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16

DAIN

L iora shifts against the cold stone, her breathing uneven, skin pale beneath the dim flicker of light in the cave. She’s finally asleep, but it’s not restful.

Her body burns.

Not with magic. With sickness.

She had been slowing all day, her steps faltering, her hands trembling even when she tried to hide it. Too much strain. Too little food.

Now, here she is, collapsed against me, her body shivering despite the heat rolling off her in waves.

Her fever is high.

I press my palm against her forehead, my hand dwarfing her face, skin too warm, breath too shallow. She murmurs something, too soft to make out, lips parting slightly, dry and chapped.

She is fragile.

The thought unsettles me more than it should.

I shift, adjusting her against me, pulling her closer. She doesn’t fight it. Instead, she nuzzles closer, seeking warmth instinctively, her body fitting against mine in a way that makes something deep inside me twist.

Her fingers twitch against my chest, as if she is trying to grip onto something solid, something real.

“You’re warm,” she murmurs, voice hoarse, half-lost to sleep.

I don’t respond.

She doesn’t care.

“You feel good,” she continues, her cheek pressing against my skin, her breath fanning over my collarbone.

A low growl rumbles in my throat, but she doesn’t hear it, or maybe she does and doesn’t care.

She sighs, curling slightly, fingers skimming the ridges of my chest, barely touching, barely feeling.

My body stiffens.

“Strong,” she mutters, voice heavier now, slurred with fever. “So strong. So terrifying.”

My jaw tightens. “Sleep.”

She doesn’t listen.

Instead, she tilts her face up, her nose brushing the curve of my jaw, and a part of me snaps tight.

“Terrifying,” she repeats, her lips barely moving, her lashes fluttering as if she is slipping between wakefulness and delirium.

She swallows, her body shifting against mine, legs tangling slightly, her warmth pressing against every inch of me.

I grip her waist, stilling her.

“Liora.”

She hums in response, not understanding the warning in my voice.

Then her fingers trail lower, tracing over the jagged scars along my ribs, curious, lazy, dangerous.

Something inside me burns.

I grab her wrist, firm but careful. “Behave.”

Her lips curve slightly, a shadow of a smirk, barely there.

“Why?” she breathes. “You’re so?—”

I silence her with a kiss.

Not because I mean to.

Not because I want to.

But because I lose control for half a second, and it is the longest second of my life.

Her lips are soft, warm, parted against mine in startled surprise.

She doesn’t resist.

She doesn’t push me away.

That makes it worse. I pray she push me away. Scream at me. Call me a monster.

My claws flex against her waist, fighting the instinct to pull her closer, to taste her properly, to take and take and take.

I stop.

I wrench myself back, breath sharp, body coiled too tight, mind screaming at me in a thousand different ways.

I can’t do this.

She can’t be mine. She cannot be. I need to fight this overwhelming feeling of wanting her, craving her.

Not when her blood is Purna. Not when everything in me says she should not exist.

She doesn’t react.

She is already slipping back into unconsciousness, barely aware of what just happened.

Good.

Better.

I exhale sharply, forcing myself to pull away, to adjust her into a more comfortable position, to ignore the way my body still hums with something violent.

I need air. I need distance.

I need to not think about what I just did.

I rise carefully, keeping her as warm as possible in my absence. She won’t last long if her fever worsens.

I scan the cave, trying to recall the herbs that once existed in this part of the world. It’s been too long. My memories are fractured, half-lost to stone sleep, but I force myself to remember.

She needs it. And that is the problem, isn’t it?

I am doing this for her because she is Liora.

I step into the night.

I need to find something to bring her back.

Before I lose myself completely.