“Nothing natural, no.”
“So, as long as the dragon is alive, you can’t—” I pause, realizing I might have crossed a line. I shouldn’t be asking these kinds of things.
“No, Fire. I can’t die. Not until the curse is broken.”
“You say it as though you’ve tried. As though you want to.”
His gaze falls from mine to our now-joined hands.
“Keiren?”
When he finally looks up, there’s a storm in his eyes, a whirlwind of pain, a past—six centuries of suffering—and it shatters my heart into a million pieces.
“What other moves can you show me?” I ask, hoping to shift the mood.
“From this position? Plenty,” he says with a wink.
It’s then that I suddenly remember I’m straddling him. I roll my eyes and rise to my feet; he does the same. The training room smells of oil and sweat and something dangerously like a promise.
“Let’s go,” I say, and the word is both an order and an invitation. He smiles and tosses me my dagger.
That night, every muscle aching and exhausted, we return to his chambers in silence. Once I’m inside, he leaves to see to his duties, giving me much-needed privacy to clean up.
When I emerge, a nightgown waits at the foot of the bed. The fire burns low, casting ribbons of gold across stone. The silence here feels kind, like a breath held just for me.
The massive, velvet-draped bed takes me whole. Though he hasn’t slept there in days, his scent still clings to the pillows.
I close my eyes, but peace does not come.
The nightmare finds me quickly. Kat screaming. Burning. Reaching. I run and run and never reach her.
“Kat!”
I bolt upright, face wet, breath ragged.
Keiren is there in an instant. He drops to his knees and cradles my face, brushing sweat from my cheeks and wiping tears away with his knuckles. He presses a gentle kiss into each cheek.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “She’s safe.”
His eyes—storm-dark, ringed with gold like the last light before nightfall—catch mine and hold steady.
Something in me cracks.
“You’re shivering,” he whispers, his thumb circling the back of my hand.
“No shit,” I mutter, voice shaking. “Your room’s a cave.”
His mouth curls into a glimmer of a smile. “May I?” He nods at the bed, and I nod back.
Without hesitation or expectation, he climbs in beside me, heavy with heat and strength and quiet protection. He pulls the covers over us and wraps me in his arms, his chest firm against my back, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other drawing me close. His fingers find mine beneath the sheets and lace them together.
“You’re freezing,” he murmurs.
I carefully turn to face him, tucking my head beneath his chin. His breath is warm on my skin. His body is a furnace of steady calm.
I didn’t mean to notice how close we are. Or how the press of him softens every sharp edge in me. But I do.
“I—I’m warm now,” I whisper. “You can go back to the floor.”
