Page 13 of Scorched by Fate (Drakarn Mates #3)

THIRTEEN

SELENE

Vyne walked beside me, his gait steady and sure, like the uneven rock beneath us posed no challenge at all. There wasn’t so much as a hitch in his pace.

I tried not to let my gaze linger on his tightly folded wings or glinting scales. Not when there were enough reasons already to keep my attention fixed squarely on the crumbling path ahead. The terrain wasn’t the only thing I had to watch for.

Two days.

That was how long it'd been since the kiss.

Two days since he’d breached every armored wall I’d thought I’d built, and I’d been stupid enough to kiss him back like breaking apart beneath him was inevitable.

Now, there was nothing between us except the grind of rock underfoot, the heavy press of the air, and the occasional sound of tremors rumbling under the surface.

Maybe I should have been grateful for the silence. But it only made the memory harder to ignore.

I yanked my focus forward, sparing no more than a second to tighten the scarf clinging against my face to help block out the rancid air. Each step dragged a little harder than the last, exhaustion pressing in sharper than the heat clinging to the air. Vyne didn’t even look winded. His focus stayed locked onto the path ahead, scanning every jagged cut in the mountainous landscape.

I cleared my throat. “Do we even know where this stuff grows?”

“Unstable ground,” he replied, his voice as even and unshaken as his movements. “Anywhere the earth has split wide or the heat vents through cracks. Vyrathis will stand out from the surrounding rock.”

That was frustratingly non-specific. Just vague terrain descriptions paired with every possible hazard the Harrovan Mountains had to offer.

Perfect.

“Helpful,” I said, dry as the air threatening to crack my lips. My sarcasm felt like the only weapon I had left.

It earned nothing more than the faintest glance from him, his brow lifting in unbothered acknowledgment. “Would you like me to conjure the plant from thin air instead?”

"If you could do that, you should have tried three days ago,” I shot back.

The corner of his mouth twitched—so faint that it might’ve been melted into the ambient heat of this place, except I recognized it for what it was. Not quite a smile, not quite not. And damn it, I hated how it sent some small sizzle through me.

This awareness of Vyne was going to be the death of me.

Dragging my attention back to the ridge ahead, I kept my pace steady. The ground was shifting more there, the blackened rock glittering with oppressive heat. Treacherous footing at best. But that’s when I saw it—a shimmer caught in the light, something alive amid this endless stretch of dead stone.

“Wait,” I said, sharper than I meant to. My hand twitched vaguely toward the glint of color as I slowed. “Is that …?”

There was no hesitation in how Vyne moved. Before I could say anything else, he stepped ahead of me, his wings shifting as he assessed the terrain. His claws flexed against the rock, finding safe purchase where I’d struggle.

I followed him anyway. Sitting still had never been my thing, and I wasn’t going to let him handle this alone.

There it was—low and barely there against a black fissure: vyrathis.

Its thin leaves shone with a metallic sheen, curling outward like it had grown in defiance of the oppressive heat swallowing the landscape. The glow of the plant was a small pocket of alien color against the harsh black of the mountainside.

“Shit, that’s it,” I breathed, tension easing just long enough for relief to rush in sharply.

“Careful.” Vyne’s voice came low, guarded. He crouched near the plant, his claws hovering just above the ground. “There’s a gas pocket nearby,” he said, his voice quieter now, his wings pressing outward in readiness. “The ground’s unstable underneath.”

“Great,” I muttered, irritation vibrating louder than fear in my voice. “The one thing we actually need, and the whole mountain’s ready to swallow us for it.”

I crouched down beside him, the vyrathis close enough that I could feel the heat emanating from its fragile leaves. My hand moved toward my pack, fingers brushing against the stiff edge of the container Rachel had given me before we left.

I crouched at the plant’s edge, my fingers gripping the container with care, keeping it angled just right. My free hand moved toward a small tool strapped to my thigh—a sturdy but lightweight blade meant for shearing samples cleanly. I worked quickly, each motion precise as I trimmed the silvery leaves away from the delicate stems.

The air was thinner there, sharper somehow, though I couldn’t tell if it was my mind playing tricks on me or the gas Vyne had warned about seeping up from somewhere deeper in the mountain below. My pulse jumped, but I forced it down. Focus. I didn’t need to think about imaginary disasters when the real ones were waiting just underfoot.

“Selene.”

His voice cut through the thin air. A warning. I froze, my hand hovering mid-motion with the blade angled near one of the stems.

“What?” I asked.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his eyes locked onto the fissure directly beside where I crouched. His wings twitched as the sound of shifting rock rumbled low beneath us.

“Don’t move,” he snapped, firm enough that it left no room for argument.

I froze.

My grip tightened on the container in my hand, and my pulse hammered against the silence stretching between us. Vyne’s claws flexed as he stepped closer. The scrape of rock shifted under his weight, audible even over the heat-warped air squeezing the mountainside.

Vyne was all precision, anchoring into the nearer edge of stone while his tail wrapped around a thicker outcrop behind us for extra support. It was painfully clear just how much stronger his body was than mine—as if the terrain itself bent beneath his touch, unwilling to argue against the force he carried in every movement.

He applied pressure to the fissure nearest the plant, testing it. His wings shifted again, catching currents of air rising from somewhere deeper in the rock. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until he finally straightened and nodded at me.

“Go on,” he said, the protective angle of his wings shielding me from whatever unseen threat still lurked.

I resumed my work, my focus tightening as I clipped the last of the vyrathis stems and sealed them carefully in the container. The silvery surface of the leaves glinted, catching patterns of light that seemed almost too delicate for a place like this.

“We need more,” I said, rising carefully from my crouch.

Vyne’s green eyes flicked toward the container in my hands, and for a moment, there was something like relief written in the sharp lines of his expression. Not warmth, not exactly—but close enough to knock me off-center.

My eyes darted down to his lips, and I squeezed them shut before any thoughts about what those lips could do rose up.

Too late.

Shoving the container back into the secured pocket of my pack, I straightened, wincing at the ache settling into my shoulders.

Without a word, Vyne moved closer, his claws brushing against the ledge for balance as his hand extended toward me. His large frame cast long shadows over the tiny ridge, and his gaze fixed on me with that same irritating intensity he always carried.

I hesitated, just for a moment. Then, gripping his offered hand, I caught his wrist with mine and allowed him to guide me away from the edge.

The vyrathis was easier to spot the second time. And the third. I lost track of time, but the ache in my legs and the burn in my lungs told me it had been hours. My bag was full to bursting with vyrathis, container stuffed full.

It had to be enough.

The healers would live. If we got it home to them in time.

Vyne put down a marker at the biggest bed of the plant, a stake in the ground with a brightly covered piece of cloth tied to the end that could be spotted from the air so Drakarn from Scalvaris would know where to look if we had to send them back for even more.

We’d done it.

For now, at least, it had to be enough.

The ground was growing more unstable by the minute, and we couldn’t linger. I stepped into Vyne’s arms and let him launch me into the air as we began our flight home.

The place we stopped at wasn’t much of a campsite, but it was flat, and that was good enough for me. It was carved out of a small space in the mountainside, shielded by a curve of sharp black rock that jutted outward like broken teeth.

Heat shimmered across every surface, but now the air softened just a little compared to the suffocating press from earlier. I wouldn’t call it breathable, but I wasn’t choking on every inhale now either.

Small mercies.

Our packs were slumped against the outcrop, their rough fabric streaked with ash and dirt from the endless journey. I collapsed against the rock wall, letting out a long, unsteady breath as I tugged the scarf from my face now that the rock was blocking some of the worst gusts of sulfurous winds. The deceptively light vyrathis container rested in my lap.

The trip wasn’t over—not even close—but for the first time since setting out, the sense of triumph outweighed the exhaustion clinging to every single muscle I had.

Vyne moved a few feet away, crouching and holding onto the stone like it was nothing. He didn’t look worn out—hell, he didn’t even look inconvenienced. His movements lacked any sluggishness as he pulled a water flask free, uncapping it with the same ease he carried in every action.

“Could you at least pretend you’re as exhausted as I am?” I muttered, craning my neck to glance over at him. The consequences of the flight and search pressed against my ribs, but irritation felt like a better distraction than lingering on how much energy I’d burned.

Vyne paused, mid-motion, then glanced at me with a lift of his brow. “Would it help?”

“Yeah,” I shot back, quick enough to feel the pull of amusement creep into my voice. “Solidarity and all that.”

He tilted his head, expression calm but a bit edged. For just a moment, I thought I caught the bare flicker of something like humor somewhere beneath all the unreadable layers he wore like a shield.

“Noted.”

I huffed out a shallow breath, leaning my head back and letting my gaze wander past him to the horizon beyond our fragile little camp. The Harrovan peaks stretched endlessly, their silhouettes rising against waves of twisting heat and sulfuric haze. Everything about this place was wrong—hostile.

Beautiful, sure, but ready to remind you just how easily it could kill you.

I slid the vyrathis container into one of the pouches in my pack, protecting it from the harsh environment. I made myself linger on the process—adjusting, tying the straps—anything to keep my hands busy. But when I stood, shaking the tension out of my legs, I swore my movements pulled his attention again, heavy, steady, and impossible to ignore.

“You should rest.”

His voice broke through my thoughts more firmly this time, less suggestion and more instruction. When I glanced back toward him, he’d finally shifted out of that perfect crouch, standing in a smooth motion that sent his wings flexing. His stance was too steady, his gaze too focused, and I hated that the sharp edge of it made my pulse falter.

“What does it look like I'm doing?” I snapped.

His narrowed gaze didn’t budge. The huff that followed was subtle, barely audible, but it cut all the same. Without saying anything, Vyne stepped closer—his tall frame shadowing me.

“Selene.” The sound of my name wasn’t harsh. He said it with just enough force to dig under every fragile excuse I wanted to give. “You’ve done enough.”

I swallowed hard, the air clinging between us too heavy. This close, Vyne wasn’t just sharp edges and brutal efficiency anymore—there was something else to him. Something softer, buried beneath the skin of his alien presence like a broken ember glow, threatening to burn brighter the longer I looked.

The moment pressed down like everything else in this place—the heat, the sulfur, the rocks underfoot. But this—this was heavier in a way you couldn’t run from. I felt the sharp edges of it cutting through every breath, twisting tightly as Vyne’s gaze stayed locked on me.

“You’ve done too much,” he repeated. His voice dipped lower this time, rough but steady, like he could force the air itself to yield. “Rest. Now.”

Something flared in me—not defiance, exactly. Not quite. Just the reflexive need to push back against whatever told me I couldn’t keep going.

Pride was a hell of a thing. I wasn’t about to let it go.

“I told you, I’m fine.” The words came out sharp, but not sharp enough to cut through the tension clinging stubbornly between us. "We rest here for a few hours and then head out."

Vyne didn’t step back. Of course he didn’t. I hated how steady he was; hated the way that same steadiness made something underneath my walls crack.

He tilted his head, his expression shadowed but calm, like he was holding back more than I could ever read. The sharp line of his jaw twitched, dragging every inch of my focus straight to him.

“You’re lying,” he said simply. Blunt. No malice. Just a cutting sort of truth that landed harder because of how quietly he wielded it.

Something snapped. Exhaustion, maybe, or frustration from how tightly he'd held me under that unreadable gaze. Either way, I exhaled sharply, letting the angry, restless part of me rise to the surface.

“Yeah? Well, we can’t all be untouchable super-warriors.” My voice cracked just slightly at the edges, but I twisted the words into a dry sneer, hoping they’d be sharp enough to hold their own weight. “Let a girl have some damned pride.”

“I’m not untouchable,” he said, his voice quieter this time. But something in the way he said it—sharp-edged in a way it didn’t need to be—made the hair along the back of my neck lift.

His claws shifted at his sides, the restraint in the motion all the more noticeable because it was too controlled. Like something far deeper simmered just beneath his composed surface. Something real.

He took another step forward, closing the already narrow space between us, and my first instinct was to stiffen. Not out of fear, but because the weight of his presence—sharp and focused, frayed but unyielding—felt like it might crush me if I let it.

“You’re not weak,” he said firmly, the words catching me off guard enough to throw me silent. His green eyes pinned me in place, their intensity like a wrecking ball through every wall I’d carefully built. “But even the strongest need their rest. We wait out the night. Push now and we might break.”

My throat worked against the dryness pressing in, the heat running rough fingers against every inhale. His words clung tighter than the sulfur to the back of my mouth, and for half a second, I didn’t have the energy to fight them off.

“That some lesson they teach you in Drakarn warrior school?” My tone slipped somewhere between sarcasm and bitterness. But the edge of my voice cracked, betraying me when I least wanted it to.

“No,” he said without hesitation. His gaze stayed soft—not in its strength, but in the way it didn’t waver, didn’t narrow the way it might if his patience was thin. “It’s something I learned because I didn’t. Not soon enough.”

That admission hit differently—quieter, smaller, but sharp all the same. He didn’t elaborate, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask. The space between us hung too heavy for words to do anything but pull everything tighter.

I shifted on my feet, trying not to let the air clawing its way between my ribs sound too uneven.

But Vyne didn’t let me drag myself away too far. He moved again—not a full step this time, just enough that the edge of his hand brushed against my arm.

Not forceful. Not demanding. Just there . Subtle.

And stupidly, infuriatingly steady.

I didn’t pull away. I wanted to. Wanted to shove the strange weight of his presence out of my space until I could think clearly again. But the pull it created kept me frozen where I stood.

That same steadiness in him left me undone.

Before I could second-guess the sharp, restless twist building in me, I moved.

The decision hit like an earthquake. Sudden. Destructive. My arms lifted, looping around his neck without ceremony, hugging him close. My pulse hammered against the hollow space carved between us—far from calm but no longer lost to hesitation.

Vyne froze.

For a fraction of a second, it felt like I’d crossed some unspoken fault line between us, and my stomach twisted with uncertainty. But then his hand shifted—his claws ghosting lightly against my side before they curved, careful and caring, to rest just against the small of my back. Not pushing. Not needing to.

Just keeping me steady.

His body, all too solid, didn’t lean all the way into me, but his wings curved inward, their outline enough to block out the fading glow of the barren landscape around us. The motion felt unintentional—like he hadn’t even noticed himself doing it—but it was enough to set something fragile alight inside me.

His heat should’ve burned hotter than the magma tearing through Volcaryth beneath us. But it didn’t. It didn’t hurt at all.

It felt like relief. Like safety.

When I finally let my head tilt upward, the sharp edge of his carved features came into focus—closer than they’d ever been. His breath brushed against my skin, scattering along the small spaces too narrow for heat to settle in fully.

And then he kissed me.