Panic curled through her chest. Would this Heat push her past her limits? Would she wake from this haze to find she’d surrendered the things she wasn’t ready to give?
Then—their scents reached her.
A shudder wracked her at the first trace of it. Kaelen’s bright, sun-warmed cedar, fresh and clean. Alarik’s deeper, darker spice. Both familiar. Both theirs.
She gasped, her fingers fisting in the silk sheets.
They’d arrived.
The door swung open, and then Kaelen was there, rushing toward her in a blur of gold.
She barely had the strength to lift her head, but she felt him—felt the moment he was close enough for his body’s warmth to brush against her own. His hands framed her face, gentle and steady, thumbs stroking over her damp skin. His scent wrapped around her, and the primal part of her latched onto it like a lifeline.
“Yara,” he murmured, his voice a low, firm anchor in the haze.
A fractured whimper escaped her as she reached for him, clutching at his tunic, desperate for something—relief, comfort,him. She barely registered Solmaz retreating, the soft click of the door shutting behind her.
Kaelen’s jaw tightened as he took in her flushed cheeks, the way she trembled against him. “Oh, love . . .” His grip tightened.
Behind him, Alarik stood at the foot of the bed—tense, unreadable—but his dark eyes tracked the rise and fall of her chest. His broad frame poised, coiled tight, like a force barely held in check.
Kaelen tilted her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. “We’re here. We’ve got you.”
Another wave of heat slammed into her, bowing her spine, tearing a broken sound from her lips.
Kaelen must’ve seen the panic in her tearful eyes, because his hands gentled, smoothing slow strokes down her arms.
“It’s alright,Sáel. Just breathe.”
Sáel.
The word melted into her like sunlight on frost. Beautiful. Melodic. She wondered what it meant—but she couldn’t form the words to ask. She could barely manage a nod, every intake of air shallow, uneven. Her body screamed for more, for something she wasn’t sure she could control.
She’d barely spoken to Kaelen since the teahouse, tasks and chores around the wagon taking precedents in all interactions. But theirconversation had lingered in her mind, an echo she couldn’t silence, a question she couldn’t yet answer. Distance had settled between them in the days that followed—not cold, not tense, just . . . waiting.
And yet, here he was, tender as ever, catching her when she reached out for him, holding her when she needed him.
No teasing, no smug remarks. Just Kaelen, moving without hesitation, gathering her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. As if his arms had always been meant to hold her.
Alarik hesitated, but only for a second.
The bed dipped behind her, his broad chest pressing against her back, his large hands settling carefully at her waist.
He exhaled, slow and measured, warm puffs of air ghosting her nape, singeing her nerve endings. Reiya whimpered and nestled back against him, the pressure inside her mounting, unbearable.
“It’s—” Another sharp gasp and her body curled tighter, as if she could fold away from the all-consuming heat.
“I know.” Kaelen’s voice was steady, soothing, his hands smoothing long, patient strokes down her arm. “Breathe, love. Just breathe.”
She tried. Gods, she tried.
But her body wasn’t listening. Instinct screamed for more—more touch, more connection, more relief from the fire tearing through her veins. She pressed against him, rubbing her cheek against the bare skin of his throat, drawn to the scent, the solidity of him.
Her insides craved, begged, drowning in an unbearable need to be held, to be anchored before she drowned in agony.
Kaelen exhaled sharply, but he didn’t pull away. His fingers slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull, holding her to him.
“That’s it,” he soothed. “I’ve got you.”
