The Matchmaker - The Arrax Saga Book 1 Chapter 176

Saphira stepped into the clearing with her shoulders already coiled for motion. Nikolas and Asher were waiting, Nikolas rolling his shoulders, fingers flexing through the warm air as if loosening invisible knots, Asher idly pinching a blade of grass between two fingers and watching it bend.

She closed the distance to Nikolas in two quick strides, her arms slid around his waist. She pressed a quick, sure kiss to his mouth, then rested her forehead against his. The contact steadied her. “Afternoon,” she whispered, breath warm against his lips.

Asher grinned, the light in his eyes curious and careful both. “How’d it go with Zafira?” he asked.

Nikolas’s hand found the small of Saphira’s back, fingers kneading a reassuring rhythm. “Yeah... spill,” he said, eagerness threaded under his calm.

Saphira pulled back enough to meet them both, keeping her shoulders even though her mind was still sorting. “It went well,” she said. “Her dragon is back with her.” She watched their faces for the shifts that told truth. “But there’s more to investigate, something targeted them during the illusion. I’ll get you both up to speed after training. I’m hopeful we can help her, though.”

Asher’s smile softened into gratitude. He stepped closer and bumped her shoulder lightly. “Thanks. I owe you.”

Nikolas’s jaw eased; he squeezed her hand once. “Thank you, Saphira.”

A shadow crossed the grass as Jed arrived with Anastasia at his side. Saphira’s gaze went straight to Anastasia; she crossed the clearing in a hurry, hands reaching out as if to steady.

“You should still be resting,” Saphira said, voice quick with worry, fingertips hovering at Anastasia’s elbow.

Anastasia pushed a curl behind her ear and rolled her shoulders in a stubborn, controlled way. “I’ll be fine. I need to train. I can’t just sit on the sidelines.” Her tone held brittle determination that hid small tremors.

Saphira opened her mouth to argue; Anastasia cut her off with a small, firm smile. “I’ll take it easy. I won’t push myself. But I need to get back into it.”

Nikolas stepped to Saphira’s side, one hand settling on her shoulder. “I think that’s a good idea,” he said, eyes steady. “I’ll make sure she takes it easy.”

Saphira watched Anastasia for a heartbeat longer, measuring the set of her jaw and the honesty in her stance. The worry in her chest loosened under Nikolas’s certainty. She let out a breath and nodded. “Fine. I’ll keep a close eye on you.”

Anastasia’s grin was small and relieved; she stretched a hand toward Saphira, which Saphira squeezed once.

Nikolas shifted into a quieter authority. He drew a line in the air with his hand as if sketching the day. “Today we’re focusing on agility and partial shifting. That’ll help when fights get close, being quick, sliding out of a strike, moving smoothly and in sync with our dragons.”

Heads tipped, agreements humming through the group. Jed already had flight paths passing behind his eyes.

Nikolas outlined the sequence, “when you shift, do it together at first, test cohesion. Then one by one you launch and fly, barrel-roll beside each other as close as you can without contact. Jed and I will come at you in turns. Move quickly and precisely; close-quarters flight will force coordination under pressure.”

Saphira felt the blood in her veins sharpen, anticipation bright as a struck stone. Partial shifting, coordination, trust each word pulled focus into the same clean point. This would push them. This was the work they needed.

She met Nikolas’s eyes. He gave a single, steady nod: promise and confidence folded into one simple motion.

“We all ready?” he asked.

A chorus of murmured affirmatives rose. Saphira flexed her fingers, feeling readiness settle into her bones.

They all shifted together, the snap of bones, the flare of warm air and the clearing folded into motion. Saphira felt the familiar, dizzying tug as partial form took hold, wings unfurling into awareness. Nikolas and Jed moved like twin storms, their approaches deliberate and timed; the rest of them spread out into arcs and lanes, breathing slow to centre themselves.

Saphira launched, folding into the rhythm. Asher cut low and fast, his wing skimming the grass-line, banking tight to slip under Jed’s sweep. Anastasia favoured narrow, whip‑fast turns, carving Saphira a sliver of sky to pivot through. Saphira found herself operating like a hinge, tuck in, snap outward, then fold again to give the dragon beside her room. Each manoeuvre felt like a conversation in motion: one flick of a wing, a counter-tilt of the body, a forgiving flare.

Nikolas dove, forcing lines to close. Jed came from the opposite arc. Saphira threaded between them, knees and wings tight, and felt the ghost of a gust graze her wingtip. On the next pass Anastasia and Asher misread a rhythm; their wings clipped, metal and feather kissing. Both wobbled, recovered, and rose again.

They ran it again and again, each repetition sharpening their instincts. Sometimes Saphira tucked into a spiral roll that left her belly to the sky and the world upside down; other times she leaned into a micro-turn so sharp her bones sang. Jed used wide, patient circles to bait mistakes; Nikolas favoured pressure, closing seams until the others learned to slide apart. The group revealed itself in motion, Asher’s aggression, Anastasia’s acrobatic grace, Jed’s breadth, Nikolas’s inexorable drive, and Saphira’s quick, precise pivots.

Clips kept happening and each collision became a lesson. They came down, checked feathers and skin, then pushed off again, adjusting spacing, timing, trust. Gradually the near-misses thinned; touches turned into inches; inches into clean passes.

After many runs the rhythm changed. They began to anticipate rather than react, bodies moving as if pulled by the same tidy cord. Barrel-rolls became mirror-slick; flank sweeps threaded cleanly; split-second shifts made room for one another without thought. On one run Saphira felt breathless joy, the group moving as a single skein, precise and dangerous and beautiful.

When they finally landed and shifted back into human form, the clearing hummed with breath and the soft scrape of boots. They gaped at one another for a beat, grins bright and ragged, hands resting on thighs while lungs emptied.

A clap rang out, surprised, delighted and every head turned. Zafira stood at the treeline. No one had noticed her arrive; she had been watching from the edge. “You all did great!” she called, voice trembling with something like relief.

Asher broke into a run, breathless, and grabbed her in a hug, the movement a raw, grateful release. “Zafira, you’re here,” he said, voice thick.

Zafira’s gaze found Saphira and she offered a small, stunned smile. Saphira felt the warmth of it like sunlight.

Nikolas leaned close and whispered into her ear, voice low and raw with something between awe and tenderness, “Whatever you did, it worked. You’re amazing.” Saphira’s cheeks warmed; she let the praise in and watched Zafira breathe easier among them, the clearing alive with a new, tentative trust.