He makes an amused sound—maybe a laugh, maybe not.
“You cannot guard all night.”
“I can.”
“I will guard at dawn,” Tomas offers half-heartedly.
“You will not,” I growl.
He squeaks and goes silent.
A soft rustle draws my attention to Lia. She sits with her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. Her hair falls in front of her face, lit by thin threads of moonlight filtering through the entrance around my body. She looks small in the cavern. Too small.
“Rakkh?” she whispers.
My hearts stutter.
“Yes,” I answer at once.
“You don’t have to stay awake all night.”
“Yes,” I say again. “I must.”
She tilts her head. “Because of the guardian?”
I shake my head slowly.
“Because something hunts these dunes.” Then, quieter, because the truth claws at me. “And because you are in here.”
Moonlight shifts across her face. She studies me like she studies her plants—carefully, quietly, seeing more than I want her to see.
“You are trembling,” she whispers.
I freeze.
“I am not.”
Her lips curve, gentle and knowing. “Rakkh… you are.”
My breath locks in my throat. She crawls closer—close enough that her knees almost touch my tail, close enough I feel her warmth brush my shins.
“Let me check your arm,” she whispers.
“It is fine.”
“It’s bleeding.”
I glance down. I hadn’t felt it, battle heat masking the pain, but she’s right. Thin lines of ichor streak my forearm where the guardian’s spines grazed me. Before I can stop her, she reaches out, tentatively, and brushes the back of her fingers along my scales.
Heat floods me. A shiver—not from pain—runs up my spine. She inhales sharply at the sensation of my scales under her touch.
“Does that hurt?” she asks softly.
No. Yes.
“Keep touching me and it will start to,” I exhale, the sound rough-edged.
Her eyes widen. Color floods her cheeks. She pulls back, flustered, heartbeat fluttering like a trapped creature, but she doesn’t look away. Her voice drops, barely a breath.
