His focus dropped to the claw that mocked him with every heartbeat—a relic of Galaeryn’s cruelty, a wraith’s limb never to return to elven flesh.
“The king saw to it,” he muttered. “Unintended. But it lasted.”
Jassyn’s wings rustled in a rasp of leather, silence lingering long enough to sting before he whispered, “Can you show me?”
The question landed too soft, too close to gentleness, a healer reaching for a wound. And gentleness was the one thing Lykor couldn’t stomach. He barked a rough laugh, sharp enough to flay the sympathy before it rooted.
“Why?” he growled, lip curling. “So you can watch me crumple like a failed experiment and—”
Jassyn moved before Lykor finished, pupils slicing to vertical slits. Like a knife ripped free from its sheath, he sundered the space with a single stride. Before Lykor could blink, Jassyn seized his tunic and yankedhimforward.
Chest to chest, the heat of Jassyn struck harder than the grip. Lykor froze, but everything inside him ignited. His heart hammered a mutinous rhythm, battering his ribs with a want he’d sooner smother than confess.
Jassyn had never pushed back. Not like this. Not with iron in his fist, violence trembling in his arm, wing talons clicking as they clenched and unclenched.
The scent of him—those stars-cursed orange blossoms, now edged with something half-feral like the desert sun—flooded Lykor’s senses. Every muscle tensed as their breath clashed in the narrow space, until only the treacherous urge to lean closer burned through him.
“If you think I’d do that to you,” Jassyn hissed, “then you don’t know me at all.”
Even with Jassyn’s fingers knotted in his tunic, it was the gentlest accusation Lykor had ever heard. But it still punched like a lance between his ribs.
“There’s nothing that can be done,” he ground out. “Cinderax said he can’t—”
“Cinderax isn’t one of the realm’s best healers,” Jassyn snapped, each word a lash, fury striking too fast to dodge.
“Butyouare, aren’t you?” Lykor spat, yet the venom soured to bitterness even as it left his mouth. “The bleeding heart with steady hands. Always reaching. Always fixing. Pretending you’re not just as fucking broken.”
He hadn’t meant to say it, but of course he went for the wound anyway.
That was all it took.
Rage detonated in Jassyn’s eyes. Then he shoved.
Driven across the cliff, Lykor staggered as Jassyn drove him backward. His spine jolted as he rammed into a spire, teeth clicking shut. Air ripped from his lungs as the claws of Jassyn’s wings slammed into the rock beside his head, talons gouging deep.
Pinninghim.
Stone at his back, Jassyn’s wings and body caging him, heat roared through Lykor’s chest. Every muscle coiled to strike, but each breath betrayed him, aching for the hold he didn’t dare break.
Teeth bared, scales erupted down Jassyn’s throat and arms. His wings flared wider. Dominating. Towering. He looked more dragon than elf, fury snarling through him.
Lykor should’ve thrown him off. Reminded Jassyn who the real beast was.
He didn’t.
Shame burned. Hunger flared hotter. The weight. The grip. It split him open.
Worse still, he hoped Jassyn wouldn’t let go.
Jassyn’s eyes flashed, fist tightening in Lykor’s tunic, breath scorching his cheek. Close enough that every heartbeat collided, the air between them seething with heat and fury. For a moment, Lykor couldn’t tell if the tremor came from Jassyn’s fist or his own chest.
Blood thundered in his veins, but he stood still, waiting for Jassyn’s next move. As the silence stretched, the waiting turned unbearable. He wanted to see what Jassyn would do. If the beastblood would take over. So Lykor targeted the bruise. Pressed where it hurt.
“And what, exactly, does ‘one of the realm’s best healers’ think can be done?” His voice cut low, every word honedto a point. “You know magic can’t mend the injuries already engraved into my spine. But here you are, believing you can.”
There. He’d said it. Now the truth had teeth, every one of them sinking deep.
Lykor dropped his gaze, unwilling to let Jassyn read what still lived in it. The phantom twinge of the golden stakes had never faded where the metal had once been driven. Jassyn had seen the scars, walked the wreckage of his mind. He knew.
