Chapter Four: Fire and Fang

The night stank of smoke and blood.

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.

On her twentieth year, she had been driven from her kind, banished with chains and cruelty, her wings bound until they bled. She had staggered as far as the Centaur lands before collapsing, her body half-shifted, her dragon-self exposed in a bid to escape.

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.

Fru wondered how she still lived despite everything she had gone through. 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.

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.

The mermaids would pay handsomely. Dragon flesh, roasted or raw, was their delicacy. Worse, to eat it was to claim its power tenfold. To them, Valia wasn’t a woman. She was profit.

But fate had other plans.

The night was ripped apart by howls.

It happened like a blur. The Tungsten wolves. Eyes burning green, claws like knives. At the fore front was a giant wolf, larger than any Centaur had ever seen. His fur was sliver, streaked with moonlit , and his fangs glimmered with the pale gleam of dragon bone.

"Ligon Tiv!" One of the centaurs yelled in horror

So this was the Ligon, the centaurs were talking about 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 something far more dangerous had been unleashed that night.