“These are not strength.” Then he leans forward, closing the space between us by half, his hand falling from his chest to hover just above my own. “But this—” his claws graze the air near my bandaged arm, my trembling fingers, my racing heart “—this is.”
The words hit harder than any strike. My breath falters, chest tightening, as if he’s carved something inside me open—something I didn’t know I carried.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to breathe under the weight of it. All I can do is hold his gaze and hope he sees the truth in mine—that I don’t see weakness when I look at him. Only survival. Only him.
The silence swells again, but this time it’s different. Not heavy. Not sharp. Full.
And for the first time, I don’t feel like a girl chasing scraps of approval. I feel… chosen.
Smoke curls in thin ribbons and drifts into my eyes, stinging, but it isn’t what’s making them water. It’s him. The weight of his gaze. The raw honesty in his words.
I reach out, hand trembling, and lay it flat against his chest—over the ridges of scar tissue he just touched. The scales are uneven, hardened by pain and survival. I trace the longest line, following its jagged path down toward his ribs.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t draw back. His breath deepens, chest rising slow beneath my palm, as if giving me permission to read the story carved into his body.
“These aren’t weakness,” I whisper, saying it again, willing him to believe me. My voice shakes. “They’re proof you survived. Proof of what you endured.”
His eyes narrow slightly, as if weighing my words. He doesn’t break the silence; instead, he shifts closer, the space between us closing until his knees brush mine. His hand lifts, clawed fingers curling around my wrist—light, careful—as though he’s holding something fragile. My pulse stutters under his touch.
“I… want to see as you do,” he murmurs, voice low, edged with something rougher.
My chest tightens.
“You can.” I tilt my head back, forcing myself not to shy from the darkness in his gaze. “Because I don’t care what others see. I care what you are.”
The fire pops, sparks spiraling upward. His hand slides from my wrist to my hand, slow, deliberate. He presses my palm harder to his chest, over the steady thrum of his heartbeats.
Two rhythms, mine and his, tangled under my skin.
“Kara,” he rumbles, my name curling in his throat like a vow. The sound shivers through me, low and hot.
I don’t look away. I can’t. His scars burn under my hand, his heart hammering against my palm, and the realization swells so sharp I can barely breathe—I don’t want distance. I don’t want walls. I want him. All of him. Scarred and silent and unyielding.
The fire sputters, but I only feel the bond pulling tight, as if the desert itself is stitching us together. He leans in, his forehead brushing mine. I close my eyes as my breath catches—not in fear, but in surrender. Not weakness, but something stronger.
And in that moment, wrapped in silence and scars, I know.
He isn’t just survival. He’s mine.
His heartbeats pound against my palm, steady and strong beneath the scars. I should pull away. I should let the silence stretch and give myself a chance to breathe.
Instead, I tilt my chin—a fraction. His eyes catch the motion, lock with mine, black and fathomless. The world narrows to that look—hungry, claiming, raw in a way that makes my stomach twist and my skin flush at the same time.
He leans in first, or maybe I do. I’ll never know, because when his mouth meets mine, everything else ceases to exist.
It’s not gentle. It’s not cautious. His lips press firm, demanding, his tongue sliding against mine with a hunger that steals theair from my lungs. My fingers fist on the strap of his lochaber, dragging him closer until his body pins mine to the warmth of the sand. His weight is solid, overwhelming in a way that makes me shiver with aching need.
He tastes of smoke and musk and something I can’t name but that is only him. His claws trace the line of my jaw—rough and deliberate—tilting my head back so he can claim the kiss deeper. I gasp into him, and he swallows the sound, growling low in his chest. The vibration rolls through me, sinking into bone and blood.
My hand slides up from his chest to the side of his neck, fingers tangling in the coarse braid of his hair. He groans when I tug, low and primal, and the sound sparks heat through every nerve in my body.
The kiss builds—slower, then harder—as though neither of us can get enough. His teeth graze my bottom lip, a scrape that makes me arch against him, desperate. His tail curls around my thigh, possessive, anchoring me to him as though he’ll never let me go.
When his mouth finally tears from mine, it’s only to drag hot across my cheek, down to my throat. His breath scalds against my skin, his lips brushing over the pulse hammering in my neck.
“Kara,” he growls, my name rolling rough and reverent from his chest.
I shudder, clinging to him, half-wild with the force of it.
