My hand rests against his jaw, fingers tracing the ridge of armored plating there. "You're such a good boy," I murmur, and the words feel natural. Easy. Like I've said them a hundred times before.
Azhrael leans into my touch, that low purring resonance rumbling through him. His luminous eyes half-close, and if a creature this dangerous could look content, he does.
I laugh softly, scratching along the base of one massive horn. "Beautiful, deadly boy."
Movement catches my attention—Malrec approaching across the volcanic rock, his stride long and confident. Azhrael's contentment immediately shifts. He pulls back from my hand slightly, turning his head toward his master with a soft snarl that carries unmistakable possessiveness.
But Malrec just laughs.
That sound lights me up. Full and genuine, his entire face transforming with the motion. The rigid control he always wears dissolves completely, replaced by something warm and unguarded. His ember-gold eyes crinkle at the corners, and his mouth curves into a grin that makes my chest tighten.
He's beautiful like this. Open. Real.
"You've completely stolen my beasts," he says, shaking his head with continued amusement. "Azhrael used to at least pretend I was his favorite."
The familiarity in his tone wraps around me like a physical thing. I love the playful way he teases me, the warmth of his rough voice. It makes me smile in return.
I turn back to Azhrael with exaggerated sympathy, stroking his jaw again. "He just has good taste. Don't you, gorgeous?"
Azhrael huffs agreement, the sound vibrating through my palm.
Malrec closes the distance between us, and I feel his approach in my entire body. That awareness that goes beyond simple proximity, like every nerve ending orients toward him without conscious thought. His hand catches my wrist, tugging me gently away from the beast.
I let him. Turn to face him with a smile I can't quite suppress.
His other hand comes up, fingers sliding beneath my chin to tip my face up toward his. He's still grinning, that devastating expression that makes him look years younger. Less burdened. The pad of his thumb brushes along my jawline, and the touch sends heat cascading through my system.
"I am not giving you up to a beast," he says, voice dropping into something lower. Rougher. His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up to meet my eyes. "No matter how magnificent he is."
Behind us, Azhrael huffs again—this time with what sounds like resignation—and moves away across the volcanic rock. Hismassive form recedes into the landscape, giving us space but not disappearing entirely. Like he's accepted this particular hierarchy even if he doesn't love it.
Malrec's thumb traces my lower lip, and my breath catches. The heat between us builds like the volcanic vents around us, pressure seeking release.
"Len," he murmurs, and the shortened version of my name in his voice does something to my composure.
I should respond. Should say something witty or warm or anything that matches this moment. But I can't quite form words, too focused on the way he's looking at me. Like I'm the only thing that exists. Like the rest of the world—the estate, the beasts, all of it—has temporarily ceased to matter.
His head lowers, and I rise on my toes to meet him.
The first brush of his mouth against mine is gentle. Testing. His lips are warmer than I expected, softer, and the contact sends electricity down my spine. My hands come up to rest against his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his work tunic, feeling his heart beating steady and strong.
The kiss deepens. His hand slides from my chin into my hair, fingers threading through the loose strands, and the other wraps around my waist to pull me closer. I melt into him, my body remembering exactly how to fit against his. How to move with him. How to respond to the subtle shift of his weight, the pressure of his fingers, the taste of him that feels both new and achingly familiar.
He kisses like he does everything else—with intensity and focus and absolute commitment. Like this is the only thing that matters right now, and he's determined to do it thoroughly.
My fingers curl into his tunic, holding on because my legs feel unsteady. The heat between us builds, volcanic and consuming, and when he makes a low sound against my mouth—something between a groan and my name—I feel it in my bones.
His thumb strokes along the base of my skull, and?—
—I wake up.
The transition is violent. One moment I'm wrapped in Malrec's arms, tasting him, feeling the solid reality of his body against mine. The next I'm staring at the dark stone ceiling of my quarters, alone, heart pounding like I've been running.
My hand flies to my mouth, fingers pressing against lips that still feel warm. Still feel kissed.
What the fuck.
I sit up too quickly, and the room tilts. My breathing comes in shallow gasps, and I can stillfeelhim. The weight of his hand in my hair. The pressure of his fingers at my waist. The taste of him lingering at the back of my throat.
