“Already has, probably.” He scans the barren landscape. “Grokh is down—but not for long.”
I process this. “He’s still alive?”
“For now.”
No elaboration. No description. Just the flat acknowledgment of unfinished business.
“Will they follow us? The other guards?”
“Some.” His scarred hands flex at his sides. “Most will scatter after what they saw. The ones who stay loyal—” A shrug. “We’ll handle them.”
We. Such a small word for such a massive assumption.
“You could leave.” I don’t know why I say it. “Take your chance while the chaos lasts. Head for territory beyond the Matron’s reach.”
He turns. Those mismatched eyes finding mine in the cave’s dim light.
“Could you?”
“No.” The admission comes easy. “Dena. The others. I can’t abandon them.”
“Then neither can I.”
“Why?”
The question hangs between us. He’s silent—long enough that I think he won’t answer.
“Because you looked at me and saw a person.” His voice roughens. “Because you offered to stand beside me when anyone sane would run. Because—” He stops. Jaw tight.
“Because what?”
He moves. Fast, too fast, closing the distance between us until I’m pressed against the cave wall and his hands are braced on either side of my head. The furnace of his body surrounds me. The smell of blood and power and a deeper scent—something that belongs only to him.
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.” Each word lands heavy. “Because when you touched my face out there, I wanted to—” He breaks off. Breathes. “I don’t know how to want things, Imara. The clan didn’t teach me that. But I want you, and I don’t know what to do with it.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. My body responds to his proximity without my permission—warmth flooding my core, breath quickening, every nerve alive with awareness.
“You could kiss me again.”
His hands tighten against the stone. That controlled violence trembling at the edge of release.
“That won’t help.”
“I know.” I reach up. Curl my fingers in the front of his blood-stiff shirt. “Do it anyway.”
He does.
Just the twoof us in a dead cave at the edge of a dead valley, with the wreckage of our plans behind us and nothing but uncertainty ahead.
His mouth claims mine with deliberate intent. Not gentle—he doesn’t do gentle—but thorough. I open for him, let him in, let him take what he wants because I want it too.
I pull back just enough to breathe. “I know. We need to?—”
“Yes.”
Neither of us moves.
His forehead rests against mine. His breath comes hard and fast, matching my own. I can feel the thundering of his heart, can feel exactly how much this costs him—stopping when everything in him wants to continue.
