By the time he gets to five, I’m stuck, half-naked, wrapped like a mummy in damp bandages.
“If you laugh, I swear I’ll break your nose again.”
“I don’t know,” he says, amused. “I quite enjoy it when you threaten me.”
He moves closer, kneeling down in front of me before gently helping ease the tunic over my head. His fingers still when the fabric brushes my back.
The burn.
His eyes darken. “I wish I could heal it,” he murmurs. “But the waters won’t touch a wound like that.”
I blink at him. “Why not?”
“They can’t undo what was made by dragonfire,” he murmurs. “Magic knows its own.”
The words sink through me like stones breaking water.
The dragon again. Always the dragon.
He looks wrecked, as if saying it costs him something. His fists close against his knees, their knuckles white. A shadow passes over his face. Anger? Grief? Guilt? It feels like all three at once.
I reach out and rest my hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” The lie burns just as deeply as the scar.
He swallows hard. “It should never have happened.”
The air thickens between us, filled with everything neither of us can bring ourselves to say. I can feel the tension humming beneath his skin—the barely leashed power, the careful control.
I cough, and pain twists my ribs. He catches me before I crumple forward, his arms steady and sure. For once, I don’t fight it. I let myself sink into the warmth of him, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.
“It’s strange,” I whisper, words slurring as exhaustion drags me down. “You feel like fire… but you don’t burn.”
He exhales softly, like a laugh. “You’re safe now, Fire. Rest.”
Then he carries me to the bed, tucking the blanket around me with the same precision he uses to draw his sword. After a moment, he moves to the hearth, dragging a spare blanket to the floor. The firelight cuts across his profile as the room fades into warmth and crackling light. His shadow lingers at the edge of my vision until sleep finally claims me.
And just before I slip under, I hear his voice, softer than the fire’s breath: “You’re wrong, Fire. I burn for you.”
Chapter 29
The Fire Within
Iwake, shivering, in the dark. A sound echoes through the frigid chamber—the slow scrape of claws on stone. I turn.
The dragon lurks at the mouth of an enormous cave, its massive wings folded close against its body, its breath thick with smoke, its eyes burning molten gold. It stares at me, almost through me.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe.
It steps closer.
Without thinking, I raise a hand and touch it, my palm meeting scaled flesh. The instant my skin makes contact, golden veins pulse out across its skin like cracks in glass. With a terrible roar, flames erupt from its maw.
My scream is swallowed by silence as I jolt awake, gasping for air.
Keiren is lying on the floor beside the bed, shirtless, one arm curled behind his head like a lion at rest. Scars lace his back in harsh, deliberate lines.
I slip from the bed, wrap myself in a blanket, and retreat to the sofa across the room. As I pass, the fire sparks to life again, casting long shadows on the jagged stone walls.
His chambers are more cavern than room, carved straight into the mountain. The bed is massive, draped in black velvet. The hearth burns wide and warm, and across the room, a small pool glimmers, reflecting starlight onto the ceiling like constellations—the same pool where he held me for hours while the poison drained from my body.
