“Wait—” Jassyn began, but the warning never left his lips.
Lykor crumpled forward, his fall muffled by the snow.
“Stars,” Jassyn muttered, shoving both hands through his hair.
He stared as Lykor remained motionless, each slowing breath curling into the air. Facedown, he showed no signs of waking as the minutes ticked by.
Jassyn rubbed at the ache latching onto his temples, grappling with the absurdity of Lykor’s stubbornness. It was as impressive as it was infuriating.
Determined to prevent Lykor from getting frostbiteagain,Jassyn pushed himself into motion. It was up to him to ensure that they both survived the night.
Gritting his teeth against the effort, Jassyn cursed Lykor’s bulk as he rolled him over. Slowly, he dragged Lykor out of the blood-stained snow, arranging his cloak more securely around his limbs and brushing off the lingering frost.
When he finished constructing what little comfort he could, silence pressed in, broken only by the brush of wind against their shelter. It was then that he felt the full weight of his own weariness, the cold burrowing deeper as he shivered uncontrollably. Blowing warmth into his hands, he tried to chase the lingering numbness from his fingers, though it felt like a losing battle.
Jassyn hesitated before deciding to sit next to Lykor, wrapping his fur-lined cloak tighter around himself. He glanced down, watching the slow rise and fall of Lykor’s chest. No sharp commands, no biting retorts. Just the quiet, unguarded stillness of sleep.
Jassyn sighed, scooting even closer to the warmth radiating from Lykor’s body, drawn more by instinct than intent. He doubted Lykor would forgive him for it, but in this moment, survival mattered more than pride.
Tucking his legs up and resting his head on his knees, fatigue began tugging at Jassyn’s eyelids. Every blink became a battle against the chilly embrace of oblivion.
He thought he sensed Lykor stirring beside him, but he couldn’t tell if it was his mind drifting between dreams or reality.
He needed to stay awake—to ensure their shelter held through the night.
But darkness began to claim him.
CHAPTER 29
LYKOR
Lykor surfaced slowly, consciousness dragging him from the abyss of sleep. The world returned in fragments, his senses stirring in jagged bursts.
He stiffened, instantly aware of an invasive warmth—heat from another body. It bled into his chest, seeping into his skin where he expected the bite of cold.
Aesar had returned them to the jungle.
To Kal.
In an instant, an ember of rage ignited, scorching away the last remnants of sleep. Here he was, waking up next to his captain.
Again.
Lykor squeezed his eyes tighter, as if denial alone could make this situation less maddening. He thought he and Aesar had moved past this. That Kal, the insufferable lackwit he was, would have learned some semblance of respect by now.
But no. Clearly the pair of them were incapable of restraint and would never relent, their audacity making a mockery of the boundaries he’d tried to set.
Kal murmured in his sleep and shifted against Lykor’s chest. Disgust surged. Lykor was about to shove him away, rip himself free from the suffocating closeness. But something stopped him.
The body pressed against his was wrong. Lykor knew—before the thought fully formed—that this wasn’t Kal.
He hated how he knew it. Hated the way the realization coiled through him, snaking past his defenses and prying them open.
The scent engulfing him wasn’t pine and leather, wasn’t rough and brazen. It was something else entirely—unsettlingly disarming. Like rain tangled with orange blossoms, a whisper of summer slipping through the cracks of a storm.
The subtlety of it sank into him, scrambling his thoughts. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t ignore it. And thatinfuriatedhim.
Muscles taut as he braced himself, Lykor peeled his eyes open to face the truth. A mass of dark curls filled his vision, so black that they gleamed with hints of midnight blue.
