Page 25 of Returned to the Vissigroth (The Vissigroths of Leander #6)

T he bath was heavenly. If I had ever needed one more, I didn't remember, and for the first time since awakening, I was actually thankful that I didn't. The hot water loosened my tense muscles, took away the aches from sitting for hours on a nicta, and all the stress of the day and night.

Myccael was right. Even though Mallack's tent the previous night had been luxurious, his was still bigger. The bed was already luring me towards its cozy-looking furs. Absolute tiredness overcame me, and I closed my eyes for just a few minutes.

I must have dozed off, because Mallack's voice startled me back, and I instantly realized the water had grown cold. "You're still in the tub? The water must be freezing by now."

He strode forward, and I let out a small yelp, covering my breasts. Keeping his eyes averted, he only reached for a towel and held it out, his gaze set toward the corner.

My soul melted for him. It was easy to read on his features how much he missed his mate, me, but he was determined to be my knight.

He kept the towel extended with steady hands and a clenched jaw, clearly trying very hard to give me dignity even as I sat half-submerged, goosebumps rising on my skin.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice cracked slightly from the long, strange day. Gathering my courage, I rose, straight into the towel.

Still without looking, he said softly, “I brought food.”

I quickly wrapped myself and dried off as fast as I could.

By the time I stepped into the main part of the tent, bundled in one of the oversized linen tunics left out by unseen hands, Mallack was already laying out a small spread on a side table: two bowls of stew, thick bread, slices of soft cheese, and a carafe of something that smelled floral and warm.

He glanced up when I entered and smiled, brief but genuine. That smile undid something inside me.

“You didn’t have to,” I said, taking a seat on one of the cushions strewn across the thick rug.

“I wanted to,” he replied simply. “You’ve barely eaten today. And… I thought you might want to talk.”

I did. Gods, I did. But not about what everyone else wanted me to talk about. Not about the magrail, or the Zuten, and most certainly not Grandyr’s impossible gift of resurrection. Something else.

“Thank you,” I said again, softer this time.

We sat across from each other, knees nearly touching, and for a while, we just ate.

The food was delicious, spiced and hearty, warming me from the inside.

I watched him as he tore his bread, dipping it in the stew, the flicker of firelight catching the faint shimmer of his scales.

He was so effortlessly powerful, so comfortable in silence, and yet he filled every breath of space around me.

Eventually, I broke the quiet. “What did you dream about? When you were young?”

He blinked. That clearly wasn’t the question he was expecting. But a slow smile curved across his face.

“Dreams,” he murmured. “I used to want to build ships. Not warships. Trading vessels. Big, beautiful things that skimmed the clouds like birds.”

“Really?” I smiled. “That’s… unexpected.”

“I liked the idea of building something that didn’t destroy,” he said. “And of leaving. Of going somewhere new.”

"And did you? Ever go somewhere new?"

He shook his head, "Not beyond the Fourteen Planets. Duty kept me,” he said with a faint shrug. “But I don’t regret it. Just every now and then… I still dream of it. Of taking a ship and seeing what's beyond.”

He looked at me then, really looked, and the air changed.

“And you?” he asked. “What did you dream of?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe I dreamed of this. A quiet night. Warm food. A male who looks at me like I matter.”

His brow furrowed. “You’ve always mattered.”

“I believe you,” I said softly. “Even if I don’t remember why.”

We fell quiet again, the fire crackling gently beside us.

Then Mallack leaned back slightly and reached for the tea, pouring it into two small ceramic cups.

He handed one to me, his fingers brushed mine, and the contact sparked a wave of emotion I wasn’t ready for.

Not lust. Not even longing. Just… connection.

The kind that formed when words didn’t have to do the work.

He looked at me like I was more than what had returned. And gods help me, I was starting to believe it too.

“You’re good at this,” I said.

He raised a brow. “At what?”

“At making me feel safe.”

He chuckled depreciatively. “I failed you once. I won’t do it again.”

“You didn’t fail me.”

He didn’t argue. Just looked at me like he would spend the rest of his life trying to make that true.

Later that night, he made himself a bed by the fire, indicating for me to take the bed, which I did.

But it was a large and lonely bed, and sometime during the night, I found myself nestled next to him on the ground, by the fire.

I didn't know how I got there, if he'd carried me or if I’d come over on my own, but it didn't matter.

All that mattered was his strong arms around me and the feel of his chest against my back, rising and falling.

The immense love that emanated from him; it was impossible not to feel something for him in return.

I didn't remember the Daphne from before or what she had felt for him, but if what was blooming inside of me was any indication, it had to have been powerful.

It started with the sound of water falling from a distant waterfall, spilling over stone rocks. I didn’t know where I was, but I wasn’t afraid.

The air was warm and filled with the sweet scent of fresh korrith fruit.

It was somewhere between dusk and the first rise of moonlight.

Frillflies drifted lazily in a sky colored with deep blue and violet, and a gentle wind stirred the long grasses around me.

I was barefoot, standing in a field that glowed faintly.

I wasn't alone; he was with me. Mallack. Not in armor. Not bloodied or battle-hardened. Just him. He looked at me like I was the only reason the universe had ever spun as he sidled up beside me, as quietly as always. He stood close enough that our shoulders nearly brushed. His shirt hung loose over his large frame, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing muscled forearms marked by faint scars, silent witnesses to battles long past. The kind of scars that told stories without a single word. An unexpected flutter stirred in my chest, deep and insistent. I glanced at him, and for a moment, I couldn’t look away.

How had I missed it before?

The curve of his jaw. The way the fading light caught the flecks of gold buried deep in his obsidian eyes. The way he looked at the world, like he had watched it break and still chose to believe it could be mended.

We’d grown closer over the last few days, and not just in words or glances.

It was in the quiet things. The way he showed up every evening without being asked.

The way he brought dinner not just for me, but for my mother, remembering what she liked and listening to her talk about things he couldn't possibly be interested in.

Still, he laughed with her, gently. Patiently.

And she, who had every reason to distrust a vissigroth, was beginning to look at him with something dangerously close to affection.

She was starting to love him like a son.

And now—watching him, feeling the quiet ache in my heart build—I could see why. His gaze met mine, and something unspoken passed between us. It wasn't heat or lust, though that was there too. Ney, this was something quieter, deeper.

Our eyes locked, like they had been doing more and more lately, and my breath caught. I forced a smile to cover the quake in my ribs.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure what alright even meant anymore. “Zyn. Just... thinking.”

“About?”

I hesitated. My heart hammered against my ribs. I didn't know what to say. Or how to say it. I pulled my courage together and admitted, “Things I haven’t felt before.”

His gaze didn’t flinch. “Good things?”

I nodded. “Scary ones, too.”

A soft wind stirred the grass around us, brushing it against my bare ankles like a whisper. A frillfly floated by, its wings glowing softly, illuminating the edge of his silhouette like starlight.

Gathering more courage, I elaborated, “I’ve never known someone like you.”

He tilted his head slightly. “That sounds like a compliment.”

“It is,” I murmured. “And that’s what’s scary.”

He didn’t answer, just leaned in a little more, until our shoulders touched. The contact was featherlight, and yet it sent a ripple through me so fierce I almost swayed. He turned his gaze to the horizon, his expression unreadable, but his presence pressed against mine with silent reassurance.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he said finally. His voice sounded rougher at the edges. “I just want to be near you. For as long as you’ll let me.”

Something in me cracked open at his words. Not shattered. Opened.

I didn’t know how to hold back what I was feeling. The longing. The fear. The impossibility of it all.

“I want that too,” I whispered, barely trusting myself to say it. “I just… I don’t know where to put these feelings. They’re too big for me right now.”

“You don’t have to put them anywhere,” he said gently. “Let them grow where they will. I’ll be here.”

I turned to face him, fully this time, and the space between us narrowed into something electric. My gaze dropped to his mouth, then back to his eyes, making me wonder, what would it feel like to be kissed by a male like him?

He leaned in slowly, giving me time. Giving me a choice. The kind of patience only born from lifelong discipline. I stood my ground, holding his gaze, holding my breath, letting it happen.

He came closer, so close I could feel the whisper of his breath against my lips and the brush of stubble along my cheek, and I closed my eyes just as his mouth met mine.