Serenya warded the perimeter with swift, economical movements, her sigils blazing to life in geometric patterns that made the air hum with protective magic. Vaelrik unpacked rations—dried meat, hard bread, and water.
By the time the fire settled into steady crackling, they sat on opposite sides of the flames—but the bond stitched the distance closed, making the space between them feel intimate despite the careful separation.
Eventually, she murmured, “Thank you... for earlier. For letting me break and comforting me.”
He stared at the fire, his jaw tight with emotions he couldn’t afford to examine too closely. The memory of her tears, her grief, the way she’d shattered and trusted him to keep the pieces safe—it had undone something fundamental in him.
“I don’t like seeing you break,” he said finally, his voice rough with honesty. “But if you ever do again... you won’t be alone.”
Her breath caught, sharp and surprised. The mate bond flared softly between them like a hand reaching across the dark, warm and reassuring and terrifying in its intensity.
The silence grew thick, charged with everything they couldn’t say. Her hair glowed copper and gold in the firelight, and his shadowfire hummed beneath his ribs—steady instead of volatile, soothed by her proximity.
Serenya finally stood as if to move away—too much emotion, too much proximity, too much honesty crackling between them like lightning waiting to strike. He rose too, his body moving without conscious thought.
They stopped in front of each other, close enough to feel shared breath and close enough for him to see the gold flecks in her green eyes.
“This was a bad idea,” she whispered.
“The worst,” he agreed, but neither moved away.
Her hand lifted to his jaw, hesitant, trembling slightly with the enormity of the gesture. He gripped her wrist gently—not to stop her, just to feel the delicate bones beneath her warm skin.
The shackle pulsed between them, soft as a heartbeat. His dragon stirred, pushing back against the curse with protective fury, fighting to give him this moment, this closeness, without the shadowfire consuming everything in its path.
“Vaelrik,” she breathed, his name a prayer and a surrender.
And the space between them simply broke.
The kiss was slow at first—aching and inevitable. His hands cradled her face, careful and reverent, his dragon maintaining iron control over the curse so he could feel this properly, so she could too. Her fingers curled in his shirt, pulling him closer with desperate strength.
It wasn’t just desire or danger. It was a choice. A quiet surrender to something larger than both of them.
The moment deepened—hungry now, honest, a promise of what neither could ignore any longer. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened for him with a soft sound thatnearly shattered his control. She tasted like fire and starlight, like everything he’d never dared want.
He pulled away first, before his curse could bite back against his dragon’s restraint, pressing his forehead to hers while they both breathed hard. “If we keep going... I won’t stop, and I need to train my dragon first so I don’t hurt you.”
Her voice trembled with want and understanding. “I know.”
He stepped back, putting distance between them before the shadowfire could claw its way to the surface and ruin everything.
“Get some rest now,” he said, his voice thick with banked desire. “I’ll keep watch.”
Later that night, they lay in separate bedrolls near the dying fire, but the bond thrummed between them—warm, aware, and protective. Vaelrik’s shadowfire stayed unnaturally quiet, curled around her presence like a sentinel.
He didn’t sleep well, hyperaware of every breath she took and every small movement she made. But he didn’t regret the kiss or the fact that everything had just changed between them.
THIRTEEN
SERENYA
Dawn was gray and sharp when Serenya opened her eyes. The world was painted in muted silver that made everything look like a half-remembered dream. The fire had burned down to glowing embers that pulsed like a dying heartbeat, and the air carried a bite that wasn’t because of the season. Winter didn’t touch the Ashen Realms the way it did other places—here, cold meant something was wrong.
Vaelrik was already awake, leaning against a basalt outcrop with the casual alertness of a predator at rest. His eyes scanned the horizon like a sentinel, taking in every shadow and shift of light with the methodical precision she’d come to recognize. But when she shifted in her bedroll, his gaze flicked to her—quick and involuntary, as if he’d been hyperaware of her every breath through the night.
The memory of their kiss from last night came rushing back and heated her skin—his lips moving against hers with careful restraint and the way his hands had cradled her face like she was something precious. How his dragon had fought his curse so they could both enjoy that stolen moment fully, without shadow or flame consuming everything between them.
Her magic hummed beneath her ribs, her lumen sigils resonating with his presence, grounding him, calming the restless darkness she could sense coiled in his chest. Somehow, impossibly, he was calming her too, settling parts of her that had been raw and defensive for so long she’d forgotten they could feel anything else.
