The Dragon's Match

V

V

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

He prowled the perimeter of his room, restless and furious- a predator caged by its fate.

His shirt lay, bloodied and in tatters, before the hearth where he had tossed it.

The skin of his upper arm burned and tightened with the fresh branding that left a circular, black welt against his flesh, and Aëghan rued the day he had ever met and befriended one of the beastkeepers. Rivulets of blood had oozed from the wound and streaked down his limb, dried now and tightening with an infuriating itch.

At the reminder of the marking, at the enflamed circlet that had seared into the skin of his upper arm the moment his fingers had curled around Lillian's, he scowled and swore profusely- as he had been doing since he had departed from the study and took his leave of her after having only just made her acquaintance.

His heartmate.

According to the damn mark that now branded him as hers.

A marking of the Gods, specifically the Draëllian god- a twist of irony that was not lost on him, not at all.

Why would a god that did not belong to him choose to brand him? Though it was not unheard of that the mark of Draë would be found to appear on a vessel that was not one of his devotees, Aëghan would have thought that their god would have had some better knowledge of the tenuous relationship he harboured with the Draëllians.

Though he loathed the cold, he couldn't help but lope over to the window and throw the glass wide. The force rattled the wooden panes, but he hardly noticed as he welcomed the frigid winter breeze caressing the naked expanse of his chest, especially the brand that was burning with a mild and constant fervour on his arm.

Did Lillian bear the same mark?

Did she realise what it signified? And that it was linked to him?

He squeezed his eyes shut, his mind in turmoil, and braced his hands against the sill, the blunt wood biting into the flesh of his palms.

No, he thought, a sharp gust biting his face and sending his hair blowing off his forehead. If the Ravensfield heir had been marked like her sister before her, the house would be in an uproar and more than likely fingers would point... in his direction, specifically. So then the mark had not yet appeared on her, which boded well for him.

He considered briefly that perhaps she wasn't his mate, that the mark could be construed to some other significance, but there was an irrevocable feeling of rightness about it-

Of course Lillian Adams is your mate! The dragon within him rejoiced at the unprecedented occurrence, but he was a fickle creature and ruled by a simpler nature. She is the most perfect of females, resilient and strong- worthy of a dragon!

But it was imperative that he quell those misgivings- Lillian could never be his. It was out of the question- unthinkable, unbelievable, wholly ridiculous-

An image flashed through his mind of eyes as cold as ice and as bright as lightning, framed by dark, sultry lashes and elegantly winged brows arching above them.

His own eyes flew open, and he glared vehemently out into the dark, relishing the breeze that brought with it a few errant snowflakes and a sorely needed dose of levelheadedness. He'd be a fool to pine away after a pretty human girl, especially one that could never be his.

Pretty? He snorted softly. Lillian Adams was not... pretty. A better suited word to describe her hard edges and austere countenance would be... arresting. He had figured that she would resemble her younger sister, but though there were plenty of similarities, Aëghan had also discerned a plethora of differences that made it nigh impossible to reconcile one with the other.