“Diarvet, can I ask you something?” I finally ventured, sitting back on my heels and watching as he methodically brushed clumps of rich, dark earth from the roots before stowing them in his leather satchel. His eyes met mine, and he nodded slowly, curiosity flickering across his handsome face.
I drew a deep, steadying breath, my heart hammering as I considered my phrasing. “Ceeka said—well, she didn’t exactly say—but she indicated that there was something more to your ability to shift your scales than just protection. Something special.” I sank my teeth into my bottom lip, holding my breath and waiting, hoping desperately I hadn’t upset him or crossed some invisible line.
Two kisses, that’s all we were technically. Only they didn’t feel like they were just kisses. It felt like so much more. Diarvet had kissed me like he was trying to memorize the sensation. Like it mattered. Plus, we slept together every night. Granted, Lilibet was always between us, but even with that innocent chaperone, the air between us crackled with tension.The lingering glances he gave me, eyes dark and searching. The way his fingers would brush against mine when he adjusted the blankets, touch lingering just a fraction too long to be accidental. The heat of his palm when it rested on my shoulder, thumb tracing absent circles that sent shivers down my spine.
Diarvet released a long, heavy sigh, but he didn’t look at me, instead fixing his gaze on the kompur roots scattered at our feet. “For my people, the ability to shift one’s scales was considered a sacred gift from the goddess, bestowed to help Zarpazians protect those they cared about. Being able to shift scales strengthens you, makes you nearly invincible.” A small, rueful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Well, you saw.”
“I did,” I admitted, my voice warm with appreciation and the remembered awe of how he’d saved us. “You were absolutely amazing.”
The scales along his cheekbones deepened from their usual azure to a rich sapphire. “The queen’s bloodline was from the mountains of Zarpazia, a warrior race that always saw themselves as stronger. They didn’t believe in waiting for the goddess’s blessing.” His jaw clenched, the muscles working beneath his scaled skin. “Over generations, through relentless training and sheer force of will, they learned to force-shift their scales.”
His expression shifted to something dark and haunted. Regret twisted with a deep, simmering anger that made his eyes flash like storm clouds. “Forcing a shift is... painful. It tears at your very essence, changes who you are from the inside out, leaving one cruel and bloodthirsty.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Plus, a forced shift isn’t as powerful as one that is goddess-blessed.”
“How do you mean?” I murmured, both horrified and curious, my fingers unconsciously tightening around the kompur root in my palm.
“Shifted Zarpazians can take the shape of other beings... animals too.” The disgust on his face intensified, his lips curling as if he’d tasted something bitter and rotten. His hands stilled completely, knuckles white where they gripped the earth-stained roots. “But for a Zarpazian who forces the shift, to take the shape of another requires a terrible sacrifice—the life force of the creature being mimicked must be drained, consumed, stolen.”
The horror of it settled over me like ice water. “What about you?” I asked, my voice barely audible above the waterfall. Whether his shift was forced or gifted, I knew with absolute certainty that Diarvet would never hurt me. He would die before causing me or Lilibet harm. “Did you force your shift to protect me and Lilibet?”
Diarvet fell silent for a long, weighted moment, his fingers tracing the gnarled surface of the kompur root with absent, repetitive motions. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and raw, vulnerable in a way that made my chest ache. “No. Despite the years of training I endured, despite the countless hours of torture designed to hone my will and force my scales to obey, I was never able to force the shift.”
He laughed then, but the sound was hollow and brittle, devoid of any actual amusement. “Under the queen’s rule, that made me less than worthless. Weaker than those who could shift. A failure of the bloodline.”
“Well, that’s bullshit,” I snapped. The very idea that Diarvet could be considered less made my blood boil. He was everything—brave, gentle, strong, beautiful inside and out.
This time, his smile seemed more genuine, reaching his eyes and softening the harsh lines around them. “I didn’t even realize I’d shifted until Lilibet mentioned my scales.”
“You didn’t realize?” I stared at him in amazement, trying to imagine such power manifesting without conscious thought.
Diarvet’s broad shoulders lifted in a graceful shrug, the movement causing his scales to catch and reflect the sunlight. “I knew I felt different—stronger—but I thought it was just the rage I felt at what the Wojonik were doing to you and Lilibet. The need to protect you both consumed everything else.”
“You shifted to protect us,” I said softly, laying my hand on his forearm and feeling the subtle tingle of his scales trembling beneath my palm.A shift to protect those he cared about. My blood raced at the thought.
His larger hand settled atop mine, our fingers slowly entwining. “It’s more than that,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“What more?” I met his gaze directly, my breath catching and holding at the raw intensity burning in his eyes.
Diarvet drew in a deep breath that seemed to come from his very soul. “The goddess’s gift of shifting isn’t given simply to help a Zarpazian protect those he cares for.” He drew another deep, ragged breath. “The goddess gives the blessing specifically to help a Zarpazian protect their mate.”
Mate.
The words hit me like a punch to the stomach, stealing the air from my lungs. My heart hammered against my ribs as the implication crashed over me.Mate. Not just any word—theword. The one that changed everything. The word that made things real in a way I hadn’t dared to hope for. Heat flooded my cheeks as my mind reeled, trying to process what he’d just revealed. A thousand thoughts and emotions swirled inside me—shock, wonder, relief plus a fierce and sudden joy that threatened to overwhelm me.
“Mate,” I repeated softly, testing the word on my tongue. It felt both foreign and achingly familiar, like a truth I’d always known but never dared acknowledge.
Diarvet’s hand still intertwined with mine, his scales trembling slightly—not with fear, but with anticipation. The jungle seemed to hold its breath; the world narrowed to this moment, to us.
His hand lifted with deliberate tenderness, calloused fingertips tracing the curve of my cheek in the gentlest of touches. “I am sorry, Zeihava.”
“Sorry?” I blinked up at him, confusion clouding my thoughts as I searched his beautiful, tormented features. “Why?”
Shame flickered across his face, and the sight of it broke my heart into a thousand jagged pieces. His eyes darkened with self-recrimination, and I could see him retreating inward. Building walls I desperately wanted to tear down. “You have borne witness to my nightmares. I am a broken male.”
“Broken?” I repeated in complete disbelief. The very idea that this magnificent, courageous male could consider himself anything less than extraordinary made my blood boil. “Diarvet, you aren’t broken. You are the most courageous and wonderful man—male—I’ve ever met. The way you took care of Lilibet and me. The way you protected us. Nobody has ever cared about me like that. It’s... it’s... you’re everything.” My free hand found its way to his chest, pressing against the warm, solid expanse of muscle and scale, alive and strong beneath my palm. His scales rippled at my touch like water disturbed by a breeze.
“You don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice rough and raw. His eyes closed as if he couldn’t bear to see my reaction. “What I’ve been through—the things that were done to me—I am not whole. I may never be.”
I let my fingertips play over his scales, mapping the texture like a blind woman learning to read. I noticed that the still-black ones had a slightly rougher texture than the others. “You’re whole enough for me,” I murmured, my voice soft but unwavering.
