His hearts beat louder when I am close. I hear them—feel them—two steady drums calling to something buried so deep inside me I do not have a name for it. Travnyk clears his throat quietly.
“He is right. Humans do not handle the desert nights.”
“And you?” I ask him.
“We Urr’ki sleep on stone,” he says, shrugging.
“It is fine. I will sleep anywhere,” Tomas says, lifting both hands.
Rakkh steps past me, positioning his massive body across the entrance of the alcove, blocking the wind—blocking everything.
“You sleep inside,” he says again. “I will guard the opening.”
“I am not helpless,” I whisper.
“I know.” His voice softens unexpectedly. “That is why you are worth guarding.”
Heat blooms beneath my ribs. It is too much, too fast. I look away as my cheeks warm, hoping he will not notice. I crawl into the alcove and settle onto the packed sand. It is warmer than I expect.
Outside, Travnyk and Tomas settle against the outer rocks. Rakkh lowers himself to sit across the entrance, wings folded, arms resting loosely over his knees. He looks carved from the stone itself—unmoving, alert. The predator scent drifts through the wind again, and Rakkh’s growl turns low and lethal.
“Keep your distance,” he snaps—not at me, but at Tomas and Travnyk.
Travnyk stiffens. Tomas mutters a curse. But neither argues. Because Rakkh’s growl is not just a warning. It is a claim.
I pull my knees up to my chest, heart thundering, breath unsteady. Why does that sound… affect me like this? Why does it feel protective instead of possessive? Why does it feel… good?
I try to focus on anything else. The metal shard in my pocket. The dying plants. The sick carok, to no avail. My gaze keeps drifting to him.
The others drift to sleep, but it eludes me. I watch him. The moons catch on his scales, painting them gold and silver. His profile is sharp. His wings shift with the wind. His tail curls toward the alcove, the tip resting just inches from my foot. Protective. Does he sleep? He has not closed his eyes once. I lower my voice.
“Rakkh.”
He responds instantly. “Yes.”
“You do not have to stay awake all night.”
A long pause.
“Yes. I must.”
I swallow. “Why?”
His head tilts slightly toward me. His voice drops to a near-whisper, meant only for my ears.
“Because something hunts these dunes.” He inhales. “And it is not the only thing.”
A shiver rolls down my spine. Before I respond, something sharp and metallic glints at the far corner of the alcove. It is half-buried in the sand, but I spot the shape—too straight and smooth. My breath catches. Rakkh senses my shift instantly.
“What is it?” he asks.
Slowly, I reach toward it, brushing sand away to reveal a metal plate. Curved, blackened on one side like it was burned.
“Rakkh,” I whisper. “I think I found another piece.”
His claws flex. His pupils narrow. And the night around us goes very, very still.
The metal is cold.
