Page 31

CHAPTER 31

H e couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

With a single whispered command in the ancient tongue, his armor had begun to retract segment by segment, folding into itself like fluid steel. The system whirred softly, powered by the kinetic charge stored from flight and combat, the plates slotting away with quiet precision into the compact node at the base of his spine, just above where his wings connected.

It was instinct.

Stupid, reckless instinct.

And now…

His bare skin was pressed against hers.

He could feel her.

Really feel her.

Soft. Warm. Fragile.

So fragile .

The fur coat he’d brought was draped over her shoulders, but the front of her body—save for that thin, supple dress—was bare. And that small barrier meant nothing to him. Her warmth, her tremors, her heartbeat… they all came through.

His body, always running hot, adjusted naturally, rising slightly as he cradled her. He was certain his internal baseline temperature exceeded hers. She needed heat. He could give it.

But still she shivered.

Still, she trembled against him like a leaf in a storm.

Why?

He adjusted his hold, trying to steady her, to absorb the cold from her skin into his own. He had no biological imperative to do this. This was not survival protocol.

This was… something else.

He tightened his arms around her, cradling her with care he hadn’t even known he possessed. She was so small . His body could crush hers without effort. But right now, every fiber of him was tuned to protect. To soothe .

He’d never felt this way. Not even with his kind.

She shifted slightly in his arms and tapped him, her hand soft against his chest.

Then she pointed down.

He followed her gesture.

Her feet. Bare. Pressed against the freezing floor.

Of course.

The ship’s internal climate regulators had entered low-energy mode, diverting power to critical systems. And she, being what she was—delicate, fleshy, human —was paying the price.

Without hesitation, he adjusted his hold, drawing her up higher into his arms. He wrapped the fur coat down over her legs, tucking her feet beneath its thick folds and pressing them close to his side.

He felt her curl inward.

He held her tighter.

And slowly… she began to settle.

The tremors dulled.

Her breathing steadied.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, relief, perhaps, or contentment. He didn’t know what it was exactly, didn’t know what human sounds meant— yet.

But she was better than before.

She wasn’t warm yet, but the worst of the cold was retreating.

Good.

He inhaled softly behind the mask.

And there it was again.

Her scent.

It clung to her like a second skin: warm now, a little spiced from the lingering adrenaline, but still uniquely hers. Something floral. Something human. Something that was beginning to etch itself into the memory centers of his brain like a hunting mark.

He should’ve adjusted his filter mode to block it.

But he hadn’t, because on some level… he wanted it.

He wanted more of it.

He closed his eyes, just for a second, and let the scent curl through his senses like intoxicating smoke. A strange feeling tightened low in his gut, where discipline warred with something more primal.

It would be easy.

A simple command, and the helmet would retract.

He could look at her. Smell her fully. Know her.

But...

What if he lost control? She was so fragile, and he could easily break her.

He opened his eyes.

No. Not now.

He had to be logical.

Had to keep the barrier.

Because if he removed the helmet and let the full flood of her scent hit him, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stop himself.

And if he hurt her…

He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t .

He didn’t want to lose his precious human. Not now, not ever. With the destruction of Vokar, he’d lost everything that was familiar to him in an instant. His entire world.

She was something else. A promise of something beyond. Tenderness and warmth, in a universe where almost everything was cold, hard, and vicious.

He’d known honor. He’d known discipline. He’d even known affection and camaraderie—before he’d become Iskari.

But he’d never known anything like her.

Maybe the crash had affected his judgment. Normally, he would be cold and logical.

But he was alone now, and if this was somehow wrong, he no longer cared.

He could feel her slowly relaxing against him, the tension flowing out of her limbs. Bit by bit. Slower. Better.

That’s it. Rest, little one. I won’t harm you.

She was his, yes, and that meant he had a responsibility to keep her healthy and safe, even in the harshest of conditions.

So he did the only thing he could.

He held her.

Let her body rest against his, wrapped in golden fur, as her heartbeat gradually aligned with his.

But he kept the helm in place… for now.