Dahlia
Heat rushes over my skin as I cough and sputter, greedily pulling in air. The warm water sluices down my face, but it does little to stop the violent shiver wracking my body.
The Migoi’s hands are solid against me, holding me effortlessly above the surface, strong and steady. I am pressed tight against him and can’t help but remember he is very, very naked.
I feel it before I see it—the heat of his skin seeping through the soaked fabric of my clothes, bleeding into me like a slow burn. My fingers release their death grip on the fur that dusts his shoulders and slide down to his chest. The wet material of my clothes separates us, but even through it, I can feel him. The firm press of muscle, the steady rise and fall of breath, the pounding of his heart—just a little too fast beneath my touch.
Oh.
The realization crashes over me like a second shock to my system. I don’t know why I expected him to be covered in fur again, he wasn’t when I touched those damned abs, but withoutthe fur, it’s like there is no barrier of reason. Just his body and mine, flush beneath the steaming water.
I know I should look away from those mystical eyes. I should put some distance between us, give myself space to process this—the whole near-drowning, the mythical creature holding me, the fact that I was absolutely staring at his abs earlier.
But I don’t move.
Because the longer I stay pressed against him, the warmer I become. The chill of my soaked clothes, the fear that clawed at my throat when I slipped under the water—it’s all fading. Replaced by something heavier, something thick and languid curling in my stomach, something I should not be feeling.
And there’s that damn word again,should.
Marvelling at his quick reflexes, I mumble, “Sorry.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Donotapologize for giving me a reason to hold you in my arms.”
My jaw drops as his voice rumbles through me like distant thunder, gravelly and rich as if he is pulling the words from the very heart of the mountain, carrying the weight of something ancient. And his English is flawless.
I stiffen with the realization—he speaks. I had assumed, maybe stupidly, that he didn’t. Or at least, that he wouldn’t speak my language. But his words are clear if slightly rough, as if he’s unearthing them from somewhere long buried.
Which means… The singing. The abdominal snowman nickname. Oh gods, the ass comment. He heard, and understood,everything.
As my face flames, yet again, he raises an eyebrow and quips, “How did you survive without me?”
“To be fair, I don’t usually try to die more than once a day,” I say.
I aim for light, but the words land too sharp, too close to the truth. I almost died today. Sure, not really twice, but the first time? I was close. Really. Fucking. Close.
His lips part slightly, his warm breath ghosting over my temple as he leans closer. “I would hold you for far less than a life debt, Dahlia.”
His words settle in my chest, curling around something fragile and unspoken. My pulse stutters, the weight of his gaze pressing into me like a vow.
I should brush it off. Laugh, maybe. But I don’t. Because something about the way he says it makes me think he’s not just talking about this moment, but something far more permanent.
A dozen thoughts collide at once—How do you know my name? How long have you been watching me? Why did you save me?
My throat tightens. I swallow, then add, softer, “I wasn’t asking for a life debt. Just—maybe a temporary loan?”
“I rather enjoy you alive,” he replies.
The way his voice rumbles over the wordenjoyreverberates deep in my core. I need to escape, put some distance between this muscular myth and my rapidly devolving thoughts. I wiggle my way free but only succeed in dragging my body down against his.
I glance down past the warm spring water gently lapping at my waist as I find my footing and realize three things.
One—all I had to do to save myself was stand up in the shallow water. Instead, I panicked.
Two—for the first time in my life, I amverysmall. I’m used to being shorter than other people, but I’m barely half his width and hardly reach his chest. The water that was deep enough to pull me under doesn’t even make it past his thighs.
And that’s how I end up staring directly at realization number three—giant mythical creatures have giant mythical cocks.
Oh. My. Gods.
