Page 35 of Real Scale Blazer

“Just what?” He stood, all coiled power and intensity. “Just brilliant? Just fierce? Just everything I’ve spent centuries waiting for?”

“Stop.” She held up a hand. “Stop saying things like that. This isn’t some fairy tale romance. I’m not your magical solution to all your problems.”

“No,” he agreed, surprising her. “You’re not magical at all. You’re real, and stubborn, and completely infuriating. And that’s exactly why I want you.”

“Kai...”

“I’m not asking for forever.” He took a step closer, and she had to force herself not to back away. “Not yet. I’m just asking for a chance. Let me show you that not everyone will try to clip your wings.”

The sincerity in his voice made her chest ache. “I can’t—” She swallowed hard. “I can’t promise you anything.”

“I’m not asking for promises.” Another step. “Just honesty. Tell me you didn’t feel something in that kiss. Tell me you don’t want to see where this could go.”

She couldn’t. Because that kiss had rocked her world off its axis, and the thought of never experiencing it again made her physically ache. But admitting that meant admitting vulnerability, and vulnerability led to heartbreak.

As night deepened, the temperature plummeted. Kai activated their shelter—a piece of Nova Auroran technology that still amazed Quinn. The small disc expanded into a dome of shimmering energy, protecting them from the bitter mountain winds while remaining transparent enough to see the stars wheeling overhead.

“The barrier adapts to external conditions,” Kai explained as he adjusted the settings on the control panel. “Temperature regulation, atmospheric pressure, even gravity stabilization for steep terrain.”

“The applications for extreme environment research would be incredible.” Quinn ran her hand along the dome’s surface, feeling it hum with energy. “This would have saved my butt multiple times in Iceland.”

“You’ve had many close calls?” His tone aimed for casual, but she caught the tension underneath.

“Occupational hazard.” She settled onto her sleeping pad—another technological marvel that adjusted to body temperature and pressure points. “My father used to say I got my reckless streak from him. We’d spend weeks camping on active volcanoes, studying lava flows up close.”

“Usedto say?” Kai’s voice gentled.

Quinn’s throat tightened. “He died three years ago. Brain aneurysm. One minute he was explaining crystal formations to a group of students, the next...” She swallowed hard. “At least he went doing what he loved.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with a shared understanding of loss. Then Kai moved, settling beside her on the pad.

“My father died defending our borders,” he said quietly. “A rival clan attacked during diplomatic negotiations. He pushed me out of the way of a killing blow.” His hand drifted to his side where she knew a prominent scar lay. “I became king that day, covered in his blood, barely prepared for the weight of the crown.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Without thinking, Quinn reached for his hand. He threaded their fingers together, his warmth seeping into her skin.

“Is that why you’re so overprotective?” she asked. “Because you couldn’t save him?”

“Partly.” He traced patterns on her palm with his thumb. “Though you inspire an entirely different kind of protective instinct.”

“Because I’m human?”

“Because you’re you.” He looked down at her, eyes flickering with golden light. “Brilliant, fearless, completely immune to common sense when it comes to your own safety.”

“Hey!” But she laughed, the heavy moment lightening. “I’ll have you know my common sense is perfectly intact. I just choose to ignore it sometimes.”

“Often.”

“Occasionally.”

“Daily.”

She elbowed him, but he caught her arm, using the momentum to pull her closer. They ended up face to face, her hands braced against his chest, his arm curved around her waist.

“Hi,” she breathed, suddenly very aware of how intimate this position was.

“Hi.” His free hand came up to cup her cheek. “Still wanting to ignore your common sense?”

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