Fated to the Drakarn Commander

Khorlar
This was madness.
The heat was an assault, waves shimmering off the scorched earth around our pathetic excuse for a camp. It promised brutality for the trainees. Good. Let the fire bake endurance into their soft hides.
Behind me, the guttural rumble of Drakarn voices grated against the too-smooth cadence of the humans. It was grit under my scales. This whole exercise reeked of folly. Dragging untested warriors outside of Scalvaris was risky enough.
Adding them? Madness.
I turned, scanning the camp. Trainees moved with the hesitant precision of students afraid of screwing up. Their fear was a familiar scent, almost comforting in its predictability. They’d learn the unforgiving honesty of this world, or they’d feed it.
The humans … they moved with an alien fluidity that still set my teeth on edge after all these months. Terra gestured sharply at Lexa over some scrap laid out like a battle plan. Vega stood sentinel, her eyes missing nothing, a grudging spark of respect kindled despite myself. My warriors were untrained. These women? They were battle tested and bloodied.
But they still didn't belong here.
Then my gaze snagged on her.
Hawk.
Kneeling by her pack, her movements were spare, precise. Lethal economy. The light struck sparks off her dark skin, her shorn hair seemed to drink in the light and swallow it whole. She swiped sweat from her brow, a simple gesture that sent a jolt through me.
My tongue scraped raw against the roof of my mouth. My fangs ached with a sudden, burning throb.
Hells.
I ripped my gaze away, jaw clamped hard enough to crack stone.
"Stone Fist, sir." Marvok approached, wings held tight. The kid's scales had barely hardened. "The perimeter checks are complete."
"And?" The word was a growl ripped from my chest, the distraction welcome.
He flinched. "Tracks. North. Small predators—"
"Nothing is small out here." I snarled the words, pinning him with my stare until he looked away. "Double the watch."
He scrambled back. Untested. Maybe not hopeless. He'd learn or he'd die.
Volcaryth was a harsh place. There was no room for softness when it came to training, not if I wanted to keep my warriors alive.
My eyes betrayed me again, snapping back to where Hawk was.
Had been.
Now the space was empty. Vega was gone too.
Wrongness coiled in my gut, cold and sharp.
Stealth was instinct. I moved through the camp, silent as death, hunting her scent. When it hit me—that sharp, foreign sweetness cutting through the dust and heat—the reaction was a physical blow. My fangs pulsed again, a searing agony radiating deep into bone.
My tongue burned as if I’d tasted magma. Only this heat I craved more and more.
It was a brand seared onto my soul since that day in the caverns. A truth hammered into bone.
I crushed the thought savagely. Irrelevant. A distraction. A weakness I could not afford.
The scent pulled me, hooked into me, leading toward a jagged cluster of boulders bleeding shadow onto the baked ground. Voices drifted on the shimmering air, thin and tense.
"—don't care. We've waited long enough." Vega’s voice. Fierce. Stubborn. "Reika said there were others. What if they're stranded in Ignarath territory like she was? What about Kira's sister? We have to—"
"Do you have an actual plan?" Hawk's voice was cool steel layered over something I couldn’t name. "Or do you think we can walk in and ask nicely?"
"What do you think?" Vega's voice was getting angrier. "We've heard enough—"
"Rumors get you killed," Hawk shot back. "You're talking about facing winged nightmares without backup."
"Which is why I need you," Vega pressed. "Your eyes. Together—"
"Together we end up trophies on their walls," Hawk snapped. "And do you really think anyone from Scalvaris would try and rescue us?"
I stalked closer, downwind, shadows clinging to me until I could see them. Vega was rigid as a blade. Hawk had her arms crossed, immovable.
"If there's a chance …," Vega started.
"There isn't." Hawk's word was final, yet something softer underlay it. "Not like this."
"Then come with me. Scout first. Terra doesn't need to know."
The thought of Hawk—her—in Ignarath claws … visions ripped through me. Broken on rocks. Blood staining the dust. Captured. A growl tore low and vicious in my throat, and I struggled to contain it.
"No one is going anywhere." I stepped from the shadows.
They whirled, Hawk’s hand blurring toward her hip, Vega dropping into a defensive crouch. Futile. Almost amusing.
"How long have you been eavesdropping?" Hawk demanded, eyes narrowed, chips of ice in the heat.
"Long enough." I advanced, wings flaring just enough to cast them in shadow, to intimidate. "Your mission is over."
Vega’s chin lifted. "Wasn't asking permission."
"Obviously." I flashed my fangs. "A stunning display of suicidal stupidity."
"Our people—"
"Are dead if they are in Ignarath lands," I cut her off, closing the distance until my shadow consumed her.
She didn't flinch. Admirable idiocy.
"They don't take prisoners. They take pieces. It's a miracle your friend Reika made it out of there."
"We handle ourselves," Vega countered.
"Can you?" My gaze locked onto Hawk, the burning in my chest intensifying, almost like being stabbed. "Do you think you can survive what waits out there?"
Calculation flickered in her eyes. Not fear. Awareness. She shrugged. "The ten of us made it here. But if more people crashed on the planet … we don't know. We owe it to them to try and find out."
That unflinching loyalty struck something deep, a shard of memory—my brother Thrakas, broken, blood on my claws, the weight of failure choking me still.
"Risking everything for ghosts?" I growled, stepping closer to her, drawn by an invisible chain.
"For our people." Her gaze was unwavering. "Wouldn't you?"
The question hit like a physical blow. Yes. I had. And it had cost everything, changed nothing.
Before the words could tear free, a sharp whistle ripped the air.
Alarm.
Instinct slammed down as threat assessment overrode everything.
"Get back to camp," I ordered, the command absolute. "Now."
Vega hesitated, defiance still etched on her face, but Hawk tugged on her arm with a low murmur of, "Later."
I let them pass, my eyes tracking Hawk. The coiled tension in her shoulders, the contained power in her stride. Every line of her screamed strength, resilience, and called to something ancient and savage within me.
Mine.
It wasn't a thought, but a certainty, echoing in the marrow of my bones.
Mine to protect. Mine to claim.
I crushed it again, violently. She was not mine. Could not be.
Yet the ache in my fangs grew hotter.
Approaching camp, the threat became sickeningly clear. Five winged shapes tore through the sky, Ignarath silhouettes stark against the blood-streaked sky.
A banner of negotiation—a flimsy shield for their venom—trailed from the leader’s spear.
Perfect timing for a disaster.
I shoved past the humans, moving to the center where trainees huddled, a pathetic excuse for a defensive line. Terra stood rigid beside the other humans, watching the descent. If I got Darrokar's mate killed, my life would be forfeit.
And that death would be painful.
I should have never agreed to this mission.
"Hold!" My voice cracked over the camp, silencing nervous whispers. "Look at their banner. We follow protocol, damn them."
The Ignarath circled once—a predator's assessment—then landed, dust puffing up around their claws.
My own claws flexed, aching to grip my sword as I recognized the lead bastard—Plaktish. Scales like poisoned amber, metal bands marking him.
A viper known for smiling while he struck.
"Khorlar Stone Fist." His voice slid smooth as oiled death. "A fortunate encounter."
"Plaktish." My reply was flint. "State your business." We were outside the city but still well within the territory of Scalvaris. These interlopers had no reason to be there.
Not unless they wanted to cause trouble.
His smile widened, all fangs. "Direct. Charming." His gaze slid over the camp, lingering on the humans like a scavenger eyeing fresh kills. "I represent my High Council. Seeking … resolution … for recent troubles."
Silence. Let him spit his poison.
"Three patrols attacked." Plaktish purred the words. "Our warriors dead. Weapons gone." His eyes hardened, chips of obsidian. "The survivors described Scalvaris attackers."
"Impossible," I snapped.
Plaktish's smile stretched, predatory. "A flat denial? How interesting."
A trap. Baited and set. I tasted ash.
"What do you want?" I demanded, shedding the pretense of diplomacy like scorched scales.
He flared his wings slightly, a calculated display. "We demand a blood price. It's tradition."
"Bring evidence to Darrokar if you believe Scalvaris warriors were involved." My voice was flat stone. "This isn't the place."
"Oh, but it is." His gaze drifted, deliberate, snagging on Hawk. "We are happy to take your humans as payment."
A lightning strike of rage. Hot. Blinding.
A growl tore free from my deepest chest, raw and uncontrolled. My wings flared wide, muscles bunched, stepping forward without thought. Blind, primal fury—utterly beyond my control.
For her.
"You will take nothing." I snarled the words, fangs bared, the world narrowing to him, to the threat.
Plaktish’s gaze didn't waver, but a flicker of calculation showed. He saw it. Saw the crack in my control.
Dangerous. I'd shown too much.
"Careful, Stone Fist." His voice dropped, laced with menace. "We wouldn't want hostilities."