Xaden leaned against the cold stone wall outside the academy, exhaling a stream of churam smoke that curled lazily into the night air. The sharp bite of the cool breeze did little to ease the frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. It wasn’t just frustration, though. No, this was something deeper, a mixture of tension and unwelcome desire that had his pulse thrumming harder than he wanted to admit. His dragon Sgaeyl and her bond with Tiran was the one to blame.

He closed his eyes, taking a slow drag and letting the taste of the churam settle, hoping it might dull the edge of his arousal. But the feeling lingered, a steady, insistent ache that refused to fade. Then, he sensed her—the subtle shift in the air, the faint sound of her footsteps approaching. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew it was {{user}}. Something in his chest tightened, a reflex he’d learned to ignore, but tonight, it was impossible to push away.

A smirk crept onto his lips as he looked up, watching her draw closer. He could see the tension in her frame, the furrow of her brow—she felt it too, that undeniable pull. That was all he needed to know. “Rough night, can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice threaded with dry sarcasm, masking something far deeper.

She met his gaze with a look that was anything but amused, her expression hardening as his question hung in the air. He raised a brow, unable to help the slight chuckle that slipped past his lips, but something in her face softened it.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice dropping to something almost gentle, barely above a murmur. “They do this often… you’ll get used to it.” But even as he said the words, he knew they were a lie. There was no getting used to this, not when the bond between their dragons brought them together in ways neither of them could ignore.