“Cork.” The word comes out rough. “My practice. I built it from nothing—worked eighteen-hour days, barely slept, poured everything I had into making it succeed.”
“That sounds exactly like you.”
“It was my whole life. My identity. When I wasn’t working, I was planning. When I wasn’t planning, I was worrying.” I stare at the dancing light. “I told myself it was ambition. Drive. But really, I think I was just... running. Filling every second so I didn’t have to face how lonely I was.”
“Lonely?”
“No friends. No relationships that lasted more than a few months. My parents and I hadn’t spoken in a long time.” I laugh—rueful, self-aware. A few weeks ago, I couldn’t have admitted any of this. “I had everything I thought I wanted, and I was miserable.”
“And now?”
The question hangs between us. I reach over, lace my fingers through his. His hand is warm, solid, familiar now.
“Now I have people who care whether I live or die.” My voice wavers. “Now I have Selene, and the Brotherhood, and—“ I stop. Squeeze his fingers. Can’t quite say the rest.
“And?”
You. Now I have you.
“And a dragon who won’t stop asking if I’m okay.”
His mouth curves. “That sounds annoying.”
“It is.” I’m leaning toward him, pulled by gravity I can’t explain. “Incredibly annoying.”
“Want me to stop?”
“No.” The word slips out without thinking. “I don’t want you to stop.”
His breath catches. We’re so near now—near enough that I can see the firelight dancing in his gaze.
“Aisling.” My name in his mouth sounds different. Heavier. Reverent.
His hand rises. Hovers near my cheek.
I don’t pull away.
His fingertips brush my skin—tentative, questioning. Warmth blooms where he touches, spreading through my chest, down my spine, settling low in my belly.
“I’ve wanted—“ His voice cracks. “Since the moment I saw you?—“
I lean into his palm. Feel his grip curl against my jaw. His focus drops to my mouth. Mine drops to his.
We’re inches apart. Centimeters. The air between us feels charged, electric, full of potential energy waiting to release.
His thumb traces my lower lip.
I stop breathing.
“Rurik.” His name is barely a whisper. “I?—“
Footsteps crash through the underbrush.
We spring apart. My heart is hammering so hard, I can barely hear anything else, but Drayke’s voice cuts through the chaos.
“Movement ahead.” His face is grim, urgent. “Quarter mile east. At least three rogues—possibly more.”
The moment shatters. Whatever was building between us dissolves into cold reality—the mission, the danger, the prison waiting at the end of this journey.
