He swore the wind blew.
Not from outside the cave, but from within, like a delicate kiss that pulled his head to look back at Ezer. There she was, curled beneath the raphon’s wings.
Alive.
Almost peaceful, as she slept.
When he’d first met her...he’d thought her the ghost of Soraya, come back to haunt him. They were both small, and brave, dark-haired and determined. But...the more time he spent with her, the more he realized she wasnothis old friend.
She was so much more.
She was fearless in a way Soraya had never been, because she’dchosento stay in the north. She’dchosento tame a beast that wanted most men dead, and she’d danced with Arawn, not because he was the only one thatcould...
But because he was the only one she’d wanted to dance with.
She saw him. His pain. His mourning.
His frustration, when it came to his lack of magic. She didn’t know him from before, but it didn’t matter. Because he was a different man than he’d been back then. He wasn’t a famed Firemage anymore.
He was just Arawn Laroux...a man without magic.
And it didn’t bother her one bit.
This wasnotSoraya.
This was not the past.
And as he looked at Ezer, warmth suddenly surged in his veins. It came, not from the core of him, that part in his soul where he’d always felt his magic was kept. It came instead from his chest, right over his cold and broken heart.
And suddenly, as easy as breathing...
A flame surged to life in his hands.
She was alive.
And she was leaning against him, the heat of the fire nothing compared to the press of her body against his.
“I’ve always heard that Firemages are warmer than most,” he said.
And so, he lifted an arm...welcoming her to him.
An offer. A line of hope, cast out, and in that moment, he prayed she would accept it.
A sigh left her lips as she sidled up next to him, and by the gods, that sound nearly broke him.
There they sat.
Together.
It was a simple touch, so delicate as he held her, and yet every part of Arawn was swept up in it. Every part of him was about to be devoured.
He’d never been this close to anyone before. He’d never wanted it...not like this.
“You still smell like a raphon,” he said, because he needed something to lighten the mood, to break the tension he felt, to stop his body from shaking in carefully controlledwanting.
He could not give in.
He would not give in.
