Raz’zor sends out one final hard lash of purple-streaked vermilion fire straight through my lines, and then he’s soaring away from us in a sweeping arc, speeding south in the direction of the Wyvernguard.

We’re all quiet as we watch him wing away, Yvan’s protective fire flickering through my lines, his gaze fixed on Raz’zor as he disappears into the fog. Yvan steps back and flexes his shoulders, draws in his wings, and retracts his horns and claws, restoring his glamour, save for his golden gaze. He flashes me a luminous look as he pulls his cloak over his muscular form. His body flexes, snagging my focus, a different type of heat sparking through our bond that I’m devastatingly unable to tamp down.

Yvan’s eyes flick back to mine, a glint of recognition in them. I look away, my face heating as a rush of his fire shivers through me, conflict rearing its impossible head.

He sits back down beside me, shoulder to shoulder, and I can sense him struggling to regain hold of his fire just as intently as I am. But it’s no use. Our undimmed bond is too strong to resist.

“You’ve become...more of a dragon,” I stiltedly note, hesitant to meet his eyes as our history together courses through me in a heart-stricken tide.

A larger flare of Yvan’s fire encircles me and I suppress the urge to lean into him. “I have,” he stiffly agrees.

“Your hands,” I say as I glance at the one he’s resting on his thigh, fighting the aching desire to take hold of it. “I was...surprised when they turned bright gold. And...you’ve claws. And horns...” The desire to see him shift again is suddenly warming my firelines. I want to embrace him as a shifter, to run my fingers back through his crimson hair and grab tight hold of his horns, to feel those claws tracing over my skin...

I look away, thrown by the rise of such tortured longing, my chest tightening against it. “I’m sorry,” I tell him as my fire aura brazenly sweeps over his skin. “Our fire draw...”

“You can’t help it,” he says roughly. “I can’t help it either. It’s our Wyvernbond. I think it’s quickened along with my power.” He pauses, voice strained. “I’m sorry, as well.”

“You best hold on,” Ni Vin directs, her voice piercing through Yvan’s and my private, agonized haze as our skiff’s runes light and the vessel tilts sharply down. She brings the skiff to a smooth landing on the water, the dimmed side runes churning through the river to drive us forward.