“Luke—”
“Don’t argue, Ember.”
I want to push back, want to insist that he needs rest as much as I do. Want to tell him he’s not my dad and can’t tell me what to do… which is just ridiculous. But exhaustion wins. So does common sense. My body sags against the cold stone, and I pull my knees tighter to my chest, trying to conserve what little warmth I have left.
The temperature drops. Even in this pocket of still air, the cold seeps through my clothes, settling into my bones like an ache. My breath fogs thicker now. I can’t stop shivering. My teeth chatter so hard that the sound is audible in the small space.
“Get closer to me.”
I stiffen. “What?”
Luke shifts position, angling his body toward mine. “Body heat will keep you warmer than any material.”
Heat floods my face. Not from fire, but from memory. Him grabbing me outside the cave. The split second when I saw him completely naked in the moonlight, before we realized we couldn’t shift, and the panic set in. The feel of his hands on my shoulders, solid and sure.
The way my skin tingled when he pressed against me.
“I’m fine,” I manage.
“You’re shaking.”
I can’t deny it. I feel the tremors running through my limbs; cold and exhaustion and fear all tangled together.
Luke doesn’t wait for permission. He settles beside me, tugging the jacket off me and draping it around us like a blanket. Then drawing me against him with careful, deliberate movements.
The warmth of him hits me first. Not his dragon, but human warmth. Body heat. The solid presence of him wrapped around me like a shield.
I go rigid. Can’t help it. Because he’s everywhere suddenly. His chest against my back. His arm circling my waist. His thighs bracketing mine. The scent of him fills my lungs with every breath.
“Relax,” he says quietly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
That’s not what I’m afraid of.
His chest moves slow and steady against my spine. Each thump of his heart sends awareness rippling through me… of his arm heavy across my ribs, his breath stirring my hair, the way his body curves around mine like we were made to fit together.
It doesn’t mean anything, Ember.
This is survival. Practical necessity. Nothing more.
So why does my pulse kick harder every time he shifts position? Why do I notice the exact moment his breathing evens out, the way his fingers rest just below my ribcage, the warmth bleeding through fabric to reach my skin?
I should be thinking about escape routes. About what we’ll do when morning comes. About the fact that my magic is still gone and we’re being hunted by people who could have any number of twisted plans for us.
Instead, I’m focused on the way his thumb brushes accidentally against my side when he adjusts his grip. The rasp of his jaw—stubbled after days without shaving—catching on my hair. The solid weight of his arm anchoring me in place.
“You don’t have to hold me,” I whisper.
“Yes, I do.” The words are quiet. Absolute. Like there’s no other option he’d consider.
I try to make sense of it. Try to understand why those three words settle something restless in my chest. But exhaustion pulls at me, dragging me down. My muscles loosen by degrees. First my shoulders, then my spine, then the tight knot of tension that’s lived in my chest since the helicopter went down.
His warmth seeps into me, chasing away the worst of the cold. His arm stays loose around me, not restraining, just settling. Solid and sure and utterly reliable in a way nothing else has been since this whole nightmare began.
I close my eyes. Let the sound of his heart soothe my thoughts.
And for the first time since the crash, I’m not afraid.
Chapter 11
