When he speaks again, his voice is a whisper I have to lean close to catch.
“She was everything to him. And I swore to guard her if he couldn’t. When the Devastation came, I hid her—thought I saved her. But the radiation still took her. And when she died…” His voice fractures, his eyes closing tight for a single beat. “It was as if I lost him again. Failed him twice. Failed them both.”
My chest twists until I can’t breathe.
The desert stretches wide around us, endless and merciless, but right here it feels like there’s only the two of us, standing in the wreckage of everything he’s carried.
I reach higher, sliding my hand to his chest, over the scars that mark him. His heartbeat thrums steady and strong against my palm—alive, defiant.
“You didn’t fail,” I whisper fiercely, even as tears sting my eyes. “You’re here. You survived. And you’re not alone anymore.”
For a moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His gaze searches mine, raw and unguarded, as if I’ve just cracked open something he thought was buried too deep to touch.
“No—” he says, jaw clenching as his wings flex. “I’m not. And that…”
He trails off. I stare, waiting, but nothing more comes. He lowers his head, silent, but his chest heaves, his tail twitching suddenly—manic and out of control.
“Drazan,” I exhale. “Please…”
His head snaps up, dark eyes locking onto mine, swimming with unreadable emotions.
“I can’t.”
I touch his face, tracing one of the scars with the tips of my fingers.
“Yes, you can.”
He shakes his head. I slide my hand onto his neck, hook it behind him, and rise onto my toes, bringing my lips to his.
Our breath mingles. Close. So close. He’s breathing fast. He blinks once, twice—stiff as a board in my arms, but his muscles tremble.
“Drazan… mine…”
I press my lips to his. At first he’s stiff and cold, resisting—but then he softens, and we melt into one another. The kiss is deep, full of passion—of everything unsaid and everything shared.
When at last we pull apart, our eyes meet, and it takes my breath.
“I can’t…” he hisses.
“You can,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, pain etched into every line of his face, into the depths of his eyes.
“I can’t lose you,” he exhales.
“Then don’t,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck as I jump up and lock my legs around him. “Ever.”
“Forever,” he says—before our lips find each other again.
36
KARA
The wind blows the same, carrying grit across our skin, scouring away any trace of tenderness it can reach. But nothing can scour this from me—not the kiss, not the vow, not the weight of him holding me as though forever were a thing we could carve into the sand with our bodies.
I’m still breathing heavily, lips swollen from him, when I realize I’m trembling—but it’s not fear or exhaustion. It’s him. Us.
He rests his forehead against mine, horns framing my face. His breath is rough, uneven, stirring strands of hair that cling to my cheek. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t loosened his grip, as though if he lets go, the world might split open.
