The single request made Lykor twitch, but he gave the barest nod. “It won’t matter,” he muttered—more to himself—as Essence flared from Jassyn’s hands.
The first touch made him flinch. Not because it hurt, but because it didn’t.
Jassyn’s palms closed on the ruined joint, at the crooked lattice of bone, the broken anchor where wings should have risen. His fingers were steady as he lifted, cradling the burden with impossible care.
Lykor fixed his stare on a crack in the stone beneath his boots while Essence threaded under his skin like a second pulse. Jassyn didn’t recoil as he mapped every fault line in silence.
“You say you can’t be healed,” Jassyn finally murmured. “But healing isn’t the first step.”
“Spare me the riddles,” Lykor snapped, turning his head.
Wrapped in his assessment now, Jassyn didn’t seem to hear him as he crossed to Lykor’s other side and drew the second wing open just as gently as before. The membranes twitched grotesquely, and Lykor swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat.
Jassyn lowered the span in a patient arc, guiding the wing back into place until the weight settled without a jolt. Then he stepped in front of Lykor, face unreadable.
“I have an idea,” he said, eyes locked with Lykor’s, shining in the glow of the moons. “But I already know you won’t like it.”
Lykor’s breath came shallow as he stood there—wings ruined, everything exposed—watching a male who should’ve turned away but didn’t.
Jassyn held his gaze, mercilessly steady.
“If you’ll trust me, you’ll fly.”
CHAPTER 5
SERENNA
Flying astride Naru with Vesryn behind her, Serenna stared down at the sun-bleached desert sprawled thousands of feet below. Carved open by wind and time, crevices split the ground like gaping wounds, the earth bleeding hues of copper and sunburnt stone.
Naru’s wings drummed the air in rhythmic thumps as he carried them over a wind-scoured bluff. Her legs ached from hours in the saddle, but the true torment burned at her back. Heat from Vesryn’s thighs bled through her armor, the crowding measure of him a claim she felt in her pulse.
Serenna tightened her grip on Naru’s saddle, anything to keep her hands from betraying her. She drank in the cool air and forced her gaze to the desert uncoiling below, the distraction as thin as gauze.
Somewhere beneath the scorched crust lay the ancient Bramblemaw den that Kaedryn had urged them to scout. Only when Serenna pushed had the druid leader confessed the truth—that none of her people would dare approach. Centuries ago during the Great War, a Bramblemaw’s scalebound had twisted the dragon’s nesting ground into a tomb, sealing Aelfyn alive in the earth.
So while the rangers and druids scouted deeper into the Crackling Maw and others continued training, Serenna found herself paired with the prince, agreeing—perhaps too quickly—to explore the depths with him.
Kaedryn’s counsel had been maddeningly sparse, little more than a warning that the tomb would yield only to ‘starlight.’ But she believed a cache of Starshards lay entombed alongside the Aelfyn’s bones. The relics could channel Essence talents and act as reservoirs of magic for those without. That alone made the gems an advantage.
Vesryn’s hands clamped around Serenna’s waist, the only warning before Naru banked into the wind. The prince leaned with her, but the tilt slid their hips together, making it impossible to pretend she didn’t feel every inch of him.
His mouth brushed the point of her ear, breath hot enough to chase a shiver down her spine. Serenna knewexactlywhat he was doing. The careful adjustments. The guiding touches. Yet his fingers lingered as though they’d forgotten the ruse.
The prince was nowhere near as subtle as he thought.
She turned, meaning to glance back—or glare, really—but the look faltered when their eyes locked. A smirk tugged at his mouth, wholly unrepentant.
Vesryn’s irises gleamed like cut jade, draconic pupils glittering in the sun. Wind tugged at his bound hair, loose strands trailing silver behind them.
Even in a partial shift—dragonsight flaring, scales glinting across her arms—the beastblood surged close enough to scatter Serenna’s focus. Her senses sharpened to something savage, thoughts of the task ahead dulling beneath the burn.
Everyinnocenttouch scorched through her, every careless graze detonating under her ribs. Each moment tipped toward abandon, toward losing control.
The press of Vesryn’s weight against her hips, the brush of his breath at her ear, stoked something molten—heat that had nothing to do with the sun above or the desert below. Worse, the bond only magnified where their skin met, turning contact into a spark.
Vesryn’s grip stayed on her hips after she turned away. His breath hitched when she eased back, just enough to draw friction between them. Enough to feign ignorance while she leaned into the space that throbbed with invitation.
This performance of restraint dangled by a thread, desire straining to break loose into something feral.
