The Matchmaker - The Arrax Saga Book 1 Chapter 91

Saphira spun toward Nikolas, the flutter in her chest catching her off guard. His stride was calm, unhurried, like the chaos swirling in the world behind him hadn’t touched the ease in his posture. But his gaze… his gaze held something else. A quiet pride. Unspoken. You’re here, it said. You chose this.

“We’re starting in dragon form,” he said, stopping a few feet away. His voice, low and deliberate, was steady as stone. “I want you comfortable in every movement. Strength and precision.”

Her throat tightened, the gravity of the moment curling around her like smoke. She nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward the others already stretching across the clearing. Zafira rolled her shoulders, casting occasional glances toward Anastasia, who had dropped into a deep stance, fingers flexing over invisible lines. Finn spun a training blade like he was auditioning for dramatic flair.

Saphira’s hand drifted to her ribs, brushing over the fabric with a quiet touch. I’m not alone. She looked back at Nikolas. He hadn’t moved.

“I’m ready,” she said, voice threading through the quiet with new resolve.

He met her eyes, nodded once. “Then shift.”

She stepped forward, the wind tugging at her braid like a whisper of defiance. Her breath drew long and deep into her lungs, and with a release, the transformation began.

Heat ripped through her limbs, not violent, but consuming, familiar now, like old muscle memory being coaxed into place. Bones reshaped, skin ignited, wings unfurled with a sudden snap. Her claws dug into the grass as her form settled low and balanced. Smoke curled from her maw, and she blinked slowly, gold eyes locking onto Nikolas again.

He stepped closer, eyes scanning her frame with practiced care. “We’re starting with your wings,” he said, gesturing to the sleek outer ridge. “They’re not just for flight. They’re shields. Blades. You use this edge to block, to strike.”

She tilted her head slightly, a low rumble rising from her chest. Her wings flexed, one, then the other, stretching toward the cue.

“Bring it in tight,” he continued. “Angle the curve down. Brace.”

Saphira shifted, weight balancing across her hind legs. Her left wing folded inward, slow and heavy, sweeping forward in a defensive arc. The wind dragged across the membrane, lifting dust into the air.

Awkward.

Unfamiliar.

But possible.

“Good,” Nikolas said. “Again.”

She repeated the movement. Once. Then again. With each attempt, she adjusted, her spine lower, sweep tighter, resistance lighter. Her wings began to move with the kind of purpose they’d been built for. This, she thought. This I can learn.

Nikolas's expression warmed. “Nice. Now claws. Let’s see control.”

He knelt beside a nearby stack and pulled over a small cardboard box, tape sealed clean across the seam. He placed it with care. “Tear only the tape. Not the box. Think deliberate.”

Saphira narrowed her gaze, tail flicking once. Her claw extended. Nikolas smirked.

“There’s no actual prize,” he added, stepping back.

She huffed, a puff of smoke curling into the air. She braced her talons and drew a slow line through the centre.

The box collapsed inward with a sigh.

Her wings twitched, tail flicking harder.

Second attempt: she steadied her grip, slow breath rising, and slashed again. The tape split. And the box tore diagonally across the side.

Nikolas gave a subtle shrug, silent encouragement.

On the final face, she paused. Her claw hovered. Every muscle beneath her scales stilled. She watched the seam, mapped it, and pressed down.

This time, the claw sliced clean. No crumple. No tear.

Nikolas stepped forward and tapped the cardboard gently with his knuckle. “There it is.”

Her wings fluttered with restrained satisfaction, the motion like a breath released beneath her skin.

Nikolas’s gaze met hers again, more focused now. “Shift back. We need to talk next steps. They’re harder, and I want you to hear it as you.”

Saphira nodded once, slow and deep, the heat of accomplishment blooming inside her chest. The shift pulled inward, bones folding, flame cooling, limbs drawing back into human form. Her bare feet kissed the grass softly, and her braid fell over one shoulder as she stood tall again.

This time, when she looked at Nikolas, her heart didn’t stutter.

Saphira adjusted the strap of her top, breath still settling from the earlier drills. Her body hummed, not just with exertion, but with a strange energy thrumming low beneath her skin. The kind that came from Nikolas’s presence.

He stepped closer, arms loose at his sides but expression edged in focus. “There’s one more step,” he said, tone quieter now. “I want to spar with you. Shifted. Me in dragon form.”

Saphira blinked, her body going still.

Nikolas held her gaze. “It’s the best way to train. You’ll learn how to face a real opponent with power behind every movement. And…” He hesitated, the corner of his mouth lifting. “It strengthens the bond. Between our dragons. It’s… instinctive.”

Saphira’s heart kicked against her ribs, the pulse of her dragon answering like a flicker in the dark. The idea of facing him, in full scale and strength, set a chill down her spine, even as her claws twitched unconsciously. She swallowed.

“I don’t know if I can...”

“You can,” Nikolas cut in gently. He stepped even closer, one hand lifting to rest just above her elbow. “I won’t hurt you. But it’ll push you. It’ll be exhausting. You need to feel what you can handle, and what you’re capable of.”

She studied his eyes; the quiet certainty threaded through the blue of them. No hesitation. No bluff. Just trust.

Saphira drew in a breath. She’d asked for this. Wanted this. No more sidelines. No more holding back while others fought for her.

“I need this,” she said slowly. “I want this.”

Nikolas gave a slight nod, the shift in his expression subtle but charged.

“Then let’s start,” he said.

And across her ribs, beneath her skin, her dragon responded with quiet fire. Ready to rise. Ready to fight him. And not back down.