“I killed people today.”
“You defended yourself. Defended me.” His fingers linger near my temple. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No doubt. “We didn’t start this fight. They came here. Came for you. And you refused to be a victim.” His hand drops, but the warmth of his touch remains like a brand. “That’s not murder, Aisling. That’s survival.”
The fire in my veins pulses its agreement.
I look down at my hands—still stained with his blood, still trembling slightly from adrenaline and aftermath. These hands saved lives today. Protected people. Did something other than fail.
“Same time tomorrow?” The question comes out rough. Uncertain.
Rurik’s laugh is bright and surprised and exactly what I need to hear.
“Wouldn’t miss it. But maybe we skip the rogue invasion next time.” He winces as he shifts position. “My wall-crashing budget is limited.”
“I’ll add ‘structural repairs’ to my inventory lists.”
“See? That’s why you’re perfect.” He freezes. Catches himself. “For training. Perfect for training. The organization. Very helpful.”
The flush creeping up his neck is visible despite the blood and grime.
I file that away for later. Something to examine when I’m not kneeling in a battlefield, when the adrenaline has faded, when I can think about what it means that a dragon crashed through stone to reach me.
For now, I just let myself be here. Alive. Fighting alongside instead of being fought for.
The sun climbs higher over the mountains, burning away the last of the night’s shadows.
And somewhere deep in my chest, the fire settles into something that feels almost like home.
TEN
RURIK
The list took me three days to write.
Three days of crossing things out, adding things back, arguing with myself about whether “fighting a bear” was too aggressive for a first real outing. The bear got cut. Replaced with cliff diving, which is basically the same level of danger but with better scenery.
I find her in the infirmary—because, of course, she’s in the infirmary. In the week since the attack, Aisling has transformed the fortress’s medical wing from a dusty collection of bandages and mystery salves into something that actually functions. Alphabetized supplies. Color-coded schedules. Inventory lists that make Auren weep with jealousy.
But something’s different today.
She’s humming.
Actually humming, some melody I don’t recognize, while she arranges surgical tools in neat rows on a clean cloth. Her hair is pulled back in a practical knot, there’s a smudge of ink on her cheek, and she’s swaying slightly to her own music.
The dragon rumbles with approval.Mate. Ours. Happy.
“Got something for you.” I slide onto the examination table, letting my legs dangle.
She glances up, and instead of the wariness I’ve grown used to, her mouth curves into something approaching a smirk. “If it’s another request to test fire-resistant bandages by setting yourself on fire, the answer is still no.”
“That was one time.”
“It was three times.” She holds up three fingers, wiggling them. “I have records. With drawings. Selene helped me label them.”
“Drawings?”
