Page 5

Nirrn

Nirrn’s shoulder throbbed where the Jorvlen’s blade had cut him, but he kept his movements steady as he helped Islae gather scattered medical supplies and equipment from the dusty floor.

His tail swept debris aside while his hands collected fallen bandages and vials.

The humid underground chamber smelled of copper and antiseptic, illuminated by a flickering lamp that cast dancing shadows on the rough-hewn walls.

The cut on his shoulder stung sharply as he reached up to put the medical supplies on a shelf. The wound wasn’t deep, but it needed cleaning. Still, he ignored it, focused on the woman before him.

She met his gaze briefly and then looked down at the ground, shifting her weight uncomfortably. The vulnerability in her stance made his protective instincts flare stronger.

“You should leave,” she snapped abruptly.

Instead of responding, Nirrn slithered into the shadows of the tunnel where he’d left his belongings.

His tail muscles flexed as he retrieved his own medical bag—the one he kept stocked with the finest supplies the surrogacy clinic could provide.

The leather was soft and worn from years of use, filled with tools that had helped countless lives.

He set it down on the table in front of her with careful deliberation. “If you are so determined to help others, you will do it with the proper tools.”

His heart raced as he stared at her from across the table, eagerly waiting for her response.

The pull he felt toward her had only grown stronger in the past hour, like an invisible thread drawing him closer.

Every instinct screamed at him to protect her, to ensure she had everything she needed to continue her noble work—work that resonated with his own healer’s oath in ways his position at the surrogacy clinic never had.

He watched her fingers trace the glass vial of premium antibiotic, her touch almost reverent. His scales rippled with satisfaction as she examined each item in his medical bag, though her jaw remained stubbornly set.

“I don’t need you,” she muttered, but her grip tightened on the vial.

“Keep it.” His tail shifted against the rough stone floor. “Keep all of it.”

She shot him a suspicious look. “Nothing comes without a price here.”

“Consider it a professional courtesy between healers.” He gestured to her makeshift clinic. “Though I could offer more than just supplies.”

Her laugh was sharp. “Right. A respected Niri healer wants to risk his position to help me and my patients in an illegal clinic?”

The rational part of his mind screamed warnings about lost licenses and prison sentences, but watching her sort through his supplies with such careful precision made those concerns seem distant.

His eyes tracked her delicate movements as she organized the vials by usage rather than value—a healer’s instinct he recognized.

“What I want,” he said carefully, “is to support work worth doing. You’re skilled, determined, and helping those who need it most.” His tail curled unconsciously closer to her. “But you’re also alone and vulnerable.”

“I prefer it that way.” She turned her back to him, arranging gauze on a shelf. “No one else gets hurt when things go wrong.”

“And when the Jorvlens return? When they bring more men?”

“Then I’ll handle it like I always do.” She spun to face him, her brown eyes blazing. “I don’t need some Niri protector swooping in to save me again.”

His scales bristled at her tone, but he kept his voice level.

“I’m offering to be an ally, not a savior.

You’ve proven you can handle yourself.” The memory of her steady hands stitching wounds in the darkness sent an unexpected surge of respect through him.

“But imagine how many more you could help with proper supplies, advanced warning of raids, and someone to watch your back while you work.”

“And risk your career? Your life?” She shook her head. “Why would you do that?”

Nirrn coiled his tail tightly beneath him, drawing himself to his full height.

The answer burned in his chest—because something about her fierce independence and quiet strength called to him in ways he couldn’t explain.

Because for the first time in years, simply being in her presence and then fighting to protect her, made him feel truly alive.

Instead, he said, “Because it’s right.”

She turned away, but not before he caught the flicker of consideration in her eyes.

His scaled tail scraped against the rough stone floor as he helped gather more shattered glass vials, his muscles coiled with tension.

The underground room felt smaller with each passing moment, heavy with unspoken words and the lingering scent of antiseptic.

His orange and golden scales caught the dim lamplight as he moved, creating dancing patterns on the walls.

He watched Islae dart between shelves, her movements exact but agitated.

She reorganized already-neat stacks of bandages, wiped clean surfaces that didn’t need cleaning, anything to avoid acknowledging his presence.

The cut on his shoulder still throbbed, but the pain barely registered compared to the ache in his chest at her deliberate silence.

His tail swept another pile of debris aside. “At least let me show you how to properly store these healing herbs. They’ll lose potency if kept in direct light.”

She turned away, sorting through a box of sutures with unnecessary focus.

The tension in her shoulders spoke volumes.

She heard him but chose not to respond. His scales bristled with barely contained frustration, but he tamped down the urge to demand her attention.

Instead, he continued organizing, moving closer to where she worked.

The makeshift clinic slowly transformed under their combined efforts, though they moved in careful orbits around each other, never quite touching.

His height allowed him to reach the highest shelves, storing the most valuable supplies away from prying eyes.

Each time he placed something just so, he caught her watching from the corner of her eye, though she quickly looked away when he turned.

The silence stretched between them like a living thing.

His tail coiled and uncoiled restlessly as he watched her small hands sort through his medical supplies, still refusing to meet his gaze.

Something protective and possessive stirred in his chest at the sight of her touching his tools, accepting his offering even while denying his presence.

“You are not alone in this, Islae,” he said softly, letting his voice drop to a gentle rumble. “Please, let me help you with your operation.”

She stiffened but kept working, her fingers trembling slightly as she arranged bottles on a shelf.

The scent of her anxiety filled the air, mixing with determination and something else—something that made his scales tingle with awareness.

His tail shifted closer unconsciously, drawn to her despite her silence.

The weight of unspoken words hung heavily in the air between them as he waited for her response, his eyes fixed on her rigid form. His instincts shouted at him to stay, to protect, and to prove himself worthy of her trust. He wouldn’t leave—couldn’t leave—until she gave him an answer.

Her shoulders suddenly dropped, the tension leaving her delicate frame. “Fine. I’ll accept your help with my operation.” She raised a finger. “But I won’t be responsible if you lose everything because of it.”

Relief flooded through Nirrn’s body, his scales rippling with pleasure. His tail relaxed its tight coil against the stone floor. The prospect of working alongside her, of protecting her while she helped others, made his heart race. He’d never felt such certainty about anything in his life.

“My choices are my own,” he said, his voice gentle. “I would never hold you accountable for the risks I choose to take.”

Something in her expression softened. Her eyes drifted to his injured shoulder, where dried blood had crusted around the tear in his shirt.

“Let me look at that,” Islae said, her voice softer than before. She gestured to a wooden stool. “Sit.”

He curled his tail around the stool, lowering himself to her eye level. The lamp cast warm light across her pale face as she gathered supplies. Her movements were calculated and methodical—a healer’s grace he recognized in himself.

“Remove your shirt,” she instructed, not meeting his eyes as she prepared the antiseptic.

He complied, carefully pulling the torn fabric away from his wound. His scales gleamed in the lamplight, shimmering gold where they tapered down his chest.

She stepped closer, her small hands hovering over his injured shoulder. “This might sting.”

The moment her fingers touched his scales, a jolt of lightning shot through his body.

His tail coiled tightly against the floor, every muscle tensing as awareness exploded through his nervous system.

The world narrowed to the points where her skin met his scales, and something deep within his soul clicked into place with devastating finality.

Mate.

The recognition hit him like a physical blow.

All these years of searching, of feeling incomplete, and she had been here in the shadows of Jorvla.

His golden eyes fixed on Islae’s pale face as she worked, memorizing every detail—the slight furrow between her brows as she concentrated, the way she bit her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You’re very tense,” she murmured, dabbing antiseptic along the cut. “Try to relax.”

He forced his muscles to unclench, though every cell in his body screamed to pull her closer, to wrap his tail around her and never let go. The mate bond hummed between them, a symphony she couldn’t hear yet. His scales rippled involuntarily under her touch.

“Sorry,” she said, misinterpreting his reaction. “I know my hands are cold.”

“No,” he managed, his voice rougher than intended. “Your hands are perfect.”

She paused, her brown eyes flicking to his face before quickly looking away. A slight blush colored her cheeks as she reached for the bandages. The sight made his heart stutter.

His mate. His healer. His fierce, independent human who risked everything to help others. Pride and possessiveness warred in his chest as she finished dressing his wound.