Page 42 of The Serpent and the Silver Wolf

“Win what?” Her throat worked as she swallowed again.

“That was the best…” He leaned back in his chair, lips quirking. “Or at least the second best…” His gaze pinned her, voice dropping low. “Thing I’ve ever tasted.”

For a moment, she could only blink at him, trying to process. Then a strangled laugh tore loose. “Kazuma!” The laugh tumbled free, moisture pricking her eyes. “You’re… you’re…”

“Incorrigible?” he supplied. “A fiend? A villain?” His body tilted closer across the table. “Deserving of punishment.”

The heat in his stare scorched her, daring her to let herself fall into those eyes and everything he was offering.

But…

“You don’t have to do that.” Her teeth worried her lower lip as the words slipped out. “Redirect the conversation.”

Concern flickered over the burn in his gaze, softer. “Are you sure?”

His foot bumped hers under the table.

“No.” The word was stiff in her lungs. “But you deserve something.” Her pulse ticked faster, echoing in her ears. “Though it won’t be much. And it probably won’t make any sense.”

Kazuma raised both hands, setting them on either side of his plate. Palms up. Fingers relaxed.

Speak your heart, Aimee.His voice was barely a thought that she felt more than heard.

Above, the ceiling was low, stone marked with cracks and tiny dimples, shadows pooled in each hollow. She traced every imperfection, cataloguing them one by one, until she found the strength to lower her eyes back to him.

Very well.Her chin dipped in a single nod.But only for you, Kaz.

And then she let go.

The images came fragmented, torn, flashing through the bond like shards of glass catching light. Herself being jerked from world toworld. The tearing sensation that never left, pain lodged so deep she couldn’t name it, only feel it. And with each new place, the strange easing that followed—never a cure, but a dulling, just enough to keep moving.

Minutes went by, then his hands reached across the narrow table, folding over hers. His grip was warm, grounding, even as his eyes widened with every beat of silence.

But he did not speak.

She gave him the wars. The death. The endless destruction that marked every stop. Faces she had tried to save, allies found and lost, lives cut short. The fragile ones she fought to protect—and the inevitability of their falling anyway, as worlds burned or staggered just shy of ruin. Victory or failure, it was always the same. Thousands dead. Sometimes millions.

He swallowed. And she saw it in his eyes—the connection forming, the lines being drawn.

Her chest constricted. Because now she was here. On his world.

But still, he said nothing.

Her thoughts faltered at last, slowing into silence. Air stalled in her lungs as she watched him lower his head, dark strands of hair sliding forward to curtain his face.

He was going to leave. The thought slammed into her like a fresh bruise, and her grip on his hands began to shudder. He would blame her for what came next. How could he not? She was here, and his world was about to burn.

She started to pull her hand away.I need to go. If I leave, maybe you won’t…The thought pried loose in a plea.

His fingers flexed around hers so hard they might have been metal, vices that held her to the table. For a long, raw second, his head stayedbent before he slowly lifted it. And when his eyes found hers, they were wet at the rims, unshed tears standing like dark jewels.

Air refused to move through her chest. What would he say? Deny her? Call her a liar? The mind-to-mind thing remained jagged and new; she’d misunderstood and mis-sent thoughts before.

A laugh broke out of him then, blowing across the table before any words came.

“Is that all?” His voice was steady as he drew her closer, bending until his forehead nearly touched hers. Relief rode in the tone, gentle and blunt at once.

She couldn’t tell whether the question was accusation or marvel. Had the revelations broken his mind?