Page 5 of Surrendering Her Heart (Red Planet Fated Mates #10)

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AVA

O utside the storm rages, the wind howls, and the sand blasts, but in here, the space is filled with the sound of breathing. Harsh, uneven. Some gasping, some too quiet. A single moan of pain cuts through the silence before someone shushes it.

I press my head against the cool stone wall, my body is one massive ache. My lungs burn with every inhale, raw from the sand and the struggle. My fingers curl into the loose sand and dirt, grounding myself, reminding me that we made it. We survived, but not all of us.

Too many are gone. I don’t even know who. And that’s almost worse. The guilt gnaws at me, sinking sharp teeth into my soul, because I didn’t see. I didn’t witness their loss. A rustle of movement draws my attention. I lift my head just enough to see him. The Zmaj.

He’s seated at my side, his massive frame outlined by the dim glow of someone’s torch that they had the presence of mind to hang onto in our mad dash for safety. His head is tilted back against the cavern wall, his eyes closed. Not asleep, though. His tail twitches, his breathing deep but controlled. He’s listening.

My jaw clenches, emotions warring inside me. He saved me. More than once. He saved all of us. And yet?—

I exhale sharply and drop my head back against the wall, closing my eyes. I still don’t know his name. I could ask. If I wasn’t so damn tired. If my throat didn’t hurt so badly. There’s a shift in the air.

Not from the storm, but from him. I sense it before I see it. The quiet weight of his attention and his gaze. I open my eyes and he is staring, unblinking. I swallow hard, my throat still raw from sand and screaming.

“You should rest.”

“So should you,” I reply.

The words are harsher than I intended. Partly the rawness of my throat, partly the emotions warring in my chest. His eyes remain locked on me, unblinking.

I let out a breath, something bitter, twisting. Rest? As if it’s that easy. How am I supposed to do that when I see them behind my eyelids. All the ones who didn’t make it. The ones we left behind.

Instead of answering, I shift, stretching out my aching legs. The cavern is cramped, packed with bodies pressed too close. Every movement stirs a ripple of discomfort, but exhaustion weighs too heavy for anyone to care.

“Your people are strong,” he says suddenly.

The unexpected words make me blink. I turn my head slightly, meeting his gaze in the dim torchlight. There’s no mockery in his tone, no challenge. Only something steady. Certain. I let out a breath that’s not quite a laugh.

“You didn’t think so before?”

A slow blink. “I did not know.”

Something about the way he says it makes my chest tighten. It’s not quite an admission. Not quite praise. But it lingers between us, settling into the silence. I should look away. I should let exhaustion pull me under. Instead, I hold his gaze for a second too long. Then I do the only thing that makes sense.

I close my eyes. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself breathe.