My stomach does a tight, involuntary flip. The Drakav are massive predators. And Kol is the largest of them all. Seven solid feet of towering, heavily-ridged muscle and searing heat. My pulse jumps at the sudden, uninvited memory of his broad chest, and the thick, overpowering scent of hot stone and spice that rolls off his skin.
A flush of heat creeps straight up the back of my neck, pooling low in my belly. The physical vulnerability of submitting to a creature like that should be just as terrifying as the deadly dust. The fact that my breathing just hitched at the very thought of him is infinitely worse.
“We manage it,” I say. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Day by day. Same as we always do. I will figure it out.”
“And if figuring it out isn’t enough?” Alex murmurs. “At this point, some of us are terrified we won’t survive the month.”
I tie off a section of fiber with a hard tug. “Then we pray we adapt before we run out of time.”
Alex stares at me for a beat before a small, dry laugh escapes her. She covers her mouth instantly, shaking her head. “You never quit, do you?”
“I’m too exhausted to quit,” I correct her lightly. “Go check on Pam.”
Alex pats me on the shoulder and heads back to the sick bay.
For a moment, I stand alone in the quiet. Then, I adjust the filter basket, pick up another strip of fiber, and go back to work.
My hands findtheir rhythm against the stone. Scrape, twist, stretch. I focus on clearing the thick red algae residue from the filter linings before setting them to dry, letting the repetitive motion drown out the pressing weight of the cavern.
I grab a section of weave, wrapping my hands tight around the rough fibers and pulling hard to stretch it flat against the drying ledge.
I’m wrangling a piece of fiber that’s thicker than the rest when it snaps.
The sudden lack of tension sends me reeling backward, my knees hitting the rough stone floor hard. A long string of foul-smelling red algae goes flying with me. It splatters over a pair of bare golden feet that definitely were not standing behind me ten seconds ago.
I freeze exactly where I fell. The sudden wall of heat rolling off the male standing directly over me makes my neck sweat.
I know exactly who it is. There is only one male in this entire cavern whose body heat hits you before he does. We are alone in a secluded tunnel. Just me and the lethal warlord who threatened his own men on my behalf. And I just threw wet garbage all over him.
I rigidly lock my shoulders, keeping my horrified gaze fixed down on his ruined feet. I brace for the furious roar. I brace for the inevitable physical retaliation. For the terrifying force of a seven-foot predator yanking me up to punish the disrespect.
Instead, a broad, golden hand clamps around my forearm.
With a single, effortless pull, Kol hauls my entire body off the floor.
I stumble forward, my feet scrambling for purchase on the stone as he locks me fully upright against his solid, unyielding chest.
He does not shake me. He does not yell. He ignores the red sludge on his feet.
He is staring exclusively at my hand.
I follow his chaotic gaze. There is a pathetic line of blood welling slowly from my knuckles, right where my hand caught the rough stone earlier this morning.
“It was an accident,” I say, my voice coming out embarrassingly thin. “The fiber slipped.”
He does not let go. He does not even acknowledge my words. His whole body abruptly locks up. A sudden flare of his glow strobes once, illuminating the shadowed tunnel incredibly hard. His jaw is clenched so tight a vein stands out in his temple. He looks as though I just voluntarily severed my own arm right in front of him.
He casually drops a small stone bowl onto the edge of my workstation, the faint smell of crushed firebloom leaves drifting up from a thick blue-orange paste inside it. Draped over his forearm are two thin strips of hide. They radiate heat, like they were just pulled away from the central fire pit.
His free hand comes up. I hear the soft, wetsnickas his claws retract, pulling flush against his fingers until there is nothing left but smooth, golden skin. He captures both of my wet hands in his own, slowly turning them palm-up.
“Kol, what are you-”
He dips two thick fingers into the stone bowl, scoops up a thick glob of the blue-orange paste, and brings it directly to my bleeding knuckles.
The icy sting of the crushed firebloom hits my cuts first. I hiss, instinctively jerking my hand back.
Kol does not let me go. His amber eyes lift from my knuckles to lock onto mine.
