Page 18 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)

“You’ll be staying here as well. We’ve prepared rooms.”

She blinked. “Truly?”

“I don’t do hospitality halfway.”

We followed him inside, past gilded archways and wide halls filled with art, books, and oddities from every edge and age of Elaria. Uncle Bai’s estate was as much a home as it was a museum.

“I hope you like libraries,” Uncle Bai said as we climbed the stairs.

“Depends,” Cat replied. “You got any books that don’t end in tragic death and heartbreak?”

“Those are the best kind.”

“Remind me never to let you pick the bedtime stories.”

His lips quirked slightly.

He led us to a spacious suite with arched windows overlooking the garden. A sitting room adjoined the sleeping quarters, and a claw-foot tub gleamed in the adjoining washroom.

Cat stepped inside and turned in a slow circle. “Damn,” she muttered. “I could get used to this.”

Uncle Bai stepped back toward the hall. “Rest. Eat. Heal. We’ll talk later.”

“Talk about what?” Cat asked.

He paused at the door. “About what comes next.” He turned to Maeve. “Come, dear. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

Taking Maeve with him, he left us there, , the door clicking quietly behind them.

Cat turned to me. “Should I be worried?”

“Always.” I pulled her into my arms for a quick hug. “But you’re not alone anymore.”

She grimaced at the dirt stains and dried blood on her skin and looked longingly at the wash basin. I released her with a sigh and plucked a clean cloth from beside the basin, dampened it with warm water, and gestured for her to sit.

“Let me,” I said.

She looked like she might argue at first, but then the tension ebbed from her shoulders and she sank into the cushioned chair by the hearth. I knelt in front of her and gently pressed the cloth to her cheek. She hissed at first, but then went still beneath my touch.

Her eyes searched mine. “Why are you doing this?” she asked softly.

I didn’t answer right away. I moved the cloth to her temple where a faint bruise already marred her delicate skin. My thumb brushed a smudge of dirt from her cheek.

“Because you’ve had enough people treat you like a pawn, including myself,” I said. “Someone should treat you like a person.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. I unbuckled the strap across her chest and helped her shrug out of her traveling cloak.

I paused, giving her space to stop me, but she didn’t.

Instead, she let me unlace her dress and ease it over her shoulders, revealing a long, angry scrape down her side.

I sucked in a breath. “By the Immortals!”

“This looks worse than it is,” she sheepishly muttered.

“It still looks like hell.”

She offered a faint smile. “Then you should’ve seen Thorne.”

“I did,” I grumbled.

I retrieved another cloth and gingerly dabbed the wound, working in silence. Her skin was warm beneath my hands, the curve of her spine tense but trusting. “You don’t have to keep putting yourself in harm’s way… Let me handle things from here on out,” I murmured.

“I’m not the type to stand by and watch you take on the world alone,” she dryly retorted.

I set the cloth aside and brushed my fingers along her arm. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

She turned to face me fully. Our eyes locked, and something in the space between us shifted. I cupped her face and traced my thumb along the edge of her jaw. Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t pull away.

Then she leaned in.

Our lips met, softly at first, a question neither of us needed to ask. She tasted like warmth and fire and defiance. I deepened the kiss, careful not to push, letting her lead.

When we finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against mine. “Not exactly how I thought today would go,” she whispered.

I smiled. “Same.”

“But I’m glad you came.”

“So am I.”

We didn’t speak again for a while. I wrapped her in the spare blanket and laid beside her on the bed, our hands tangled between us.

She fell asleep with her head resting on my shoulder, her breath even and soft. I stayed awake, watching the last rays of sunlight fade from the window and promising myself I’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.

Even if it meant becoming the shadow the world feared.

I must have dozed off at some point, because when I opened my eyes, the room was bathed in moonlight.

The fire had died down to embers, tossing shadows that flickered across the walls.

Cat had shifted in her sleep and was curled on her side now, her hair spilling across the pillow like ink on parchment.

I should have moved—gone to my own room or at least to the chair to give her space—but I couldn't bring myself to leave.

There was something mesmerizing about watching her breathe, seeing the hard edges of her face softened by sleep.

The woman who fought like a demon by day looked almost peaceful now.

Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. She stared at me for a moment, disoriented, before awareness crept in. “You're still here,” she whispered, her voice husky with sleep.

“I am.” I didn't offer excuses or explanations. It wasn’t as if we hadn’t slept together before.

She pushed up onto one elbow, wincing slightly as the movement stretched the skin on her injured side. “Were you watching me sleep?”

I didn't bother denying it. “Maybe.”

“That's...” she paused, searching for the word, “unsettling.”

“Would you prefer I lied about it?” I asked, my voice low and cryptic in the darkness.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “No. Your honesty is... refreshing.”

“I was making sure you were still breathing,” I said, my voice rougher than intended.

“Is that what you tell all the women who wake up in your bed?”

“You're the only one who’s ever been in my bed.” The words hung between us, heavy with implication.

She reached out and brushed her fingers against the stubble on my jaw. I caught her hand, meaning to push it away, but instead held it there against my face.

The moonlight caught her eyes and turned them to liquid gold. I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face before I could stop myself. Her breath hitched at the contact.

“Your wounds need checking,” I said, my fingers lingering near her cheek.

“Is that what you're doing?” she asked, challenge in her voice despite its softness.

“No.”

She held my gaze, unflinching.

Silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring. I felt her pulse quicken beneath my fingertips, or maybe it was my own heart hammering against my ribs. She was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with her skill in fighting.

“You should be afraid of me,” I said quietly.

“Should I?” The blanket slid from her shoulder as she shifted closer. “Why is that?”

“Because once I have you in my grasp, I’m never letting you go.” She didn’t know just how deep I was in. With or without the mark, I wanted to keep Cat forever.

A slow smile crept across her face. “Oh?” She raised a brow. “It doesn’t hurt that my captor is handsome. I guess it’s okay,” she admitted.

The unexpected compliment caught me off guard. I almost laughed, but the sound died in my throat when her fingers traced the scar along my chest.

“What are we doing, Damien?” she whispered.

“Making a mistake, probably.” I’d already taunted Thorne with her once, and I shouldn’t tempt fate again. But…

She smiled at that—a real smile that reached her eyes. “I've made plenty of those. One more won't kill me.”

“Yet,” I added darkly, but there was no threat in it. Just the truth we both knew—that whatever this was could end badly for one or both of us. Things were getting murky, and it would undoubtedly get worse before it got better.

I traced my thumb across her bottom lip, feeling her warm breath against my skin. “I'm not good at this.”

“At what?”

“Whatever this is. Tenderness. I don't do tenderness.”

Cat leaned into my touch, her eyes never leaving mine. “Then don't be tender.”

Something primal stirred in my chest at her words. I slid my hand to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. She didn't flinch, didn't yield, just watched me with those knowing eyes.

“You have no idea what you're asking for,” I warned, my voice dropping to something just above a growl.

“I never ask for things I don't want.”

Eliminating the space between us, I pulled her toward me. Her body pressed against mine, warm and alive despite everything she'd been through. This time when our lips met, there was nothing gentle about it. I kissed her like a starved man, her soft gasp swallowed by my mouth.

Her hands found my shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of my shirt. She matched my intensity without hesitation, teeth grazing my bottom lip, drawing a low sound from deep in my throat.

“I love you, Cat,” I muttered against her neck as I traced a path of kisses down to her collarbone. “I don’t care if you can’t say it back to me yet.”

She arched into me and tangled her fingers in my hair. “Shut up, Damien.”

I chuckled against her skin. “As you wish.”

I cradled her face between my hands and studied her—the perfect shape of her eyebrows, the freckles scattered like stars across her nose, the bold defiance that never quite left her eyes, even now.

She was beautiful in the way dangerous things were beautiful.

Like the edge of a glittering blade or a storm rolling in from the sea.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” I mumbled as I watched her.

“Whatever you want,” she whispered.

The invitation in her words sent heat coursing through me. I kissed her again, harder this time, and slid one hand down to her waist. Her heartbeat raced beneath my palm. She was fire in human form, burning away every defense I'd built.

When we broke apart, both breathing heavily, I rested my forehead against hers. “This is dangerous.”

“Everything about you is dangerous,” she replied, fingers working at the buttons of my shirt. “I’ve already decided that I’m not going to let Thorne dictate my life. If I’m going to die here… on foreign lands… at least let me die happy.”