“I don’t know how I did that!”
The Yaoguai-Lang rose again, staggering. It turned—not toward Mingxi this time. Toward her.
“No!” Mingxi growled.
He intercepted the creature, foxfire blazing along his blade. He slashed deep, slicing through hide and shadow. The beast shrieked, collapsing in a twisted heap before dissolving into black mist.
Silence.
Poppy trembled. Not in fear, but Mingxi sensed she was in shock from the magic crackling beneath her skin. He sheathed his blade and knelt in front of her, hands closing over her arms, grounding her.
“Are you injured?”
She shook her head. “I just… I couldn’t let it hurt you. I couldn’t.”
“You shielded me,” he whispered.
She swallowed hard. “It was instinct.”
He exhaled—a slow, shuddered breath—and pulled her into his chest. He felt her breath catch. He wrapped his arms around her, firm and warm. Not polite. Not formal. Protective. Grateful. Raw.
“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair.
She held him back, fingers curling in his tunic. “I thought it would kill you.”
“It tried,” he said. “And failed.”
She huffed a broken laugh. Mingxi pulled back just enough to press his forehead to hers, their breath mingling.
“You’re safe,” he whispered. “I swear it.”
Her voice trembled. “So are you.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them breathed.
Mingxi went perfectly still, his forehead still resting against hers, their exhales mingling in the cold night air. He felt a tremor inside—barely there, a shiver that betrayed everything his control fought to hide.
Poppy lifted a hand to his jaw, her thumb brushing the edge of a scrape he’d taken for her. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move at all. He watched her, his heart beating fast against his ribs.
“You’re here,” she whispered, barely a breath.
Before he could think, she leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was soft. So light it barely registered at first, the briefest press of warmth against his lips. Not a claim. Not a demand. Something offered and gone almost before he could respond.
Mingxi froze—not in rejection, but in stunned, aching stillness, as if the world had stopped around them and only her mouth against his remained real. Her fingers curled lightly at his jaw, giving him every chance to pull away, but he didn’t.
Instead, after a breath that shook him to his core, he returned the kiss—softly, carefully, reverently. As if kissing her was something holy and long forbidden. As if she’d given him something precious simply by touching him.
Their lips lingered for a moment more, tender and trembling, before he drew back just enough to search her face, wonder and fear and somethingunbearably tender tightening every line of him. Slowly, he pulled away, breath unsteady.
“We should move closer to the rock face,” he said. “Less exposed.”
Together, they strengthened the wards and rebuilt the fire.
When Poppy lay down, wrapped in his cloak, she whispered, “Can you… stay? Not far. Just… here.”
He swallowed. “I’ll stay.”
He sat beside her—not touching, not crowding, but close enough that his warmth bled through the air between them. Poppy’s breathing slowed. Her hand drifted in sleep, resting lightly atop his. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t drop into trance again. He stayed fully alert this time, guarding her, watching the fire, sword within reach.
