His fingers spread wider over my stomach. Pressing down. Claiming the space.
My thighs clench involuntarily, my pulse spiking.
I cannot breathe his breath anymore.
I pull back sharply, breaking the physical connection of our foreheads.
The freezing desert wind bites through my thin shirt, immediately replacing his heat.
I scramble to my feet, wrapping the furs tightly around my shoulders. I purposely avoid his glowing eyes.
“Goodnight, Kol,” I say, my voice thin.
I turn and take two rapid steps away.
“Eh-ree-kah.”
I freeze.
I do not turn around. My pulse hammers wildly in my throat.
“You carry...” The low, rough rumble of his Drakavian travels across the cold stone. “...good. Weight. Here.”
My entire body locks up. For one blindingly hot second, I am certain he is talking about carrying young. That the feral image he slammed through the link is now a statement of intent. My stomach drops straight through the floor of the cave.
Then I hear the deep intake of his breath. Through the corner of my eye, I see his fingers tapping the center of his chest. Right over his heart.
A lump rises so fast in my throat I almost choke on a sob.
The cold desert air suddenly feels suffocating.
I walk rapidly back toward my sleeping space without saying another word.
My right hand dives into my pocket, my fingers locking in a desperate grip around the small, carved black stone.
I pick up the pace across the dark cavern floor. If I stay one more second, my knees are going to give out, and I am going to let him carry that weight for me.
Chapter 9
WHEN YOU FORGET TO MUTE YOUR MIC
KOL
Dawn is a grey bleed through the high vents of the cavern.
The stone floor is freezing under my bare feet. I stand midway up the western ridge, but I am not tracking the perimeter or assessing the cave exits. I am staring at the small, dark shape wrapped in hides on the opposite side of the cavern.
My eyes refuse to look away.
She didn’t run when I trapped her against the wall in the armory. Then, later, she found me and she pressed her brow against mine. She took the grinding pressure of my entire clan into her mind, and she didn’t shatter.
A hard sensation suddenly locks tight in the center of my chest.
She is not soft. She is not fragile. She is a survivor forged in a different kind of dust, but the stone underneath is exactly the same.
She is mine.
The thought doesn’t form logically. It slams into the back of my skull with the certainty of a cave-in. My claws instantly slide out of my digits, scraping against the solid stone ridge. The heat surging under my skin abruptly locks into a steady glow down both of my forearms.
