Page 20

20

LIORA

T he cave swallows me whole, its mouth yawning wide as I step inside, trailing behind Dain with heavy, aching limbs. The deeper we go, the more the storm outside fades, its howling winds replaced by the slow, steady drip of water seeping through ancient stone. The scent of damp earth and lingering heat from his presence clings to the space, wrapping around me in a way I should not find comforting.

I don’t want to be here.

Not with him and everything that happened.

But I am too weak to leave, and he is all I have.

He moves ahead of me without a sound, his massive frame cutting through the dim torchlight he must have left behind earlier. Shadows coil around him, shifting, stretching, swallowing him whole, but I don’t lose sight of him. I never do.

I should hate him.

I don’t.

He has tried to kill me. He has saved me. He has left me behind. He has returned. He choked me.

He has fought for me, against me, beside me. I’m utterly confused as to what he wants from me.

Now, as he leads me deeper into the cavern, I feel the pull between us tightening, coiling around my ribs like an invisible chain.

I don’t understand it.

I don’t want to.

The silence between us is thick, charged with everything unsaid, but I refuse to be the first to break it. I refuse to give him that power over me.

Finally, he stops.

The cave opens into a chamber, a natural spring nestled in the center, steam curling lazily over the surface. The water glows faintly, fed by some unseen force, its depths clear enough to reveal smooth, polished stones beneath. It is warm. Inviting.

I stare at it, not understanding.

Dain watches me, his expression unreadable. “You stink,” he mutters.

My jaw tightens. “So do you.”

His eyes flicker, something dangerous, something amused burning behind them. “Then bathe.”

I fist my hands at my sides. I hate that he is right. Hate that my body aches for the heat, the cleansing touch of water to wash away the grime of blood and battle. I have not had the luxury of warmth in years. Not since,

No. I do not think of before.

Still, I hesitate. “And you?”

His lips press together, something flickering across his face—something unreadable, something controlled.

“I will be outside,” he says, voice low, reluctant. He gestures to the far corner of the cave. “You will be safe.”

I do not trust that.

But I nod anyway.

He does not move immediately.

His gaze lingers, sweeping over me, assessing, measuring, deciding.

He turns, stepping into the shadows, disappearing beyond the entrance of the chamber.

Only when I am certain he is gone do I let out a slow breath, my body sagging beneath the exhaustion.

The cave feels larger without him. Colder.

Yet, I am aware of him still.

Waiting. Watching.

Even when unseen.

The moment I sink beneath the surface, my body shudders.

Heat wraps around me, sliding against my bruised skin, melting into every aching muscle, seeping into my bones like a drug. My head tilts back, eyes closing as I let myself drift for a moment, let the water carry me, let it hold me in a way nothing else ever has.

It feels too good.

I press my hands against my face, scrubbing away the remnants of blood and filth, ignoring the way my fingers shake. My skin is too sensitive, every nerve on edge, every breath sharp and unsteady.

Not from the fight. Not from the pain.

From him.

Even now, with the water lapping at my bare skin, I feel him close.

Too close. What is this?

What is this thing between us, this pull, this tension that refuses to break, that coils tighter with every breath, every look, every word that goes unspoken?

I should not want him.

He is cruel. Unyielding. A monster.

Yet, when he is gone, something inside me aches.

I curse, pressing my forehead against the ledge, willing the thoughts away, willing him away.

It does not work.

I do not think it ever will.

I do not stay in the water long.

The heat is soothing, but my exhaustion is worse, and I will not let myself grow weak. I scrub myself clean, washing away the filth, the blood, the sweat—but not him.

Never him.

I rise from the spring, skin flushed, hair clinging to my back, heart hammering for reasons I do not understand.

There is nothing to dry myself with, no cloth, no warmth except the fire crackling in the main cavern. I have no choice but to step forward, dripping, exposed, into the space where he waits.

He is waiting.

Seated against the far wall, his wings partially unfurled, eyes flickering in the glow of the fire. He does not react when I approach, does not speak, does not acknowledge me beyond a single slow shift of his gaze as he takes me in.

Heat creeps up my spine.

I clutch my damp clothes against me, as if that will protect me from his stare.

“Better?” he asks, voice low, almost mocking.

I swallow hard. “Yes.”

He shifts, motioning for me to sit beside him.

I hesitate.

But I do not have a choice.

The cave is too small, the fire the only source of warmth, and I will not freeze because I am too stubborn to sit near him.

I settle beside him, careful to keep a distance between us.

It does not matter.

The heat of him is suffocating, pressing into my skin, seeping into my lungs, settling into the marrow of my bones.

Silence stretches and it should be uncomfortable.

It is not.

Lightning splits the sky outside, illuminating the cavern in a brief flash of silver. Thunder rumbles a moment later, deep and rolling, shaking the earth beneath us. The storm has grown worse.

I close my eyes.

Dain exhales slowly.

“You need rest.”

“I am fine,” I mutter.

His low growl vibrates through the air, through me. I open my eyes to find him watching me, expression unreadable, gaze heavy, dark.

I try to hold it.

I fail.

The exhaustion creeps in, slow and insidious, dragging me toward sleep, toward him beside me, toward the storm raging inside me.

I fight it.

But, in the end, I lose.