Bullshit. It’s not that.
Can’t be.
“The helicopter went down approximately eight miles from the extraction point,” I say, keeping my voice clinical as I brief them on our mission. “Mara didn’t survive the crash. We took shelter in the mountain cave system, avoiding Syndicate patrols for forty-eight hours before capture.”
As I speak, my mind flashes to Ember huddled against me in the darkness, her body trembling from cold—or something else. The memory of her scent hits me with a force that feels physical, embedded in my senses.
I force the thoughts away.
Caleb nods, his expression carefully neutral. The perfect clan leader, processing information without revealing judgment.
“And your escape?”
“Utilized a shift change in guard rotations. Acquired a transport vehicle. Retrieved Ember as they had her en route to Syndicate headquarters and made contact with the extraction team at the designated coordinates.”
The facts. Just the facts. Nothing about Ember’s impossible power awakening. Nothing about her mouth on mine or her body pressed against me in the dark, her skin burning against my palms, the soft sounds she made when I touched her—
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. The dragon beneath my skin prickles with heat, threatening to emerge. I haven’t lost control of my shift since I was a juvenile. The fact that mere thoughts of Ember bring me to the edge is terrifying.
Dorian studies me with narrowed eyes. Unlike his twin, he’s never bothered to hide what he’s thinking. And right now, he’s reading me like an open book. His nostrils flare slightly, dragon senses detecting the chemical changes in my body that betray everything I’m trying to hide.
“You look like hell, Kenan.”
I manage a dry smile. “Three days without dragon power in enemy territory will do that.”
“That all it was?” The question hangs between us, weighted with implication.
I don’t respond. Just hold his gaze until he looks away, though my pulse thunders in my ears. A drop of sweat slides between my shoulder blades, where the memory of Ember’s fingers digging into muscle still burns.
Caleb leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Ember Arrowvane. Vanya’s daughter. Twenty-one years old, minimal field experience.” He pauses, eyes never leaving my face. “You were responsible for her safety.”
My jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. “Yes.”
“And she’s returning unharmed. Mostly.”
“Mostly,” I echo, feeling like a fraud. Because while she may not carry visible wounds, what happened between us has changed her. Changed us both.
I remember her determined face in the mountain cabin, firelight catching on her cheekbones as she straddled my lap. Remember the way she trembled, not with fear but with want, when my hands slid beneath the flannel shirt to find bare skin.
“Care to explain the ‘mostly’?”
The memory dissolves. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry, and choose my words carefully.
“She twisted an ankle early on. Some bruising and scrapes from the caves. Syndicate interrogated her but didn’t—” I stop, unable to finish that sentence without my control fraying, without the dragon surging forward with protective rage. “She held up well.”
Dorian snorts. “That’s not what Caleb’s asking.”
The implied question sits like a stone between us:What happened between you two?
“We survived,” I say simply. “That’s what happened.”
“That’s not an answer.” Caleb’s voice remains calm, but his eyes have hardened.
I look out the window at the clouds passing below us, suddenly too tired for this dance. The pressure of three days and nights—of life and death decisions, of desire suppressed and then surrendered to—settles into my bones.
“What do you want me to say?”
Dorian leans back, studying me with an expression I can’t quite read.
