Chapter Four: Fire and Fang

"Dragon Flesh" a gruff voice spoke, the sound carrying through the night

At the edge of the Centaur border, a young woman lay crumpled in the dirt, her black and green hair tangled, her body curled as though even the earth had cast her aside. Green scales shimmered faintly at her throat and shoulders. Betrayal of the truth she tried to hide.

Valia. Daughter of dragons. Huthra’vor.

 

"This one was found in our lands. A gift from the gods I say" a collective guffaw of greedy laughter followed the declaration. She could hear the slap of their tongues against their lips.

On her twentieth year, she had been driven from her kind, banished with chains and cruelty, her wings bound until they bled. 

“I will ruin you the way you ruined my house” Valia remembered her mother's whisper as clear as day. “Try your best not to survive and if some cruel mercy lets you live, beg the gods you never cross my path again.”

She had been thrown at the edge of the Centaur's border, so she staggered further into the Centaur lands before collapsing, her body half-shifted, her dragon-self exposed in a bid to escape. She had hoped for help

But those miserable fools had ganged up against her. Fru glared at the sky from the ground. She has been Valia for some years now and try as she might , she couldn't break free from the bullying the original Valia had endured. She still couldn't believe how evil dragonian children were, if she didn't know better she would have called them witches. 

 

"And I'm still breathing." Her eyes shuttered close "just plain good ol' depressing wow" she muttered "I'm so tenacious at the most useless things"

If not for her training as a warrior in her past life, she would have been pythons' food by now. Although the Centaurs were another set of unruly, inhumane horses, but she was honestly glad to be thrown out of her clan.

The Centaurs had found her. And Centaurs never wasted good flesh. Especially Dragon flesh.

"Get the potion! " yelled one with voice deeper than the other one who had spoken "we don't want our little gift, running out on us now, do we?" Even with her eyes closed, she could feel his disgusting greedy gaze.

They poisoned her with Veldras. A cruel potion of dragonbane and basilisk venom, crafted for one purpose: to bring even the fiercest dragon to its knees. Weak, half-conscious, Valia could do nothing as they dragged her through the dirt, already calculating how many coineries her scaled hide would fetch.

 

"We feed her to the mermaids on the morrow." Another spoke, his voice rumbled with authority. Valia guessed that was the leader

"They would pay handsomely. After all they love dragon flesh, roasted or raw." a ripple of cackles rose in the air.

"But wouldn't we giving them much power? Remember that once they eat dragon flesh, they claim its power fivefolds" a more timid voice spoke up. "meaning they would have the power to destroy us"

The leader laughed loudly "That is none of our business" his voice dropped low and dangerous as he tapped the boy's shoulder heavily. "We drop the goods, get coineries and we are off. Also I doubt the mermaids would be stupid enough to kill those who brought them power. We are basically their legs on land." a bout of mocking laughter followed his statement. 

To them, Valia wasn’t a woman. She was profit.

But fate had other plans.

The night was ripped apart by howls.

 

"Aahhh"

It happened like a blur. The Tungsten wolves howled, looking like they were waiting for a command. 

Eyes burning, claws like knives. At the fore front was a giant wolf, larger than any Centaur had ever seen. His fur was sliver, streaked with moonlight, his eyes, green as emerald flame, stood out across the forest. 

"Dra-dra-dragon fangs!" A centaur shouted in horror. Valiant could understand why. She was seeing the legendary fangs and claws the Centaurs had talked about in person.

His fangs glimmered with the pale gleam of dragon bone. Legend had it that his claws and fangs were a concoction of tungsten and dragon bones smelted into his bloodline. Weapons no ordinary wolf could claim and with them, he could tear through armor, stone, and even dragon hides.

"It's Ligon Tiv!" Another yelled, his horror intensifying.

So this was the Ligon, the centaurs were obsessed with the night before. At twenty-five, he was already legend. Tonight, he exuded the ferocity of a wolf, ready to unleash new nightmares on the centaurs' soil.

The Centaurs never stood a chance. Ligon’s pack fell upon them with ruthless fury, ripping through flesh and armor alike. The wolves’ claws shredded through pikes and the Alpha himself tore one Centaur in half with one rip, blood spraying in arcs across the grass.

Among the captives was a young werewolf, shackled and sobbing. The sight alone caused the wolves to run rogue at their enemies. 

By the time the moon reached its peak, the traffickers’ camp was a graveyard. Their tents burned, their bodies littered the dirt. The wolves prowled through the ruins, snapping chains and cutting bindings, freeing every hostage they could find.

It was then that Valia stirred.

The Veldras fog still clung to her veins, but she forced her body to rise. Scales glimmered faintly in the firelight as she staggered forward, her legs trembling. She had not survived exile and poison only to be left behind again.

Her eyes found him.

And in that instant, the world shifted.

Ligon stood only a few paces away, his chest rising and falling with the aftermath of battle. He shifted effortlessly into his human form. Tall, broad shoulders, green eyes blazing like emerald gem. Blood streaked his arms, his jawline sharp as beautifully carved stone. Arms that looked as sturdy as a horse grabbed his clothes as he made way to the victims. He paused midway as his eyes locked onto hers.

Valia’s breath caught. Heat surged low in her belly, raw and unbidden. Every part of her screamed to step closer, to press against him, to bare her throat in instinct she refused to name.

Ligon felt it too.

His chest tightened painfully. Desire erupting in his groin after years of silence.

Liberating? 

It had been so long since a woman had touched him. Too long. But this—this was madness. She is a stranger. A victim. 

You might be an animal, but you’re a sane one Ligon, he hissed inwardly, dragging both hands down his face as if to scrape the hunger off his skin.

Was he truly that starved for touch? That desperate that even a dragon could stir him?

He wanted to leave her. Needed to. For his sanity. He averted his gaze.

But at the same time, she spoke. And her voice firm, hoarse but clear.

“Please,” Valia rasped, her lips dry, her body swaying but her eyes sharp as fire. “Don’t leave me here. Take me with you.”

Several of the pack bristled at once.

“She’s a dragon,” Avail growled. “who is to say she didn't plan this with them.”

“Better to end her now,” Mangolia muttered, “before she becomes a problem.”

Valia’s jaw tightened. She could have begged. Instead, she smiled. More like a pained smirk.

“Half-dragon,” she said smoothly. “Barely useful. My wings are broken, my powers weak. I couldn’t burn your forests even if I tried.” Her gaze swept the wolves, fearless despite her trembling knees. “But I can still fight. And I promise you this, if you throw me out, I’ll come back to kick your asses anyway. So why not keep me close instead? I will be useful.”

There was a silence. The kind that stretched like a drawn bowstring.

Ligon’s mouth curved into the faintest of smiles.

The pack was restless. But their Alpha’s word was law.

“She comes with us,” Ligon said at last. His voice was iron, deep and final.

The wolves growled their protest, but none dared defy him.

Valia exhaled shakily, relief flickering through her chest. She wanted to collapse, but pride kept her spine straight. She had won herself a place. A chance.

But when she dared glance at Ligon again, the air between them thickened. Their eyes locked yet again, and heat resumed their duties, harder this time. His jaw clenched as though in pain. Her lips parted despite herself.

It was dangerous, this pull. Raw. Ferocious. Neither of them could afford it.

So Valia forced herself to look away, feigning indifference. All she needed now was survival. Shelter. The rest, she told herself firmly, was nothing but distraction.

And yet, as the wolves led her back through the night, her pulse refused to calm.

And Ligon, for all his discipline, found himself replaying the memory of her ocean eyes, her raspy voice that fed his gut pleasure and the unbearable truth of how much he already wanted her.

The mission was a success. The captives were freed. The Centaurs destroyed.

But the journey to betrayal had just began.