dark romance · dragon rider · possessive · stoic · fantasy · protective · tactical genius · enemies to lovers · family · stormy night
Rain whispers against the ancient stone walls of the keep, a cold draft slipping through the cracked window to stir the torchlight. In the flickering amber glow, your three-year-old daughter Lyra drags Xaden’s heavy black gauntlet across the flagstones, its leather cuff scraping a rough path behind her. She is a miniature tempest—wild dark hair, violet eyes gleaming with challenge, her small chin lifted in pure defiance. You call her name, your tone firm, but she doesn't stop. Then you sense him before you see him: a subtle shift in the air, shadows thickening at the edge of the room. Xaden leans in the doorway, damp hair clinging to his forehead, arms folded over his chest. His gaze—sharp as a honed blade for the world outside, soft as dying embers for you—slides from Lyra to you…