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Page 32 of Orc’s Redemption (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss #35)

32

ELARA

T he silence after the quake is wrong. Instead of peace, a buzzing hum crawls under my skin. It’s too muted to hear and too loud to ignore. My ears ring, my skin feels flayed, nerves raw and exposed like bone and sinew.

I inhale a shaky breath. The air smells like scorched earth and stone, and something else. Something acrid, deep, and ancient that burns at my nostrils and makes my eyes water. I lean against the wall, blinking dust from my eyes, and try to slow my breathing.

Ryatuv is beside me, one hand braced on the stone as if the tunnel might lurch again and he’s ready to throw himself between me and danger. Z’leni is ahead, scanning the way forward with taut muscles and twitching shoulders. They’ve said nothing either, adding to the oppressive silence.

The contrasting heat and coolness of their bodies clings to me, a phantom impression where they’d saved me from hitting the ground. Ryatuv’s hand had been partly on top of Z’leni’s under my ass and thighs.

The moment they’d both realized it had been... charged, to say the least. Now they seem to be doing their best to pretend like nothing happened. Like they didn’t both catch me, hold me, steady me as the world fell out from under us.

But I remember. And I still feel them.

Z’leni runs his fingers along a deep crack where ancient carvings have split down the center. He mutters something under his breath in his own language, low and reverent. Maybe a curse. Maybe a prayer.

“Your gods abandon you?” Ryatuv snorts softly.

Z’leni stiffens. He slowly turns and looks over his shoulder, a low growl curling his lips.

“Or maybe they’re testing me by chaining me to a snarling lizard who thinks his fists are a solution to everything.”

“And yours are not?”

The words are casual, but the tension in the air is anything but.

“Stop it,” I snap before it escalates.

Two pairs of eyes swing to me. Ryatuv’s gaze holds a flicker of something, guilt maybe. Z’leni’s expression is tight, his clenched jaw making his tusks angle towards his nose as he crosses his arms in quiet defiance.

“Enough,” I say, quieter. “We don’t have time for posturing. We’re barely alive. We need each other.”

Z’leni looks away, lips pressed thin. Ryatuv exhales like he’s trying to bleed off his anger.

“I know. I just—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“I know,” I say, softly.

Neither look at me, staring at the floor or eyes roving around the tunnel. Anything but meeting my eyes or each other. The moment stretches, tight and unbearable.

“We should—” Ryatuv says at the same time Z’leni begins to say the same thing.

They stop mid-sentence and glare at one another. The tension is back, instantly, but before I move to intervene yet again Z’leni looks away and just like that, it’s gone. Ryatuv stares at him for a moment longer, then huffs and shakes his head.

“Right,” Z’leni says, looking over to me. “Ready to move? The heat is rising.”

“Yeah,” I say, eyes darting between the two of them. “We should get going.”

We continue and the path slopes downward again. No one wants to be the first to speak, so the only sounds are our steps and the slow drip of water echoing from somewhere deep in the stone.

A storm of confusing emotions wars inside my head. I want to scream. Or cry. Instead, I keep walking.

The next chamber we come to opens wide. It’s a dome-shaped cavern with a ceiling so high it disappears in shadow. Ancient tracks run through the space, remnants of a transport system, rusted and half-submerged under old lava rock. It’s not safe, but it is space. Air with room to breathe—so we stop.

Z’leni leans against a fractured column. Ryatuv kneels beside one of the rusted rails, his hand splayed against the metal like he can sense something through it. I sit on the edge of a stone outcropping and bury my face in my hands. No one speaks. Then?—

“It’s waking,” Z’leni says, his voice is hollow.

I look up, sweat pouring down my face. The look on his face takes a moment to understand. I’ve seen him look solid, certain, and angry, but nothing like this. His rich green skin is softer in color, paler. There are lines of worry at the corners of his eyes and around his lips. His nostrils quiver. He’s scared.

“The Paluga?” I ask, mouth drier than the hot air should make it, my stomach trembling.

“The murals, the tremors, the heat...it’s all happening again. And no one above us is prepared,” Z’leni nods.

“They have to listen,” I whisper.

“They won’t,” Ryatuv says. “Not until it’s too late.”

Something cracks in my chest. My throat tightens. My fists clench hard on my knees before I surge to my feet.

“Then we make them listen,” I say, loudly. Too loud. My voice echoes back. Z’leni lifts an eyebrow. Ryatuv frowns. “You said it yourselves. We saw the truth. We saw what’s down there… what’s coming. If they won’t believe it, we’ll drag it up into the light and shove it in their faces.”

I don’t know where the courage is coming from.

Maybe it’s desperation. Maybe it’s the heat.

Or maybe it’s them.

Two warriors. So different. So dangerous. So close to my heart it terrifies me.

Z’leni straightens, doubt and concern flickering across his face.

“And what? We march into the Zmaj city? An Urr’ki and a human? They’ll kill us before we cross the threshold.”

“No.” Ryatuv rises, his expression unreadable. “They’ll kill you. She might live.”

“And you?”

“I don’t know.”

The honesty in his voice makes Z’leni hesitate. The two of them look at each other and for at least a moment there is a level of respect that’s not been there before. A shared, grim reality that what we all face may be insurmountable.

“We can’t survive this alone,” I say. “None of us. That’s the whole point. You both keep thinking it’s your people against the other. It’s not. It’s all of us against what’s coming. And if we can’t even talk without snarling or posturing or throwing old hatred at each other, we’re already lost.”

They look at me, then they look at each other. Another pause. Another breathless moment. Z’leni steps forward, his jaw tight.

“You want honesty? Fine. I don’t trust him. He’s everything I was raised to hate. Brutal. Thoughtless. Obsessive.”

“I don’t deny it,” Ryatuv growls. “But you Urr’ki twist truth into lies and call it faith. You let zealots like your Shaman rule your minds.”

“I didn’t choose the Shaman.”

“Didn’t you? What did you do to stop him? We Zmaj would never have let someone like that grab onto power.”

Z’leni’s fist curls as he growls and steps towards Ryatuv.

“Stop!” I shout, throwing myself between them. I slam my hands against their chests, just like before. “This has to stop. Now.”

They freeze, though they glare at one another.

“You’re not enemies anymore. You’re mine now. My people. Whether you like it or not. So figure it out.”

My voice echoes off the stone. Z’leni stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. Ryatuv looks... stunned. And then Z’leni’s lips twitch, just slightly.

“ Yours, huh?” he grunts.

“That’s not— I didn’t mean—” I say, flushing hot and fast. Shaking my head I stumble over my words.

“Didn’t you?” Ryatuv says, stepping closer.

Now I’m the one caught between them but it’s in a new way. No longer dancing on the edge of the two of them beating each other senseless. This is something else entirely. Z’leni steps forward. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough that I feel the heat radiating off his body.

“You are not a prize to be won,” Ryatuv says low, his voice like gravel. “But I would carry you through fire if it meant seeing you safe.”

Z’leni’s eyes soften, focused on me, not on Ryatuv.

“And I would follow you into the heart of the Paluga’s nest, just to make sure you weren’t alone.”

My breath catches as an entirely new kind of tension surges between the three of us. I’m not ready for this. But I want it. Gods, I want it .

Z’leni reaches first. He lifts his hand, fingers brushing against my jaw. My skin tingles where he touches. He drags his thumb across my cheek with reverent gentleness.

“Elara...” he whispers. “May I?”

I nod—barely.

I’m not even sure I breathe as he leans in.

His lips brush mine; soft, tentative, aching.

Like he’s kissing something fragile. Like he’s not sure I’ll kiss him back.

But I do.

Just once.

And then I pull back, stunned at the raw, molten feeling pooling in my chest.

Before I recover, Ryatuv shifts forward. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t even try. But his voice, when he speaks, is lower than thunder.

“I will not fight him, for you,” he says. “But I will fight with him… for you.”

His eyes burn into mine, full of fire and restraint and something wildly desperate.

“Don’t ask me to choose,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I can’t. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

Z’leni exhales like I’ve knocked the air from him.

“Then we survive. And let fate decide the rest,” Ryatuv says, nodding sharply.

And that, somehow, is enough. For now.

We don’t kiss again. We don’t speak. But when we set off again, it’s different. The silence between us now hums with an awareness. The tension is no longer only one of wariness and resentment. It’s something far more volatile.

Hope.

And maybe love.

And that—gods help me—is the most dangerous thing we’ve faced yet.