“Extraction in twenty-four hours. Viktor wants us to sit tight.”
She processes this. Face giving nothing away except for a slight tightening around her eyes.
“Twenty-four hours. And then what?”
“Then we go home. Debrief. Figure out next steps.”
“But what about the Syndicate’s plans? We can’t waste time by going back home. They could be up to something as we speak.”
“It’s a chance we have to take,” I tell her.
“But we could be useful if—”
“We will let them handle it, Ember. We’re no match for Syndicate forces. We’ll go back to Aurora headquarters and figure it out from there.”
She turns to face me fully. The morning light—the little there is of it—casts shadows across her features. Makes her eyes darker. Highlights the bruise forming on her cheekbone from when they took us down yesterday.
I want to touch it. Check for damage. Make sure she’s really okay despite what the rational part of my brain already knows.
I don’t move.
“Just like that?” Her voice carries an edge now. “And what about us? We pretend last night didn’t happen and go back to being operative and… what? Asset?”
The bitterness cuts deeper than it should.
“Last night shouldn’t have happened.” I keep my tone level.
She flinches. Subtle, but I see it. The hurt that flashes across her face before she can hide it.
“Because you regret it.”
“Because you deserve better than—”
“If you say ‘better than you’ one more time, I’m walking out that door and taking my chances with the Syndicate.”
I force myself to meet her eyes. To see the anger and pain and stubborn determination there.
“You’re twenty-one, Ember. I’m three hundred years old. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
She steps closer. Not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat coming off her. Can smell smoke and lavender and something undefinable that’s been driving me insane for three days.
“I know exactly what I’m asking for. Someone who sees me as I am, not what everyone else wants me to be.”
I have to lock my muscles to keep from reaching for her. From pulling her against me and ending this argument the way my body’s been demanding since she woke up. I can see the pulse beating in her throat. Fast. Unsteady. She’s not as calm as she’s pretending, either.
“What happens when the adrenaline wears off and you realize—?”
“What? That you’re older? That you’ve lived longer?” Another step. We’re almost touching now. Another inch and her chest would brush mine. Another inch and I could slide my hand into that tangled hair and kiss her the way I’ve been wanting to for hours. “We’re dragons, Luke. We have centuries ahead of us. Age means nothing.”
Goddammit, I want to pull her against me. End this argument the way every instinct is screaming for. She’d let me. I can see it in her eyes: the same want that’s eating me alive. The same need that kept me awake all night staring at her across the room.
My defenses crack. The words come before I can stop them. “It’s not just age. It’s—” I stop. Start again, because she deserves honesty, even if it costs me. “Everyone I’ve ever cared about, I’ve failed. My family. The people I couldn’t save in a hundred other missions. Even Mara.” My voice drops. Goes gruff. “I can’t fail you, too.”
Her expression softens. The anger bleeds away into something gentler. More dangerous.
“You didn’t fail Mara. You made an impossible choice in an impossible moment.”
She moves to me. Her hand finds mine, warm fingers threading through mine, and I should pull away, but I don’t. Can’t make myself. Her skin is soft against knuckles torn from digging through rock to save her.
