She coughed, spat out a mouthful of seawater, and burst out laughing.
“That was amazing!”
He stared at her. “You nearly drowned.”
“But I didn’t!” She threw her arms around his neck, pressing her salt-wet face against his shoulder. “I didn’t, because you caught me. You always catch me.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move. Just stood there in the shallow surf, holding her close, the waves foaming around his ankles. Then she felt his chest move—a huff of breath that might have been exasperation or might have been something else entirely.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered.
But he was smiling when he said it.
He carried her all the way to dry sand before setting her down, and even then he kept one hand on her arm, as if afraid she might make a break for the water again. Liora was shivering now, the cold catching up with her as the adrenaline faded, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single moment of it.
The ocean had been everything she’d dreamed of. And more.
He took one look at her trembling form and immediately went to work.
She watched, fascinated, as he gathered driftwood from along the shoreline and arranged it in a careful pattern on the sand. His movements were efficient, practiced—the actions of someone who had done this many times before, in many different places. Within minutes, he had a small fire crackling to life, the flames licking at the salt-dried wood with hungry orange tongues.
“Sit,” he said, pointing to a spot near the fire. “You need to warm up.”
She obeyed, settling onto the sand and holding her hands towards the flames. The heat felt incredible after the cold of the water—spreading through her fingers, her arms, her chest, chasing away the shivers until she felt almost boneless with comfort.
Pip appeared from somewhere in the rocky outcroppings, gliding down to land on her shoulder with a soft chirp of concern. He nuzzled against her cheek, his fur warm and dry, and she reached up to stroke him absently.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Better than fine. I’m wonderful.”
The little glider didn’t look convinced, but he settled against her neck and began grooming a strand of her wet hair, as if determined to help in his own way.
Baylin was still moving—gathering more wood, checking the area around them, doing all the things she was beginning to recognize as his standard security assessment. But eventually he seemed satisfied that they were safe, and he came to sit beside her near the fire.
The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that reflected off the water in a dazzling display of color. She watched it with wonder, thinking of all the sunsets she’d observed from the tower. They’d been beautiful then, but this was different. The air smelled of salt and woodsmoke. The fire crackled and popped beside her. And he was warm and solid at her side, his presence as steady as the rhythm of the waves.
“Baylin?”
“Hmm?”
She turned to look at him, studying his profile in the firelight. The flickering glow caught the sharp angles of his face, the strong line of his jaw, the faint white scar that traced along his cheekbone. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, but there was a softness to his expression that made her heart flutter.
“When you talked to Ari,” she said slowly, “you told it that I was your mate.”
He went very still.
The fire crackled between them. Somewhere in the distance, a seabird called out over the water.
“I did,” he said finally.
“What does that mean?” She shifted closer to him, drawn by some instinct she couldn’t name. “I know what a mate is, in terms of biology. Animals select mates for reproduction, for the continuation of their species. But you said it like it was something else. Something more.”
He was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and careful, as if he were choosing each word with deliberate precision.
“For my people, a mate is... permanent. It’s not just about reproduction, or even about love in the way humans often think of it.” He turned to look at her, his green eyes catching the firelight. “It’s a bond. A claiming. When a Vultor takes a mate, they’re making a promise—to protect that person, to provide for them, to put their needs above all others. It’s a commitment that lasts for life.”
Her breath caught. “For life?”
“Yes.”
