I respect that. Go quiet. Stand near the window, keeping watch while she processes.
“Can I ask you something?” she says after a while.
“Yes.”
“Do you still think…?” She struggles with the phrasing. “Do you still believe what you did was right? The orders you gave. The missions you ran.”
The question deserves honesty. “I thought I was doing my job. Following orders from leadership I trusted. The Syndicate views factions like Aurora and the shifter clans as terrorist groups working to derail our plans to bring dragons to their rightful place in the world.” I pause. “It was dogma that once made sense to me. That I believed in completely.”
“And now?”
“Now I see it differently. The complexity I ignored. The lives I prioritized as acceptable losses. The certainty I had about ourcause.” I turn from the window to face her. “The rhetoric doesn’t make sense anymore when I examine it honestly.”
“Do you have regrets?” Her voice is quiet.
“Many.”
“Like Chance, you mean?”
“Yes. And others. So many orders given that destroyed lives.” The admission is difficult but necessary. “I have a lot to atone for. Maybe I’ll never balance the score.”
Silence settles between us. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy with truths we’re both processing.
“I think you’re a good man,” she says finally. Quiet. “Beneath it all.”
Her words strike something deep in my chest.
Good man.
She thinks I’m good after knowing what I’ve done. After losing her mate because of my orders. After everything between us.
Emotion rises—unfamiliar and powerful. My life has had very little room for feeling anything deeply. Few relationships that went beyond professional or physical. None that ever had potential for more than a temporary connection.
I see now what I’ve been missing. What I denied myself by maintaining distance from everyone.
Or maybe my dragon was waiting. Waiting for this particular female. The one who would break through centuries of control and make me feel things I didn’t think I was capable of anymore.
“Thank you,” I manage. “That means… everything.”
She stands. Crosses to me. Looks up at me. “I know.”
Then she’s kissing me.
Different from before. Not desperate or driven by some heat cycle or adrenaline. This is deliberate. Tender. Both of us choosing this with clear minds and full understanding.
I kiss her back slowly. My hands find her waist. Pull her close. She presses against me, and I can feel every curve through our clothes.
We move to the cot. She pulls off my shirt carefully—avoiding the bandaged wound on my ribs. I help her with hers. Gentle. Taking time.
When we’re both bare, that connection flares between us. Heat simmers beneath my skin. But this isn’t about claiming or marking or desperate need.
This is about learning each other.
I lay her back on the cot. Follow her down. Kiss her lips, her chin, her throat, lower. My mouth finds her breast. I take her nipple between my lips. She gasps and arches into me. Her hands thread through my hair, holding me there.
“Jericho.” She’s breathless.
I explore her body with my hands and mouth. Learning every inch of her. Her breasts are full and responsive. I pay attention to each one—sucking and licking until her nipples are hard peaks and she’s writhing beneath me. My hand slides down her stomach. Between her thighs. She’s wet. Slick. Ready.
