Jassyn held it a moment longer before letting it melt, water slipping between his fingers. Some things weren’t meant to last, but that didn’t make them less worthy of choosing.
“Then maybe…” Lykor trailed off. “If we’re still standing at the end. Maybe that’s when we get to choose.”
Lykor’s gaze found Jassyn’s and lingered, tracing the lines of his face before dropping to his mouth. Jassyn’s chest cinched with a heated ache, the quiet tragedy that Lykor didn’t believe he was allowed to want anything unless it served something else.
Jassyn nearly said it aloud, that he didn’t want Lykor to crush a future before it could bloom. Instead, he reached out. A single touch, fingers grazing the edge of Lykor’s claw.
Lykor didn’t pull away, though a twitch betrayed the urge. For a breath they simply stood as rain fell between them, restraint trembling like a held note.
Then Lykor exhaled and stepped back, tucking the moment away before it could become anything more. He flexed his wings, flinging water from the marbled blue.
“Do you sense where the prince and Fenn wandered off to?” he asked, voice rough again, already sliding back into duty. “We should find them before they provoke those following Rimeclaw.”
Jassyn nodded, delving inward until the bond tugged faintly east. He turned toward the shredded canopy, where light bled through the tear Rimeclaw had carved.
Lykor’s gaze lingered on the place where the flower of ice had melted before finding Jassyn’s again. He tipped his head toward the torn treetops. “Think you’re up for a second flight?”
Jassyn’s pulse kicked against his throat. “We barely left the ground last time.” The words rasped before he swallowed. “I’m not sure that counts as flying.”
He could’ve sworn Lykor bit back a smirk. “Then let’s see if you’re ready to.”
Without another word, Lykor broke into a run, scales plating his arms. His wings snapped wide, the membranes cracking through the rain like thunder.
Sensing both the dare and the invitation, Jassyn shifted fully as he followed—boots slipping in the mud, heartbeat poundingagainst his ribs. Wings pumped with each stride as he gathered speed, until at last he leapt into the updraft.
For one breath he floated between falling and flying. Then the sky caught him, wind slamming beneath his wings as he rose through the gap in the canopy.
A rush of winter air tore past Jassyn’s face as he cleared the treetops with Lykor, the world blurring in green and white. His stomach clenched as mountains rose around the pocket of jungle, pale and snowy through the mist. A stubborn shard of fear still whispered that he’d plunge, that the sky would reject him and the earth would yank him down.
But Lykor had been right.
When he shifted into dragonsight, the world bent and the horizon unfurled.
Depth lost its menace.
The drop became distance.
And the sickness of height settled as his balance found the wind. The ground no longer waited to devour him as it shrank away, drifting harmlessly below.
For one fierce heartbeat, wonder eclipsed fear.
Then the beastblood stirred.
It seethed in his veins, louder with every wingbeat, sharpened by the clarity of his altered sight. Almost ravenous for a direction. Or a target.
And with each draft of sky, control thinned, some primal urge coiling through him.
Let go,it seemed to whisper.
As he followed the bond toward the prince, Jassyn’s gaze strayed to Lykor skimming the air beside him—all power and precision, born to command the sky as they soared above the jungle.
The sight ignited something feral beneath his ribs. Locking his jaw, Jassyn forced the wildness down. He’d surrendered to hunger after healing Lykor, nearly losing himself.
Not again.
He exhaled, reaching for what hecouldcontrol. The air thickened at his call, pressure bending until the currents softened, reshaping to gently cradle their descent.
Jassyn slowed above a snarl of treetops where the bond’s pull flared brightest, a living sea of green stretching unbroken below.
