She lays there in silence for a long minute. Her breathing slows.
“Thanks.”
I grunt. “Don’t mention it.”
She chuckles faintly. “I won’t. Ever.”
The stars spin slowly above through the busted skylight overhead, quiet and distant. Somewhere deep in the wreckage, metal groans. Our heat coil buzzes softly in the corner. Her fingers curl just slightly, brushing mine.
“You ever been this close to death before?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“You scared?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
I glance sideways. She’s watching me, lashes low, expression unreadable.
I inhale. The bond hums in my chest again, fierce and low, like gravity collapsing inward. “It’s not death I fear.”
Ella rolls onto her side, facing me fully. The movement tugs her jumpsuit tight across her waist. My fingers twitch.
“What, then?” she whispers.
I turn toward her. The gap between us shrinks. Her breath smells faintly of protein gel and something underneath—sharp and bright, like rain before a storm. My hand hovers beside her cheek, not quite touching.
“That I won’t make it matter.”
Her brow furrows. “Make what matter?”
“This.” My voice is hoarse. “Us. This bond. Whatever it is.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just stares up at me like she’s seeing something she never thought she’d want. “You think this is real?”
“I know it is.”
She swallows. Her throat flexes. “Then why haven’t you touched me?”
I stop breathing.
She shifts closer—barely an inch—but it’s seismic. Her thigh brushes mine. Her fingertips trail across my forearm, featherlight. “You act like you want me,” she murmurs. “But you keep pulling away.”
“I don’t want to scare you.”
“You don’t.”
I do now. Her voice is low and velveted with exhaustion, but the look in her eyes is clear. Certain. Her hand slides up, bold now, fingertips grazing the ridge of my jaw. My scales rise beneath her touch like they’ve been waiting their whole life to feel her skin.
My restraint snaps like a cable under pressure.
I lean in. Slowly. Carefully. Let her see every inch of the decision. Her lips part before mine touch them, her breath catching.
Contact.
Not violent. Just a kiss. Warm. Searing. Real. Her mouth moves under mine like she’s been dreaming of this too. My claws curl into the seat beside her head. Her fingers fist the front of my armor.
