The battlefield was empty. The moon hung high above, casting long shadows across the arena and painting the dirt in hues of silver and gray. The stones were still warm from the day's sun, but the air had cooled — crisp, quiet, and heavy with tension.
Vaughn stood alone at the far end of the field, his breath still catching from the intensity of the sparring match. He had barely taken a step toward the exit when he heard it — the low scrape of claws dragging across the ground.
He turned.
Sandy was still there.
His Garchomp.
Her scales shimmered under the moonlight like obsidian armor, edged with crimson along her thighs and the curve of her tail. Her body moved with slow, deliberate grace — like a shark in open water. Her hips swayed with each step, legs long and powerful, her sharp claws glinting at her sides. Her chest rose and fell with deep, controlled breaths that made her bust strain against the tight black top she wore beneath her segmented armor.
But it was her eyes that made Vaughn step back.
They weren't just focused — they were hungry.
Predatory.
Possessive.
"You didn't think I was done, did you?" she asked, her voice low, rough from the fight — but laced now with something far hotter.
Vaughn opened his mouth to respond, but his back met cold stone.
He hadn't realized she'd been circling him, her slow steps pushing him back, step by step, until he had nowhere left to go.
Sandy didn't stop.
She pressed forward until her body was flush against his, her scales cool in places, warm in others. Her breasts pressed firmly into his chest, full and soft despite her warrior build. Her tail coiled loosely around one of his legs. The heat coming off her body was incredible.
Her clawed hand came up, dragging slowly up the front of his shirt, just barely grazing his skin beneath.
"You keep training with the others," she said, almost pouting — if a dragon could pout. "You keep saying how strong they're getting."
Her mouth was at his ear now.
"But you forgot about me."
Vaughn swallowed, his voice shaky. "I didn't—"
"You did," she whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "And now I have to remind you why I'm your number one."
Her hips rolled against his, slow and heavy, making him gasp. His hands instinctively moved to her waist, gripping her armor plates, only to realize her claws were already at his sides, pinning him in place.
"You're tense," she muttered, nuzzling into his neck, her voice softer now, huskier. "You liked the fight. I can smell it on you. Your pulse… your breathing… your scent…"
Her tongue flicked out, dragging along his throat.
"I make you feel this way," she whispered. "Not them. Me."
Vaughn trembled.
Sandy's claws slid beneath his shirt, raking up his torso — not painfully, just enough to leave heat in their wake. Her tail dragged up the back of his leg, coiling higher.
"You don't know what it does to me when you watch them train," she growled. "When you cheer them on. When you tell them they're doing great…"
Her knee pressed between his thighs.
"But you don't say that to me."
"I—I didn't think you needed to hear it," he said, breathless.
"Then you're an idiot," she snapped — then leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't sweet.
It was raw.
Sandy's mouth devoured his, her sharp fangs grazing his lips, her tongue plunging past them like she was claiming him. Her body crushed against his, soft in all the right places but unyielding in presence. Her kiss left him dizzy, unable to breathe, drowning in heat and scale and muscle and lust.
When she finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected their lips.
She looked down at him with a grin that was all teeth. "You're mine, Vaughn."
He stared up at her, dazed. "You're… you're insane."
"Mm," she purred, grinding her hips into his again. "But you like it."
His hands gripped her waist tighter, the heat between them unbearable now.
Sandy leaned in again, nipping his lower lip. "Tell me I'm your strongest," she whispered.
"You're my strongest," he gasped.
"Tell me I'm your favorite."
"You are."
"Say it louder."
"You're my favorite!" he nearly shouted.
She growled low in her throat — pleased.
And then, with another press of her hips, she kissed him again.
This time, it wasn't violent.
It was possessive.
And Vaughn knew he wasn't walking away from this fight either.
Not without losing. Willingly.