“It wasn’t the kiss,” he said softly, his thumb tracing a slow circle. “It’s the fear of losing myself to the beastblood—to that hunger. I just need to know it’s real, and not me losing control.”
Lykor tightened his grip. The strange thing was, he felt nothing dark prowling beneath his skin. No beastblood clawing at his chest, no pull of power—only the steady weight of Jassyn’s palm in his.
“Then take the time you need,” Lykor said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Jassyn’s lips curved, hardly a smile, but the start of one. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted, brushing a stray lock of hair from Lykor’s eyes. “But I want to learn. With you.”
Lykor’s chest nearly capsized. He wasn’t used to being wanted, not instead of Aesar. But Jassyn’s eyes held no confusion, no mistake. Only choice.
A part of him ached to answer it, to meet that choosing again with his own.
“I want to kiss you again,” Lykor said quietly, “but only if it’s not too soon.”
Jassyn didn’t answer right away. His gaze swept across Lykor’s face, as if measuring the fragile space between fear and want. Then, with that same steady certainty as before, he leaned in, hand sliding back through Lykor’s hair.
“On one condition,” Jassyn murmured, lips hovering a breath away. “Don’t ask when you already know the answer.”
And then he kissed him, without urgency this time. Enough to call it wanting. Enough to call it theirs, if only for this moment.
Letting himself feel, Lykor melted into it. One hand rose to cup Jassyn’s cheek, but he didn’t deepen the kiss. Didn’t push for more.
Their mouths parted, just enough to breathe. Jassyn didn’t retreat, his eyes searching Lykor’s. And in that stillness, where breath mingled and silence held, what they’d both chosen hovered between them.
Peace lasted exactly one heartbeat before the world came rushing back.
Jassyn jolted like a current had seized him. He stepped back, eyes snapping toward the tree’s sealed entrance.
“I—” he choked, dragging both hands down his face. “Scorching stars, I didn’t think to mute the bond.”
Lykor blinked, still recovering when Vesryn’s voice filtered through the vines—amused and utterly unrepentant.
“I’m coming in.” Shadows curled beneath the green curtain. “And if this is a bad time, consider it…noted.”
Jassyn’s shoulders sagged with an expelled sigh. With a twist of his hand, he parted the vines to reveal the prince.
Lykor glared as Vesryn strolled into the hollow. Uninvited. Unwanted.
The prince halted just inside the tree, gaze raking over the heat still clinging to Jassyn’s flushed cheeks before cutting to Lykor. Then, as if to confirm what he already suspected, his eyes flicked back to Jassyn’s tousled curls. The look lingered just long enough for his mouth to twitch, but whatever questions rose, he caged neatly behind a smirk.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Vesryn said, tone bright enough to mock sincerity. He tossed a berry into the air and caught it on his tongue. “Though in my defense, itfeltlike the mending part was over.”
Jassyn composed himself faster than Lykor, though the tightening of his lips betrayed that he’d caught the barb. He wrinkled his nose at the violet stain darkening Vesryn’s fingertips—juice from the same berries he idly tossed in the air, almost certainly something questionable scavenged by Fenn.
Lykor seized the opening before the prince could pry, noting an absence.
“Where’s Fenn?” he demanded, gaze cutting to where the captain had arranged his armor. Forgoing the discarded tunic, he ignited a burst of force, whipping the flight leathers to his waiting claw.
As he buckled the pieces into place, Vesryn only shrugged, waving a hand toward the jungle. “Probably still talking to thewind. I left him by a tree.” Another berry vanished between his teeth. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing on Lykor. “Are you two…finished? Or does Jassyn need to add any finaltouches?”
With a snarl, Lykor warped across the hollow. Vesryn flinched as he materialized beside him, but Lykor didn’t slow. His shoulder clipped the prince’s, staggering him before he strode out beneath the tree’s arch, never once looking back.
He wasn’t fleeing, only peeling himself away before Vesryn could sour the moment further. Leaving Jassyn to face the prince alone hadn’t been deliberate. Or an act of cowardice. He simply needed air to douse what still smoldered inside his chest.
The jungle’s breath pressed close, thick with damp moss and humidity that dripped from fronds. The nerves on his back crawled, but it wasn’t pain, only the void where it had crouched. Out of habit, he rolled his shoulders, waiting for the sharp pull.
Nothing came.
He’d learned to live around pain like a scar, and now the absence felt like a skin he didn’t know how to wear—too smooth to trust. Lykor nearly reached inward, just to see if Aesar felt it too. But instead of barging into Aesar’s mindspace, he stopped himself.
