudden, dangerous wave of heat flooded his veins.

“Calm down, Xalvador,” Yves warned inside his head, the dragon thrashing against his restraint. “Your blood is spiking. You will break the buffer.”

Ignoring the warning, Xalvador strode over to her. "Stand up."

Lyra scrambled to her feet, her knees knocking together. "I... I am so sorry," she stuttered, her ruined throat pushing out the raspy words with immense effort. "The food... it was too fast. I didn't mean to... please don't—"

"How should I punish you, Lyra?" Xalvador interrupted, stepping directly into her personal space.

A violent tremor racked her body. She couldn't see the dark smirk on his face, but she could feel the sheer, predatory intensity radiating off him. Her terror only fueled the fire in his blood. His Jagan instincts roared, the thrill of her fear making his heart beat at an alarming pace.

Before Yves could stop him, Xalvador grabbed her waist, pulled her flush against his chest, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. He didn't bite. He opened his mouth and sucked fiercely on the soft skin of her throat.

Lyra gasped, a low, involuntary moan slipping from her lips at the sudden, overwhelming sensation. But the moment her defenses dropped, the curse flared. The obsidian blood barrier in Xalvador's veins cracked under the pressure of his arousal.

Instantly, the vacuum activated.

Lyra’s moan turned into a choked sob. The vibrant warmth inside her chest was violently ripped away, spiraling into Xalvador like a tidal wave of stolen light. Her vision, already dark, felt as though it were collapsing into a void. Her strength evaporated in a single heartbeat.

By the time Xalvador realized what he was doing and tore his mouth away, Lyra’s head snapped back. Her limbs went completely limp, her body sagging like a ragdoll in his grip.

"Damn it!" Xalvador growled, scooping her up and laying her onto the freshly changed bed.

He lunged toward the door, throwing it open to bark at the guard outside. "Bring the royal healer! Now! If she takes longer than a minute, I'll have her head!"

Within moments, an elderly dragon woman bustled into the room, her hands glowing with a soft, green restorative magic. She passed her hands over Lyra's pale, unmoving form, checking her pulse and chest.

The healer stepped back, bowing low. "She will survive, Your Grace. Her vital energy took a severe shock, but her heart is steady. She needs absolute rest for a few days. No excitement. No... strain."

"Leave us," Xalvador snapped.

The healer hurried out, closing the heavy doors behind her.

“You fool,” Yves hissed in his mind, his voice dripping with pure disgust. “You almost killed her. You cannot control yourself around her when your blood heats up. You are a danger to our own mate.”

Xalvador didn't answer the dragon. He stood over the bed, staring at Lyra's pale face, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked out of the grand master chambers.

He walked with an absolute, deadly purpose, heading straight back toward the hidden staircases that led down to the dungeons. He needed more blood. He needed a stronger buffer before she woke up again.

He strode down the dimly lit corridors, his mind consumed by the terrifying realization of how easily he could destroy her. Because of his focus, he was completely unaware of the dark corners behind him.

From the high, open window of his bedroom, the same thick, ink-like shadows from before slid silently onto the floor. They stretched, molding themselves against the dark marble walls, following the King's footsteps like a silent, vengeful second skin.