Page 53 of Aryn

“Like what?” he challenges, hands settling on his hips. His pants are still undone, that flash of skin pulling my eyes like a magnet.

I let my gaze linger for a beat before dragging it back up to his face. “Like I know what you sound like bent over with that pretty spine arched.”

Aryn’s pupils flare. He tilts his head, eyes locked on mine as he slowly buttons his pants. “Awfully bold of you to assume I’d be the one bent over.”

Heat rushes all the way to the tips of my ears as another pulse of this brutal fucking want tightens low in my gut. “Well, it sure as shit wouldn’t be me.”

He hums low in his throat, the sound annoyingly confident, and steps closer. “Sure about that?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

His lips twitch in the smallest smirk as he rests his fingers on my forearm and squeezes. It’s a soft touch, gentle enough that I should barely feel it through my layers, but it hits me like a live wire.

“Are you finished?” he asks.

“Oh, darlin’, I’m just getting started,” I retort.

Amusement crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he nods toward my discarded pot and cloth. “Bathing. Are you finished?”

I shake my head to clear the fog, brows pinching. “Yes?”

“Good boy,” he murmurs.

My head swims with something fuzzy and dangerously potent. He squeezes my arm, but when he starts to pull away, I catch his wrist and hold him there. His eyes lift to mine, and my lips part, but for the first time in my fucking life, I can’t find a single thing to say.

He makes that low humming sound again. “Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” I demand, though it comes out breathy instead of sharp like it should. I know exactly what he’s implying, and how he’s trying to get under my skin.

But the anger doesn’t come the way I expect.

When he smiles, it’s softer. He gives my arm one last squeeze before letting go. “Finish cleaning up. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.” He walks away, leaving me standing there trying to figure out what the fuck just happened—and why I already want more of it.

Aryn

Cato hasn’t met my eyes since we left the cave this morning. Instead, he’s been throwing me sideways glances and flexing far more than necessary, swinging his machete with extra flair like he needs to remind me what a big, strong, manly man he is.

Maybe I should have left it alone. I could have ignored the way he stared, pretended I didn’t notice how his breathing sped up every time I looked in his direction. Humans have lived so long with their limited senses that they rarely consider there are more ways to communicate than words and the most obvious body language. Cato has no idea I could hear how fast his heart raced when I stepped closer, or how it immediately settled when I touched him.

He thinks I don’t realize we spent the night wrapped up in each other.

The silence between us is a welcome retreat right now, because despite my outward confidence, my thoughts are… tangled. My head is jammed with scribbled and scrawled excuses about why it was fine to seek comfort, but logic is quick to push that sort of thinking aside. This isn’t the time or place to be playing with attraction. We won’t do anyone any favors by getting distracted.

So instead of continuing to egg him on, I let him flex and grunt and scratch at his beard. I allow him to posture like a godsdamned Nu’vak in rut, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Everyone else chatters cheerfully around us, the shorter day of travel and solid sleep giving us all a much-needed boost of energy. The further north we go, the less snow covers the ground, and I welcome the faint warmth of the sun on my cheeks. Animals are becoming more plentiful, and we’ve seen more signs of life. Faint boot-shaped footprints mark the snow in places, well-worn paths have been cleared of overhanging branches, and the dirt is packed tight from frequent use. Smoke curls from distant fires.

Along with the signs of life come quieter signs of death—or at least evidence that this world isn’t as vibrant as it once was. The landscape has been reshaped by shifting weather in ways time alone could never manage. While this stretch always had fewer trees than the ancient forest we left behind, what remains has thinned into scattered groves. Pale-barked trees with silver leaves shimmer even in the slightest breeze, but they’ve lost their former luster. Many look stunted, their branches twisted in unnatural directions as if they grew through pain. Low shrubs with dark, waxy leaves and clusters of white berries line the path. Colors that were once vivid and alive have dulled, like the land itself is slowly losing its fight to survive.

We pass the first abandoned settlement shortly after midday. A cluster of stone-and-timber homes sits off the trail, roofs partially caved in and windows dark. Walls have crumbled in places, and wild grasses have overtaken what were once neat garden plots. A broken water wheel leans beside a dried-up streambed, now nothing more than a nesting spot for flying creatures and insects.

I slow my pace and scan the dilapidated village for any signs that someone might still live there. Reflective eyes meet mine from inside one of the darkened doorways, and a neon-orange sundarok pokes its head into the light, forked tongue flicking over scaled lips.

“What the fuck is that thing?” Cato breathes beside me.

I glance over my shoulder to find him staring at the creature. Anatomically, it’s closest to a lizard, but the size of a large dog with scales that shimmer like oil on water. “A sundarok,” I explain.

“Well, never thought I’d see a real-life dinosaur, but here we are,” Cameron drawls, deliberately positioning himself behind Ronan.