He shakes his head. But he’s still almost-smiling, and I’m counting that as a victory.
I set the sword aside and stretch, arms reaching toward the sky, back arching. Everything hurts in that satisfying way that means I’ve actually made progress.
When I straighten, Drayke is closer than he was a moment ago.
Much closer.
He’s watching me with that intensity again—the one that makes my skin prickle and my heart skip. His jaw is tight. His hands are fisted at his sides. His whole body radiates barely-contained tension.
“What?” My voice comes out softer than intended.
“Nothing.” But he doesn’t look away. Doesn’t step back.
The clearing feels smaller. The air feels thicker. The space between us hums with electricity, with tension that’s been building since that first moment by the stream.
I take a step toward him. He doesn’t retreat.
Another step. Close enough to feel his heat. Close enough to count the flecks of gold in his eyes.
“Drayke.” His name feels different on my lips now. Heavier.
His hand rises. Hovers near my face. For a moment, I’m certain he’s going to touch me—cup my cheek, brush away the hair sticking to my sweaty temple.
His fingers tremble.
The Guardian King, who fights dragons and commands armies and has lived for four centuries, is trembling because he wants to touch me.
Something fierce blooms in my chest.
I lean in. Close the distance. Our faces are inches apart now, breath mingling, hearts racing. His eyes drop to my mouth. Mine drop to his.
He smells heavenly. His heat wraps around me, that impossible warmth that marks him as other than human. This close, I can see the pulse hammering in his throat. Can see the war playing out behind his eyes—desire and fear, want and restraint.
The world narrows to this moment. This breath. This almost-touch that feels more intimate than anything I’ve ever experienced.
A branch snaps in the distance.
Drayke jerks back. The heat between us shatters, replaced by cold air and sudden distance. His expression shutters, all that vulnerability disappearing behind the familiar mask of control.
“That’s enough for today.” His voice is rough. Wrong.
“Drayke—”
“You should rest. Eat. We’ll train again tomorrow.”
He’s already turning away. Already putting distance between us with every step.
“Every time.” The words burst out of me before I can stop them. “Every time we get close, you run. What are you so afraid of?”
He stops. His back is to me, shoulders rigid, hands curled into fists.
“You.” The word is a rasp. “Me.” He turns, just enough for me to see his profile. The hard line of his jaw. The glow threatening behind his eyes. “This.” He gestures between us. “All of it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He faces forward again. “Go back to the cabin, Selene.Please.”
Thepleasecracks me open. He’s not ordering me. He’s asking. And underneath the careful control, I can hear it—desperation. Fear. The same war I’ve been fighting since the moment we met.
