Chapter 3: The Heat of the Hunt
1228 Words
The obsidian walls of the Spire did not just contain Lyra; they seemed to watch her. Every time she moved, her reflection followed in the polished stone—a ghost in a crimson shroud, haunted by the memory of the arena.
Left alone after Valerius's departure, Lyra had spent the hours pacing the length of the massive chamber. She had tested the balcony, but the drop was thousands of feet into a jagged ravine of volcanic rock. She had tested the doors, but they were locked from the outside with heavy iron bolts that required the strength of a dragon-born to shift.
She was a bird in a cage of gold and glass, waiting for the predator to return.
As the second moon rose, a soft chime echoed through the room. A hidden panel in the wall slid open, and two women stepped inside. They were dressed similarly to Lyra, though their silks were pale blue and their eyes were hollow. They carried trays of exotic fruits, roasted meats, and a pitcher of water that smelled of mint.
"Eat," one of them whispered, her voice barely a thread. She didn't look up. "He prefers his tributes with strength. If you waste away, his temper will be... short."
Lyra stepped forward, her chains long gone but her heart still heavy. "Who are you? How long have you been here?"
The woman flinched as if Lyra had struck her. She finally looked up, and Lyra saw the faded Brand of the Dragon on her collarbone. It wasn't the vibrant red of Valerius's mark; it was a dull, scarred grey.
"I am Elara," she said. "I have survived three winters. Do not ask about the others. Do not look for them. Just eat, and pray that tonight he is weary from the hunt."
Before Lyra could ask more, the women retreated, the panel clicking shut behind them. The silence that followed was even more suffocating than before. Lyra forced herself to eat. Every bite of the rich, spiced meat felt like ash, but she knew Elara was right. If she was to find a way out of this nightmare, she couldn't be weak.
She was finishing the last of the fruit when the air in the room suddenly changed. The temperature spiked, a wave of dry heat rolling in from the balcony.
He's back.
A moment later, Valerius vaulted over the railing. He was covered in soot and blood—none of it his own. He looked feral, his chest heaving with the exertion of the flight. Ignis landed behind him, the dragon's scales clicking like armor as it settled onto the stone.
Valerius didn't look at the dragon. His amber eyes locked onto Lyra. He looked at the half-empty tray of food, then at her.
"You ate," he noted, his voice thick with a strange sort of satisfaction. He began to unbuckle his leather bracers, dropping them to the floor with heavy thuds.
"I have no intention of dying of starvation in your room," Lyra replied, standing her ground. Her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard it felt like it might burst.
Valerius walked toward the large washbasin in the corner. He poured water over his head and shoulders, the liquid hissing as it hit his overheated skin. He wiped the blood from his face with a rough cloth and then turned to her, his wet hair sticking to his forehead.
"Come here," he commanded.
"No."
Valerius stopped. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. It wasn't the smile of a prince; it was the smile of a wolf who had found a lamb that dared to growl back.
"I did not ask, Lyra."
He was across the room in three strides. Lyra tried to dodge, but he caught her by the waist, his arm feeling like a band of heated iron. He pulled her flush against him, and she gasped as the heat of his bare chest burned through the thin gossamer of her shift.
The physical proximity was overwhelming. He was all hard muscle and raw power, the scent of smoke and ancient fire radiating from his pores.
"You smell of jasmine and fear," he murmured, his head dipping to the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply, his stubble grazing her sensitive skin. "It's a heady mix."
"Let me go," she hissed, even as a treacherous shiver of heat raced down her spine. "Is this all I am to you? A scent? A prize?"
Valerius pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. The amber glow in his irises was swirling, a storm of molten gold. "You are whatever I decide you are. Tonight, you are the distraction I need from a world that wants me to be nothing but a butcher."
He shifted his grip, his hand sliding up from her waist to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her dark hair. He forced her head back, exposing her throat.
"Tell me, Lyra," he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from hers. "Do you hate me because I saved you, or because you can feel the dragon in my blood calling to the fire in yours?"
"There is no fire in me for you," she lied, her breath hitching as his thumb traced the line of her jaw.
"Liar."
He crushed his mouth to hers.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was an invasion. It tasted of wine and salt and the metallic tang of battle. It was demanding and rough, a physical manifestation of his possessiveness. And the worst part—the part that made Lyra's knees weak—was that she was kissing him back.
She hated him. She loathed everything he stood for. But as his tongue tangled with hers and his hands wandered over her body, she felt a spark ignite deep within her belly—a dark, addictive heat that she had never known existed.
Valerius groaned into her mouth, his grip tightening until it was almost painful. He lifted her off her feet, slamming her gently against the obsidian wall. The cold stone behind her and the scorching heat in front of her created a sensory overload that made her head spin.
Suddenly, he pulled away, his chest heaving. He looked at her, his expression a mix of triumph and something that looked almost like pain.
"I told you," he rasped, his eyes burning bright. "I don't like broken things. I like things that burn."
He let her go, and Lyra slumped against the wall, her lips bruised and her body trembling with a mixture of rage and unwanted desire.
"Sleep," Valerius said, turning away and walking toward his own massive bed on the other side of the chamber. "Tomorrow, the hunt begins. And I expect you to keep up."
"What hunt?" Lyra managed to ask.
Valerius didn't look back as he threw himself onto the bed. "The Emperor wants a demonstration of my power. He wants to see if my new tribute is as resilient as I claim. If you fail, Lyra, even I cannot save you from the pits a second time."
- Writer
