AISLING
He kicks off his boots without ceremony. Climbs onto the narrow infirmary bed beside me, careful to leave space even as his warmth bleeds across the gap.
“This bed is terrible,” he mutters. “How do humans sleep on these things?”
“We don’t have wings to cushion us.”
“Tragic.” But he’s settling in, adjusting until he’s lying on his side facing me. The position puts his face inches from mine. His eyes catch the low light, bright and fierce. “Comfortable?”
No. Yes. Both at once. Having him this close makes it hard to think—his scent surrounding me, his heat soaking into my bones, chasing away the cold that Valdris left behind.
“You don’t have to do this.” The protest is half-hearted at best. “Stay, I mean. I know you have duties. Patrols. Whatever it is Guardian dragons do.”
“My duty right now is making sure you sleep.” His hand finds mine between us, fingers threading through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Everything else can wait.”
“Drayke won’t like that.”
“Drayke can take it up with my dragon.” A flash of teeth—that wild grin that makes my stomach flip. “He’s feeling particularly stubborn tonight.”
“Just tonight?”
“Fine. Most nights. All nights.” His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. “You bring it out in me.”
I should argue. Should point out that this is a terrible idea, that getting attached to a three-hundred-year-old dragon with commitment issues and a death wish is the opposite of smart.
But his touch grounds me in a way nothing else has. The steady rhythm of his breathing. The solid weight of his body beside mine. The warmth that seeps through every point of contact, burning away the cold residue of Valdris’s intrusion.
“She said you’d burn out,” I find myself saying. “Before you ever matter.”
“She’s wrong.” No hesitation. No doubt.
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve already found something worth not burning out for.”
The words hang between us. Heavy. Significant.
I should look away. Should break the intensity building in the scant inches separating us. Should do anything except lie here watching his eyes darken with something that looks dangerously close to what I’m feeling.
“Rurik—“
“You don’t have to say anything.” His voice drops to barely a murmur. “I know this is bad timing. I know you have bigger things to worry about than whatever this is. But I need you to know—“ He swallows hard, and I watch his throat work. “Youmatter. To me. To all of us, but especially to me. And I will burn down anyone who tries to take you away.”
Anyone who tries to take you away.
Not ownership. Not possession.
Protection. Devotion. Something that feels like the start of something more.
“I’m not good at this,” I admit. “Letting people in. Trusting that they’ll stay.”
“I know.” His thumb continues its slow circles on my hand. “Neither am I, actually. Ask my brothers—they’ll tell you I’ve spent three centuries keeping everyone at arm’s length.” I pause. “You’re the first person who’s made me want to close the distance.”
My heart stutters.
“That’s—“ I stop. Try again. “That’s a lot.”
“Too much?”
