“Tell me you feel it,” he murmured against her ear.

The man’s breath brushed her neck as her dark and green hair splayed wide across the fur like bed. Slow. Intentional. Each exhale trembled like he was tasting restraint. He nipped.

“Tell me you crave it,” he murmured again, his voice heavy with lust, his lips gliding down her neck in fevered pace.

His voice was deep, rough, silky ....the kind that crawled beneath the skin and licked at the edges of reason. His fingers traced down her arm, calloused yet reverent, drawing fire wherever they touched. She could smell him — rich earthy, woody sensual thickness of a predator barely holding back his bite.

Her body knew the rhythm before her mind caught up. Her pulse fluttered; her spine arched of its own accord.

“I don’t even know you,” she whispered, breath catching as his hand slid to her hip then moved behind to grope her ass. Hard, rhythmical.

“You will,” he promised. 

His lips sucked on her throat, as his tongue twirled, leaving a burning sensation that crawled to her folds. 

His name faded through her mind like smoke as she grabbed his ass in return. His chuckle light, he pressed her back against stone, caging her in shadow and scent.

He tilted her chin up, eyes glowing as he bent to her breasts

“Suck? Lap? Or devour,” he said softly and her breath hitched. Heat coiled low, unbearable.

She wanted to stop him, but his mouth descended before she could choose, claiming her with a fevered kiss that seared through dream. 

Fru gasped awake.

Her eyes flew open to the dull light of dawn. Her heart was galloping like she’d run miles, her body slick with sweat. 

“What in nine hells…” she muttered, sitting up too fast. Her sheets clung to her skin, heat still pulsing between her thighs.

The dream had felt too real.

She pressed her palms to her face, mortified by the ache simmering in her body. It was just a dream. Not even hers, apparently. 

Maybe it was just...vivid imagination. Reading about mating rituals the night before must have backfired. So much for boredom.

Shoving the thought aside, Fru swung her legs off the cot and reached for her training gear. Her sword lay where she’d dropped it last night. She grabbed it with more force than necessary, hoping that sweat and pain would burn out the remnants of the dream.

The training yard reeked of sweat and iron.

"Fru!" Gabin, her favorite instructor called out to her, his lips stretched in a wide grin to reveal perfect sets of teeth "why are you late? You look like you just came out of a war zone" He stopped in front of her, brushing her hair roughly

"Ah. Stop it!" Fru threw a glare his way as she slapped his hand off

"Gabin, just propose to her already. I can feel your love from all the way here. It's choking me" Fru turned her frown towards the dark and gray haired Mac, the troublemaker of their crew. She looked at his ridiculous face making gurgling choking noises and threw a stone that hit right beside him.

"Ouch!" He yelped dramatically, jumping up at the onset of the assault. "This means war Fru!" He made a mock wolf howl to the sky, beating his chest like a monkey as he took his sword up and pointed it towards her. 

"Pick.up.your.sword". Fru rolled her eyes at his theatrics, shrugging as she lifted her sword with effortless grace. She hadn't steadied herself when Mac rushed at her like the barbaric animal she had been telling him, he was.

"Aaargh" Swords clashed heavily, each stroke of Mac's sword felt like a languid effort to Fru, she felt insulted as well as bored. With an expert maneuver, she waited until Mac was close enough, then twisted herself on one leg. With a hop, she skitted swiftly onto his outstretched sword aiming for her neck. A collective 'whoa' rippled through the crowd, as she landed a clean kick to his jaw, knocking him out instantly.

A wild roar of applause filled the training yard, eyes shot to Fru in respect and awe. Fru's gaze was unbothered and dull. It was the same old thing. Frustration hit her hard and she burst out

"Just stop!" The shuffling noise and gossip stopped instantly, everyone's eyes were now on Fru's frustrated outlook.

"How long are we going to continue like this uh? Everytime we go to the arena for a competition we lose like untrained ducks. I can't believe with my underdeveloped potential, I'm still better than most of you all! I'm sick of it!" She kicked the nearest stone in front of her straight to the front of the weakest of them. He flinched, as he looked down to the stone, then up to Fru's irritated gaze.

"Hey Fru..." Gabin started, but his hand on her shoulder was slapped away.

"Don't touch me." Fru's eyes, now a glassy frost, stared him down as she strode towards the tree beside the library to rearrange her thoughts. The training yard, initially silent since her outburst, went back to bustling with energy. Fru shook her head. Settling down with a thud.

"I'm tired of it all" she whispered to the air, as she stared up at the sky, one hand still holding her sword and another holding her lap. Would she continue being so mediocre? Her eyes glanced around tiredly as if searching for a moment pleasure to take her mind off all her worries

That was when she saw it.

A slim volume, left carelessly on the stone ledge by the archery racks. Its cover caught the last flare of sunlight; dark leather, too fine for any trainee to own, stamped with an emblem she did not recognize: a coiled dragon, its tail devouring itself, scales shimmering faint green as though alive.

Fru frowned as she muttered to herself

"The library rarely allowed such books into circulation, especially ones marked with sigils. Who owns this?" She wiped her brow and reached for it, curiosity overriding the tired protest of her muscles. The title was etched in bold silver runes:

The Fate of a Dragon.

She traced the letters with her fingertips, a shiver crawling down her spine. A tragedy, the blurb on the back declared.

"Urgh. I'm already having a nasty day, do I really want to make it worse?" She dropped the book but didn't walk too far before she stopped and turned back. Her eyes narrowing suspiciously, she picked up the book again and looked at the blurb once more.

"The story of a half-blood dragon who lived unloved, unwanted and destined to fall under the weight of her own power." Fru almost laughed. Why does this sound like her series of applications to different guilds. Tragedies were not her taste because she had seen enough of it in her life.

"Give me a heroine who marches through worlds and conquer hehehe" Fru smirked at her own imagination.

"It looks interesting though, what's one more tragedy to the list" she said that but she didn't want to admit her inability to resist reading the book. 

It...called to her.   

She sat on the steps, sword now placed across her knees, as she opened the book.

The words spilled into her mind like sunflower seeds.

Valia Rostrag.

A dragon who was incomplete. Hair black as night, kissed with streaks of impossible green, eyes like oceans that could drown a kingdom. 

"She seems pretty..." Fru blushed "Born from a red dragon and a golden dragon...whoa..she sure has the good genes doesn't she. Why would anyone call someone so pretty, huthra'vor? I feel this is jealousy at play. Petty creatures. Pretty sure the mockers are the ones with faces that screamed ‘abandoned by the creator', not Valia." Fru didn't understand why she was mad but she sure as hell wanted to test her fighting skills on some uglies.

"Mocked by her sister, hated by her mother, cast aside by a people who prized bloodline over strength. And yet, none of them could compare to her brute strength. Are they really not ashamed of themselves? A strong woman is sexy! Humph" Fru couldn't believe someone who had everything could be mocked for not transforming into a lizard. Crazy species. 

"It's so frustrating seeing the self esteem of an all powerful dragon crumble because of gossip. Such a rare fate for a prideful dragon" 

Fru’s heart hammered as she read. Each page unfurled cruelty and artistic beauty in equal measure: Valia shoved into snake pits, her body broken, her voice erupting into destruction that shattered the earth. The girl’s cries, twisted by grief into lethal power, became both curse and salvation. 

"So...crushing." a gasp escaped Fru's lips as water filled her lower eyelids. 

Her throat tightened. She didn't know why she cared so much, but Valia’s pain gripped her like a hand around the lungs. 

She flipped another page. And Another. She could not stop.

By the tenth chapter, the world around Fru had begun to shift. 

"What in gods' name of craziness is going on..." Fru whispered, as she struggled to stand straight. Her eyes darting around her.

The sound of crickets dulled into silence.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa" Fru's mouth rounded in disbelief as the ink in the book rippled beneath her gaze, words liquefying into an emerald glow.

"I want you stable right now" her mouth pursed with desperation as she tried to will the pulsing book between her hand to calm.

"Oh gods, what the hell am I doing. Am I going crazy after all?" Fru's right hand rubbed her face, as the book glowed more fiercely, firm in its disobedience.

Alive.

Hungry.

The courtyard melted away, swallowed by shadows and flame.

Fru's eyes swerved overhead as she watched the leaves slow in motion. The scent of charred earth filled her nose, the air thick with heat.

“No—” Fru whispered, clutching the book in her arms tighter. But the pages dissolved into firelight, as she grappled at the pieces.

Fru could feel a pressure sucking her into a space she couldn't see. She placed her leg firmly on the ground, pulling back against the force to no avail. 

"Someone, hel-" a gust of wind knocked air out her lungs before she could scream. Her body lurched forward as the pressure sucked her through a veil.

"...elp me!"

The world inverted.

Fru's lips parted in surprise, as she landed forward on the air, her leg flexed backward and upward, her hands extended forward as her screams were snatched from her lips. A gasp she didn't recognize slipped out her mouth at the bizarre event unfolding before her eyes.

"I need to wake up"  She muttered to herself "right now". 

Slapping hard on her cheek, her vision hazed before coming back to focus on her environment; green fire and black smoke swirled around the sky cleft in two. And at the center of it all, standing against a horde of faceless dragons, was a woman. Her features stunningly similar to the female lead's descriptions in the book she had just read.

Valia.

She turned gently as if feeling another presence there with her. Her ocean eyes locked onto Fru, as a soft smile danced on her face as if expecting her. 

" Fru " 

Her black hair spilled like a storm, its green edges flickering like venomous flames.

More beautiful, more terrible than words could hold. 

Time stopped.

And then Fru hit the ground, gasping, the taste of ash and iron thick in her mouth. The book was gone. Only the Valia remained, her gaze sharp enough to pierce through skin and bone.

“Welcome,” Valia said, her voice laced with both familiarity and threat. It caressed Fru’s ear, yet set her blood thrumming with fear. “You’ve crossed into my fate.”

The world around them roared alive. Phoenix fire streaked the heavens, wolves howled in distant woods, the hiss of serpents slithered beneath the soil. A realm of untamed myths. Raw and dangerous.

Fru staggered to her feet, sword no longer in hand. Her head whipped from side to side, confirming she was no longer in her world.

She watched as Valia walked towards her, each step a move with practiced grace. Her hand rose. Elegant and deadly. Long claws glimmered faintly at the tips of her fingers. She reached as if to touch Fru’s face. Fru flinched back, her hand lifting like a blade in reflex, but Valia only tilted her head, studying the defiance in her eyes.

“Good,” Valia whispered with a thick dragonian accent. “You have steel. You will need it here.”

“Where am I?” Fru demanded, voice low but firm, staring into those ocean eyes.

Valia’s smile was razor-thin. “In the story you chose. In the tragedy you could not resist. Welcome to the end of the world where gods made monsters…and then abandoned them.”

“Huh?” Fru arched her brows. “What has that to do with me? I only read your tale, but I definitely didn't remember volunteering to fall into it.”

Silence fell, sharp as a sword’s edge. Valia blinked once, twice. Clearly unaccustomed to mortals with opinions.

“I heard your struggles. Felt them,” She said at last. “I am going to die here, but I will sacrifice my powers to turn back time and destroy my enemies. The price is my soul." She paused, a sad look briefly crossing her features beferoe she continued 

"I have decided to send you back in my stead, to carry out vengeance in my place. I will not abandon you, of course, my powers will be with you and I will watch over your actions.”

It was Fru’s turn to blink...slowly. “Let me see if I'm understanding this right. So, you mean to die... and trouble the living...who is infact me. A stranger. With your unfinished quarrels?.”

Valia’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“And where is my say in all of this?” Fru pressed, folding her arms with the ease of a soldier questioning orders she’d rather not obey.

“Oh." Valia's hand moved with elegance to briefly cover her lips as if surprised "I had forgotten to mention. You have none,” She said simply, her gaze focused and unblinking as her hand lowered to her side.

Fru let out a dry laugh. “Ha! Of course I don’t. Why am I not surprised.”

Valia ignored her. “You wished for another life. I answered,” her voice soft but cold continued. “Now you are who I once was." She tilted her head at Fru as if taken aback at her lack of understanding.

Well, news flash dragon woman. I understand you very well, I'm just waiting for you to take back those words of insanity, not repeat them to my face. Fru thought flatly.

"I’ll send you back to my childhood, since my powers can reach no farther in this form and you would live a life you've never been privileged to have.” she concluded in that regal pitch that spoke more audacity than her words.

Fru forehead crinkled in agitation as she took a step closer. “Okay, let me voice out this ridiculous proposal once more, your royal highness" she stated dryly as she continued "your world burns, you perish, so I must wear your face and finish your vengeance?" Fru’s voice jumped a tone, exasperation darkening her features, as she slammed the edge of her right hand against her open left palm. "A fine bargain indeed. Truly generous of you.”

“You mock what you do not understand,” Valia replied coolly.

“I mock what threatens to ruin my peace,” Fru retorted. “I’ve battled bandits, faced plague, and once outran an ogre, but never did I imagine being punished for reading out of curiosity or for thinking, “Hey, I’m fatigued, I need a change.” Everyone does that! It doesn't mean they are ready to give up!" Fru could feel her blood pressure spike as her pulse thrummed hard against her throat.

Valia’s lips curved faintly, her eyes melting softly, a sight Fru definitely didn't enjoy seeing. “We are of the same frequency dear Fru. Your courage mirrors mine, I can feel it and fate can too.”

“Dear? Courage?” Fru gave a grim chuckle. “You would certainly not do something like this to whom you love and if courage means standing before a mad disowned dragon and pretending not to tremble, then yes, I am overflowing with it.”

“Time is up,” Valia stated, glancing upwards, as the sky began to crack. The ground rumbling strongly, threatening to tear apart. “You must go now.” Emerald light began to glow at her fingertip.

“Wait!” Fru’s voice sharpened. “I know nothing of this world. It's laws or its beasts! I had not even finished your tale. How do you expect me to survive, let alone avenge you? What about my friend? The family I made??” Fru beat her chest in frustration as her eyes roamed Valia's determined face.

She was not listening. She didn't care about the woes of a mortal whose everyday life seemed pathetic. Fru's chest tightened at the thought. 

“Be who you are, not who I was,” Valia said softly. “You’re stronger than anything, my dear Fru. Stronger than anyone. I discovered that too late. That’s why I fell. I’m sorry. Please forgive me…and help me.”

Oh by the gods. This crazy dragoness!

Her plea faded as the emerald light engulfed Fru. The last thing she saw was Valia’s face, twisted in pain, burned into memory as she was hurled into the past.

"They wouldn't dare defy me" the Alpha growled, his gaze on his subordinate as he declared his stance.

His name was Ligon Tiv.

Among wolves, the name carried weight like metal striking against thunder claps. To friend and foe alike, it meant power, wealth, and a lineage no rival had ever broken. He was the Alpha of Tungsten Pack, the only son of his parents.

Ligon’s gaze drifted past his commanders, unfocused. The crackle of the nearby fire seemed to pull something from deep within him.

The night of his nightmares. 

The night he became an orphan. Another crackle of the nearby fire pulled the sounds he had chosen to forget, from his memory. The screams that still echoed in his head. The smoke from that night, thick and acrid with the stench of burning flesh, clung to his memory like it had never left.

He blinked hard, jaw tightening. The image of two fallen figures flickered and died behind his eyes. 

His parents.

"Ligon! Run!" His mother had screamed "I love you son. Do not dwell on this. Rebuild and find yourself." her dying voice, though frail was firm as she watched her only son disappear into an unknown future. 

They had fallen prey to vicious werewolf banshees who raided their pack then, and there’d been no time to mourn. The shock was too heavy for a little wolf but Ligon had known then as he knew now, that he must go on. He must rise to a certain strength that no one dares see him as prey, and that was how he came to meet them.

His commanders.

Ligon sat nearest to the flames, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locked on the dancing embers. The others kept their distance, not from fear, but respect. None of them dared speak first.

Finally, Gromelia Sin broke it. “They took our goods and thought they’d get away with it.” Her sharp eyes gleamed as she jabbed a twig into the dirt to mark a rough map. “Small pack or not, they’ve made themselves bait.”

“You’ll get your chance soon enough,” Ligon said, his tone even.

Avail Bruce chuckled, the sound deep and dangerous. “We could crush them before dawn if you’d give the word, Alpha.” He leaned back, polishing the edge of his axe, his loyalty plain in every movement.

“Too easy,” River Drew murmured from where he lounged on a fallen log, hands folded behind his head. “Let them see us coming. Let them regret their actions before it ends.” His calm voice carried a strange amusement that made a few of the others glance his way.

Mangolia Paul grunted, tossing a bone into the fire. “I don’t care how we do it, so long as I get to throw someone.” The huge warrior stretched, his joints cracking like tree trunks snapping. “Been too long since we broke anything worth breaking.”

Roloveria Hace, crouched by the firelight’s edge, glanced up from her blades. “And that,” she said softly, her eyes flashing like cold knives, “is why we plan before we strike. Not after.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Ligon, and though her tone was sharp, it softened when she added, “Your call, Alpha.”

Ligon didn’t move, but his eyes shifted toward her, a silent acknowledgment that made even her voice go still.

Dessy Trail spoke next, her tone airy, almost distracted, as she watched the smoke spiral upward. “The gods whisper unrest,” she said, her eyes glassy with far-off knowing. “Blood will answer insult soon enough.”

“Blood answers everything,” Deuce Grace said from the shadows, his voice quiet as a knife sliding from its sheath. No one had seen him move closer to the fire, but he was there now.

Glacy Vitro snorted, shaking her head. “Always so grim, Deuce. You’d think you actually enjoy silence, and not the pain and screams of your victims.” She leaned forward, grinning at the others. “Anyways, I say we make them announce their surrender before we burn their borders.” Her tone was teasing, but her eyes flicked toward Ligon like she was testing how far she could push.

Wyverge Spence set down the piece of metal he’d been shaping by the fire. “If it comes to burning,” he said, his voice rough, “I’ll make sure Obsidian sings first.” The faintest pride touched his words, and for a heartbeat, even the flames seemed to glow brighter. A collective 'Ugh' and look of disgust followed his joke.

Ligon finally lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over them in the other they had spoken. His strategist and negotiator, his blade, his brute strength incarnate, his calm rogue, his fearless huntress, his seer, his silent assassin, his ever-knowing informant, and his smith. His family.

The back bone of his new pack. Tungsten.

“They defied me,” he said, each word slow, deliberate. “They stole from us and tomorrow is the day I make them know why the whispers of my name make great kings lock their gates.”

No one answered. No one dared. But they all had the same thoughts.

Only the fire before them found a voice, it's flames crackling and roaring its approval as if the night itself bent to Ligon’s will.

Together, they had carved out an empire in the forested mountains where other packs still scrabbled for scraps.

Ligon bore the extraordinary brute strength of his father and had inherited the power of darkness. The gift had revealed itself in boyhood when an enemy's ancient Alpha lunged at him. The darkness erupted from Ligon’s hands like a living beast, swallowing him whole.

Since that day, it had answered his every call, shifting, bending and obeying his every whim as if it were part of his very breath.

When the wars came, he became the silver wolf. A titan of light and slaughter. But when rage consumed him, his half-beast form, grey and merciless, rose in its place. He became notorious as the Hybrid of Doom, and none who saw it ever forgot.

Ligon’s pack thrived as though blessed by the gods of prosperity. His forest lands were rich. The trees bore fruit sweeter than any other, the soil fat with promise, the rivers alive with silver-scaled fish as sumptuous as deer. The Tungsten Pack’s true wealth, though, came from their mountains: Obsidian.

A black, glassy stone, sharp enough to cut tree branches. In Ligon’s lands, it was mined and forged into armor or jewelry; it pulsed faintly with magic while absorbing moonlight. It shielded its bearer from harm and struck back at enemies. When gathered in fives, it was capable of mending wounds and healing minor sicknesses. When embedded in walls, it sliced any attacker who dared to climb and shattered their weapons. A secret known only to the Tungsten Pack.

Ligon kept the trade of obsidian on a tight leash, each buyer paying heavily in coineries. This limited the stone’s reach, kept rivals weak, and left Tungsten untouchable. Outsiders came from every corner. Sirens, phoenixes, healers, assassins, seeking to trade. And by Ligon’s decree, his land remained a neutral ground. Any hand that drew a blade within his market would never trade there again.

But even wealth and might could not ease the weight on his shoulders.

He stood on the balcony, the night wind cool against his jaw, moonlight catching the silver in his hair as he gazed down. His pack trained below, running drills, their bodies blurs of speed and ferocity as they struck and shifted, disciplined and precise.

And still, Ligon felt the familiar ache in his chest.

"I need something... more"

He had everything an Alpha could want. Strength, loyalty, riches, legacy and yet, in the solitude between breaths, he felt the hollow echo of something missing.

The darkness he commanded whispered of an unknown future, and he knew he could not carry it alone forever. Yes, he had assistance, but he needed someone who would rule with him, someone to lighten his responsibilities.

Gromelia’s voice drifted from below.

 “You look restless again, my Alpha.”

Ligon didn’t answer. He just stared at her and walked back into his room. He had learned long ago that kings who confessed their weariness didn’t stay kings for long.

For an Alpha, weakness was unthinkable. But for a man, loneliness was a weight even the strongest could not shed.

Somewhere in his marrow, he knew destiny moved toward him. Dessy had recently spoken a prophecy:

“Destiny tapers with wild hair and danger 

screaming for comfort.

The fur will embrace and dampen.”

And she had said it was soon to pass. Not to mention the erotic dreams he had been having of late, and though he couldn’t see her face, he knew he had never felt happier.

He turned his gaze skyward, where moonlight spilled over the mountains. His green eyes glinted with hunger.

She is coming.