“Rakkh… what are we doing?”
Everything inside me tightens—breath, hearts, wings—drawn toward her by a force I cannot explain. Cannot resist. I lean toward her, close enough that her breath touches my chin.
“What we should not be doing,” I answer. “But I cannot stop.”
Her lips part.
Outside, the wind rises sharply—carrying a faint metallic tang from the dunes, from whatever poisoned the guardian, from whatever lies buried ahead. She feels the shift. Her eyes flick to the entrance around my body.
“Tomorrow,” she whispers. “We’ll find the source.”
“Yes,” I say. But I do not move from the doorway. And I do not stop watching her.
Not tonight. Never again.
Lia shifts inside the cavern, settling onto the warmed stone. The moon paints her in pale silver, softening every edge—except the fire in her eyes. That remains sharp. Alive. Untamed. She hugs her knees to her chest, watching me through the narrow opening framed by my body. The air between us hums. Soft. Tense. Too warm.
I should look away, but I don’t.
Her gaze drifts to my arm—the one she touched. It has stopped bleeding, black lines drying across my scales. It doesn’t hurtanymore, but the memory of her touch burns hotter than any wound.
“You should rest,” I say.
It comes out harsher than I intend. Everything does, when she is this close. She lifts her chin.
“I can’t sleep when something’s hunting us.”
“Nothing will enter while I am here,” I rumble low.
A small exhale leaves her. A sound that is not quite trust and not quite surrender, but something fragile in between.
“How do you do that?” she whispers.
“Do what?”
“Sound so sure.”
Because if I am not sure, I will break. Because I cannot lose anyone else. Because the thought of you hurt makes my throat close and my lungs stop.
I swallow those thoughts and instead I say, “Because protecting is what I am.”
Her eyes soften. Too much. Too fast.
“Even me?”
My hearts stutter. I study her face, trying to decide if she understands what that question means for a Zmaj. I don’t think she does. She is human. How can she?
“Especially you,” I say.
Her breath catches. She looks down quickly, pretending to adjust her bag, but her hands tremble. I feel the shift of the air when her pulse speeds up. She pretends she doesn’t know I can hear it and I pretend I’m not listening.
The dunes groan. Sand shifts with the breeze, I hope. Tomas mutters nonsense under his breath. Travnyk sharpens a blade in slow, steady strokes. None of it matters. Not compared to the girl in the cave.
Lia rests her cheek on her folded arms, exhaustion softening her features. She blinks slowly, fighting sleep. Stubborn. As I come to know she is.
“Rakkh,” she murmurs, “you really don’t have to stay awake all night.”
“I do.”
