He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t need to. The truth is written in every line of his scars, every angle of his jaw, every beat of silence that follows.
And in that moment, I understand—this warrior at my side has been shattered three times over, and still he walks. Still he fights. Still he carries it.
And I vow, fierce and desperate, that I will never let him carry this alone, never again. The silence stretches, raw and jagged. The dunes stretch empty ahead of us, but I barely see them.
His words echo in my head—brother, mate, death. Loss layered on loss until it’s a wonder he hasn’t crumbled into dust with the rest of this planet. My throat tightens, and I bite down hard against the ache behind my eyes.
This is why he’s always just out of reach. Why he touches and pulls back. Why every moment between us hums with want but stops short of claiming. Not because he doesn’t feel it. Not because I imagined the heat in his gaze or the way he calls me mine.
Because he already lost everything he loved once. Twice. Three times. Because he believes that to love me is to risk that same ruin again. That he might fail me.
My chest twists, sharp and merciless. I ache for him—ache for the boy who once had a brother to follow, for the man who carried hope in his arms only to watch it wither and die. I ache for me too—for the bond sparking hot and alive between us that he holds at bay.
I want to tell him he’s wrong. That I’m not fragile. That I won’t be ripped from him like the rest. But the words lodge in my throat, heavy with the truth that I can’t promise him that. Not here. Not on Tajss, where death waits under every stone and in every shadow.
So I walk beside him, quiet. My hand in his. His tail flicks, restless. His jaw sets harder. His stride never falters. And I understand.
It isn’t that he doesn’t want me. It’s that he does. Too much. Enough that losing me would be the final breaking. The realization burns like a brand under my skin, and with every step I feel the weight of it settle in my bones.
He’s mine. This… this is meant to be. He’s been pushed aside. Lost and broken. Like I have. Worse than I ever had it, but still…
Even if he never lets himself take me fully. Even if every kiss, every touch is edged with the ghost of all he’s lost.
I want him.
And somehow, I’ll find a way to make him believe that wanting me isn’t another road to ruin.
35
KARA
The desert is quiet, but inside me everything roars.
Each step grinds sand beneath my boots, and every grain feels like it presses harder against my skin. The suns are climbing, casting long red shadows over the dunes, but all I see is him—his rigid shoulders, his steady pace, the weight of silence he wears like armor.
I can’t stand it.
He’s lost too much. Buried too much. And now he’s burying himself, too—piece by piece, scar by scar.
If I let him keep walking like this, the space between us will harden into something unbreakable. And I can’t—won’t—let that happen.
I step closer, close enough that my shoulder brushes his arm. The contact jolts through me, sharp as lightning. He doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t look at me either. His gaze stays locked ahead, black eyes unblinking against the horizon.
My hand trembles as I lift it. Every instinct screams that I shouldn’t, that he’ll pull away, that I’ll break something fragile and vital. But I can’t stop. I press my palm to his forearm, fingers curling over the ridges of his scales.
“Don’t do that,” I whisper. My voice is raw, cracking. “Don’t lock me out.”
His stride slows, just barely. A muscle ticks in his jaw, his wings flexing once—sharp and restless.
“You don’t understand,” he rumbles. The words scrape low, pained, like stone cracking under too much weight.
“Then tell me.” I squeeze his arm harder. “Make me understand. Don’t carry it alone.”
Finally, finally, he looks at me—and the force of it nearly buckles my knees. His eyes aren’t just dark; they’re bottomless, carved out by years of loss, brimming with a grief so deep it terrifies me.
I don’t look away.
My throat tightens, but I hold his gaze, hold the unbearable weight of it, and somehow that’s enough. His chest rises and falls, sharper now, breath hitching as though the act of meeting my eyes cracks the dam.
