“Good.”
Then his mouth is on mine again. Harder. Thank Tajss.
One hand rises to the back of my head, cradling rather than gripping. The other stays at my waist, his thumb brushing once over my side before stopping, as though he has to argue with himself over every inch.
I don’t want every inch argued. Not right now. Maybe that should worry me. It does. But not enough.
I catch his wrist and move his hand higher, to my ribs, where my body is shaking for reasons that have nothing to do with injury.
His breath breaks.
“Sera.”
“I know where your hand is.”
“That is not enough.”
It should irritate me, and it does, but it also makes my chest crack open.
“I put it there,” I say.
His eyes close for the span of a breath. When they open, the red is there. Faint. Controlled. Terrifying and beautiful, which is a sentence I will never say aloud because I’m not completely lost yet.
“I do not trust the pull,” he says.
“I’m not asking you to trust it.”
“The epis is reacting.”
“So am I.”
His jaw flexes. I press his hand more firmly against my side, tugging it up closer. My breast rests against his forearm, and I want more. So much more.
“I’m hurt,” I say. “Not helpless. I’m scared. Not confused. I’m wanted by a plant, a machine, a City, probably several Council members once they find out what my blood does, and possibly the entire cursed history of Tajss.” My voice shakes. “I know the difference between being pulled and choosing something before it can disappear.”
His fingers tighten. Not enough to hurt. Enough to tell me he heard every word.
“I don’t want this to disappear,” I say, my throat so tight the words are choked.
There it is. Truth, standing with blood on its face.
Kavor’s expression changes. The restraint doesn’t vanish. It deepens.
As if my words don’t give him permission to stop being careful. They give him a reason to be more careful and come closer anyway.
“I will not disappear,” he says.
My laugh cracks. “That’s a terrible promise. People disappear constantly.”
“I will not choose it.”
That’s different. Not forever. Not impossible. Not the kind of lie starving people tell children so they can sleep at night. A choice. A vow with teeth and limits. I can live inside that.
Maybe.
I kiss him again because I don’t know how to say any of that. This time, he pulls me into his lap. Slowly. Carefully. Giving me a thousand chances to say no, and I hate that I love every one of them.
My knees bracket his hips. His tail shifts behind me, not trapping, just balancing us both on the ridge. His wings flare slightly before folding again, a shudder moving through him when my body settles against his.
