Time stretches. I'm aware of too many things at once—the heat of the volcanic ground beneath my boots, the way Lenna's scent cuts through the sulfur and ash in the air, the beast's momentum carrying it forward with unstoppable force, my own body positioning itself to take impact I might not survive.
I get my arms around her, twisting us both aside as the creature's mass bears down on us. My back hits the ground first, Lenna's body pressed against my chest, my torso covering hers as completely as I can manage in the fraction of a second we have before it slams into us.
19
LENNA
The impact never comes.
Instead, there's a surge of heat and power that makes the air itself vibrate, pressure building against my eardrums until they pop. Malrec's arms tighten around me, his chest heaving with exertion, and when I force my eyes open I see his face above mine—jaw clenched, eyes blazing that impossible ember-gold, every line of his body radiating focused intensity.
His magic. He's unleashing it in a way I've never seen, raw and overwhelming, pushing outward in waves that make the volcanic ground tremble beneath us.
The beast screams—an awful grinding shriek—as it's thrown backward. The force of Malrec's power hits it like a physical wall, sending its massive crystalline body skidding across the pasture floor in a shower of sparks and stone fragments. Before it can recover, runic symbols flare to life in the air around it, brilliant amber patterns that weave themselves into a containment structure with speed that suggests he's done this a thousand times.
The barrier snaps into place with an audible crack, and the beast slams against it from the inside, protrusions scrapinguselessly against the magical wall. Confined. Controlled. No longer a threat.
Malrec doesn't move immediately. He stays exactly where he is—body covering mine, one hand cradling the back of my head like he's still protecting me from impact, the other braced against the ground beside my shoulder. His chest is pressed against mine, rising and falling rapidly, and I can feel his heart hammering against my ribs in a rhythm that matches my own.
He could have moved. Could have dodged. Could have let the beast's momentum carry it past both of us and dealt with it from a safe distance.
Instead he threw himself between us. Chose to take the hit if it came to that. Chose me.
He finally shifts, pulling back just enough to look down at me. His eyes search my face with desperate urgency, and his hand moves from the back of my head to cup my cheek. "Are you hurt?"
His voice is rough, strained, like the words are being dragged out of him. The hand on my face is shaking slightly.
"I'm—" My own voice breaks. "I'm fine. You covered me. You?—"
I can't finish. Can't articulate what just happened, what it means, what's crashing through my chest as I stare up at him and realize he was willing to die for me. Not because I'm useful with the beasts. Not because I'm convenient or available or whatever justification he's been using to keep distance between us.
Because he cares.
Because beneath all that control and withdrawal and careful distance, he cares enough to sacrifice himself.
"You're okay?" He asks again, like he needs confirmation, like he can't quite believe I'm unharmed. His thumb brushesacross my cheekbone with a gentleness that makes my throat tighten. "Lenna, answer me."
"Yes. I'm okay. Because of you."
Something in his expression cracks at that—relief so profound it looks like pain. He closes his eyes briefly, his entire body sagging with it, forehead dropping to rest against mine. His breath is warm against my lips, unsteady and harsh.
"I thought—" He doesn't finish, just shakes his head slightly, the motion dragging his skin against mine. "You should have left when I told you to."
"You would have let it kill you."
"Better than watching it—" His jaw clenches hard enough I can see the muscle jump. "I couldn't let it touch you."
The words sink into me, settling somewhere deep and essential. This man who claims there's nothing between us, who keeps pushing me away, who told me to leave less than five minutes ago—he would die before letting anything hurt me.
And then everything fractures.
It's not gradual. Not pieces assembling slowly or dreams bleeding into waking. It's a flood, a dam breaking inside my skull, memory rushing back with force that makes me gasp.
An auction hall, smaller than the one we attended days ago. Less refined. I'm standing near a beast enclosure, checking its bindings because the handler clearly hasn't done it properly and someone's going to get hurt. I hear a voice behind me—smooth, commanding, carrying just enough amusement to soften the authority in it.
"That's not your responsibility."
I turn and see him for the first time. Tall, powerful, those ember-gold eyes locked on me with interest that makes my pulse kick. Not looking at me like I'm a laborer or a human or something beneath him. Looking at me like I'm fascinating.
