Page 22 of Tempest Blazing (The Dragonne Library #3)

Tess

The door opened with barely a whisper, and I didn't need to look to know it was Kane. Something about the way the air shifted—controlled, precise, like even his presence was calculated. I kept my eyes on the ceiling, bracing myself for whatever version of him had decided to visit.

My emotions felt too raw, too close to the surface. Whatever mask he'd chosen to wear today, I wasn't sure I had the strength to handle it.

The floorboards barely creaked under his weight.

He paused just inside the doorway—my chest tightened with anticipation mixed with dread.

Then his footsteps moved toward the nightstand, measured and quiet.

The bed dipped slightly as he sat on the edge, careful not to jostle me.

I finally turned my head to look at him, and found his expression.

.. unreadable. Not cold, not warm. Just focused, like he was solving a particularly complex equation.

"You haven't taken the potion," he said, picking up the vial. His voice was steady, matter-of-fact. No judgment, no frustration. Just observation.

I shrugged, the movement sending a fresh wave of aches through my shoulders. "Wasn't really in the mood for magical remedies."

"Understandable." He turned the vial in his hands, watching the silver liquid swirl. "But your body needs it. The demon did more damage than what shows on the surface."

Should have annoyed me, that clinical tone. Instead, there was something almost... gentle about it. Like he was trying to help without pushing.

"It works best if you take it slowly," he continued, his pale fingers tracing the glass. "Small sips. The warmth will start in your chest first—right here." He touched his own sternum, just above his heart. "Then it spreads outward. Arms, legs, up to your head."

I watched his face as he spoke, catching the way his eyes grew distant, like he was remembering rather than reciting. "The taste is... distinctive. Copper and citrus. Not pleasant, but not unbearable."

"You sound like you know from experience."

His gaze flicked to mine briefly before returning to the potion. "I do."

My breath hitched. Something in his tone, that quiet admission, shifted the air between us.

Curiosity cut through my lingering apprehension.

Kane Ellesar, master of all four elements, son of a Guild Lord Protector, brilliant strategist who always seemed three steps ahead of everyone else. .. when had he needed healing potions?

"Your limbs might feel heavy at first," he continued, that same distant quality creeping into his voice. "Like you're moving through water. It passes after about ten minutes. The nausea hits around the same time—count to sixty, slow breaths, and it fades."

This wasn't medical knowledge from textbooks.

This was the kind of intimate familiarity that came from lying in bed, broken and alone, cataloging every stage of recovery because you had nothing else to focus on.

The way he described it... it felt etched onto him, the memory of pain and slow healing.

"Some versions dull emotional pain too," he added quietly, almost like he was talking to himself. "Though I've never been certain if that's intentional or just a side effect of the physical healing."

The image hit me—Kane, proud and controlled Kane, hurt badly enough to need potions that numbed more than just physical wounds. Broken enough to hope for that emotional dulling. Alone enough to memorize the timing of his own recovery.

My shame didn't disappear, but it... shifted. Became something less sharp, less isolating. If Kane—brilliant, powerful, seemingly untouchable Kane—had been in this place before, then maybe it wasn't about being weak. Maybe it was just about being... breakable. Even him.

I sat up slowly, ignoring the protest from my ribs, and held out my hand. "Okay."

Surprise flickered across his face—just a moment, a crack in that controlled facade—before he handed me the vial. Our fingers brushed as I took it, and I felt that familiar spark of electricity, muted but still there beneath the collar's lingering effects.

The potion was exactly as he'd described—metallic and sharp, with an underlying citrus bite that made my nose wrinkle. But I sipped it slowly, following his instructions, and felt the warmth bloom in my chest just like he'd said it would.

Kane watched me carefully, his blue-violet eyes tracking my reactions. Not clinical now, but... concerned. Like he was ready to take the vial away if something went wrong, ready to catch me if I fell.

I wanted to ask so many things. Why he'd pulled away after that kiss.

Why he was here now, taking care of me with such careful precision.

What had hurt him badly enough that he knew healing potions this intimately.

Whether the emotional numbing had helped, or if it had just made the loneliness worse.

"Better?" he asked after I'd managed about half the potion.

"Getting there." The warmth was spreading down my arms now, easing the ache in my shoulders. My limbs did feel heavier, but in a relaxed way, like sinking into a warm bath. "Thank you."

He nodded, but didn't move to leave. Instead, he sat there in the growing twilight, his hands clasped loosely in his lap, his expression thoughtful.

I finished the rest of the potion in silence, feeling the last of the pain recede from my body. The nausea hit right on schedule, but Kane's breathing technique worked—slow, measured counts until it passed. When I looked up, he was still watching me with that careful attention.

The silence stretched between us, heavy with things unsaid.

I could feel Kane's presence beside me, solid and warm in the growing darkness of my room.

The healing potion had done its work—my body felt loose and relaxed, the pain reduced to a distant ache—but my mind was still spinning with questions.

Finally, I couldn't hold them back anymore.

"What were you doing there?" My voice came out rougher than I intended, still raw from earlier, but steady enough.

Kane didn't flinch. Didn't deflect or change the subject like I'd half-expected. Instead, he shifted slightly on the edge of the bed, his hands still clasped in his lap, and looked at me directly.

"I've been working to shut down the fighting ring for a long time," he said simply. "It was my other project. The one I didn't talk about."

The words clicked into place with an almost audible snap. That conversation weeks ago, when he'd mentioned having other responsibilities, other missions that pulled at his attention. I'd assumed it was Guild business, something political and distant. Not... this.

"How long?" I asked.

"Since I rescued Mason and Kali." His jaw tightened slightly. "Two years."

Two years. Two years of planning, of careful strategy, of working alone to dismantle something that had hurt people he cared about. The scope of it made my chest tighten.

"So you should be relieved," I said quietly, studying his profile in the dim light. "Mission accomplished. The ring's collapsing."

But even as I said it, I could see he wasn't. His jaw was tight, his blue-violet eyes distant and troubled. There was no satisfaction in his expression, no sense of victory. Just... something that looked almost like grief.

"You're not okay," I observed, not making it a question.

Kane was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on something I couldn't see. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled, but I caught the edge of something raw underneath.

"I used to think it was simple," Kane said finally, his voice so quiet I had to lean forward to catch it. "Duty versus personal desire. Logic versus emotion. There was always a clear answer if you just... calculated correctly."

He paused, his fingers flexing against his thighs. In the dim light filtering through my window, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself like he was bracing for impact.

"But it's not clean, is it?" The words came out rougher now, like they were being pulled from somewhere deep. "Sometimes saving lives means letting someone you care about suffer. Sometimes the strategic choice means watching people you..." He stopped, swallowed hard. "Watching them get hurt."

My chest tightened. He wasn't just talking about the mission in general terms. He was talking about me. About sitting here, watching me try to heal from injuries I'd sustained while he made his calculated decisions from a distance.

The silence stretched between us, heavy with the weight of what he wasn't quite saying.

I could see it in the way his jaw worked, the careful control he was maintaining over his expression.

Kane, who always had answers, who could strategize his way through any problem—sitting here admitting that sometimes there weren't good choices. Just necessary ones.

"You probably made the best choice you could," I said gently, meaning it. The words felt inadequate, but they were true. I'd seen enough of Kane's mind to know he didn't make decisions lightly. Every angle calculated, every consequence weighed.

He looked at me then, really looked at me, and something in his carefully controlled expression shifted. Not breaking—Kane's control ran too deep for that—but bending, like metal under pressure.

"Isn't that why you're in here moping?" he asked, his voice carrying an edge that wasn't quite bitter but wasn't gentle either. "Because sometimes the best choice doesn't feel like the right one in the end."

The words hit like a physical blow, knocking the breath from my lungs. Because he was right. Completely, devastatingly right. I'd been sitting here drowning in guilt and shame, replaying every choice I'd made. Wondering if I could have done something different, something better.

I stared at him, feeling something crack open in my chest. The careful walls I'd built around my shame, my self-doubt—they crumbled under the weight of his observation. Kane had stripped away every excuse, every deflection, and laid bare the truth I'd been avoiding.

"That's not the same thing," I said weakly, but even I could hear how hollow it sounded.

"Isn't it?" Kane's blue-violet eyes held mine steadily.

"You made a choice to interview Garanth alone.

You calculated the risks, weighed your options, and decided the potential information was worth the danger.

When it went wrong, you survived it." His voice softened slightly.

"But now you're sitting here punishing yourself because survival didn't feel heroic enough. "

The accuracy of it made my throat tight. Because that was exactly what I'd been doing—cataloguing every moment of helplessness, every second I'd needed rescue instead of providing it. Measuring myself against some impossible standard of strength and finding myself lacking.

"I couldn't even fight back properly," I whispered, the admission scraping against my pride. "The collar... it was like being nothing. Just human."

Kane's expression shifted, something almost like pain flickering across his features. "Just human," he repeated quietly. "You say that like it's a failure."

"In that moment, it was." The words came out bitter, raw.

"Mason spent years in that ring because he's strong enough to survive it.

You waltzed in there with enough power to bring down the ceiling.

Even Draven and Ciaran could fight their way through.

But me? I was useless the second they took my magic away. "

Kane was quiet for a long moment, his gaze thoughtful. When he spoke again, his voice was careful, measured.

"You know what I saw in that arena?" he asked. "A human woman with broken ribs who refused to stay down. Who looked a seven-foot demon in the eye and kept fighting even when she knew she couldn't win. Who survived long enough for rescue not because she was magical, but because she was stubborn."

I blinked, caught off guard by the quiet conviction in his voice.

"The collar didn't make you weak, Tess. It revealed something else entirely. Something that has nothing to do with dragon bonds or magical power." His eyes met mine, steady and sure. "It revealed exactly why Thalon chose you in the first place."