Azmik didn’t even flinch.He nuzzled closer, his flames warming my skin.
I lifted him, cradling his warm weight against my chest before letting him wind around my shoulders.He settled like he belonged there, his head burrowing into my hair and flames dancing against my neck.
I stroked him absently, the repetitive motion the only thing keeping me anchored as my mind raced in endless circles.The weight of what I was about to do sat heavy on my shoulders.Regret consumed me, its sharp teeth tearing at my resolve.
But I couldn’t let it show.Not a morsel of doubt could cross my face when he returned.
I had to pretend.I had to make him believe that this meant nothing—thathemeant nothing.
Hours stretched into an eternity of torment.Exhaustion pressed heavy against my bones, but sleep was just out of reach, despite Azmik’s warm presence nestled in my hair.Every time my eyes slipped shut, I saw fire.I sawhim.
I began to question whether I wanted him to return or if I hoped he never would.
Then, the air shifted.A thick haze of smoke and shadow filled the room.
Dalkhan emerged through the dark mist in perfect silence, his gaze unreadably intense.He didn’t need to speak.I knew he could feel it.The change.The rift forming between us.
“You stayed awake,” he murmured, his voice lower than usual, but no less dangerous.
Azmik stirred, his head emerging from behind my hair, greeting his master.I swallowed hard, forcing my fingers to stay curled to hide the tremor in my hands.
“I didn’t want to wake up here.”
A shadow crossed his face.Not anger.Not yet.
“And why is that?”
What could I say?What words could cut deep enough to make him turn away?To make him hate me enough that this,whateverthis was, could never happen again?
My throat was tight as I looked up at him.The regret churned in my stomach, warring with necessity.But I needed to end this before I lost what little grip I had left.
“Because I shouldn’t have been here to begin with.”
Azmik made his way down my body, positioning himself half on the bed, half draped protectively across my lap.
Dalkhan’s expression darkened, but he remained silent.Waiting.
“It was a mistake, Dalkhan.”
His hands clenched, the muscles in his forearms tensing in restraint.
I could’ve stopped there.Ishould’ve.But I didn’t.
I steeled my spine and sharpened my words like a blade.“I let desire cloud my judgment, but it won’t happen again.”
Silence stretched between us, taut and fragile as a thread about to snap.The torches shifted, their shadows crawling up the walls.
He took one slow step forward.Azmik angled his body upward, glowing eyes fixed on his master.
I ground my teeth together, forcing ice into my voice.“I would never choose someone like you, Dalkhan.”
Dalkhan didn’t move closer.Didn’t speak.He just watched me.
“I needed something from you,” I said, the words bitter as ash.“And now that I’ve had it, there is nothing left between us… There never was.”
The fire in his eyes dimmed, as if something inside him had pulled away—retreated to some unreachable place.
He took another step, and the temperature spiked.“Say that again.”
