Page 26 of Echoes of Fire

“You were …” I faltered, shoving the words around in my head before one finally fell out into the silence. “Incredible.”

I felt the weight of the admission as soon as it left me—a truth I couldn’t take back even if I wanted to. My face burned under his scrutiny, the heat of my words hanging awkwardly betweenus. But I held his gaze, hoping somehow my honesty would cut through whatever wall he was throwing up right now.

Rath watched me like he was studying every fragment of my face, looking for cracks in my reasoning. Then, slowly, his expression softened—not a lot, but enough that the hard lines of his features eased, and the tension in his shoulders bled away just a fraction. His hand moved—just slightly—as though he wasn’t sure whether to reach for me or retreat, claws flexing faintly before settling by his side.

“You are unharmed?” he asked at last, his voice rasping like sandpaper scraping over stone.

The question caught me off guard. “I—you’re the one who was fighting! Not me.”

His jaw twitched as he exhaled slowly through his nose, a dark and indecipherable flicker passing behind his eyes. But then he shifted slightly closer—a small movement, enough that I could feel the faint warmth of his skin, even through the layers that separated us.

“It was for you,” he said simply. “They needed to see.”

Something inside me wavered. The world felt too small all of a sudden. The sharp edge in Rath’s voice didn’t match the softness of his gaze as he studied me. His quiet admission—words that rang with pure honesty, untempered and raw—coiled in my chest, making breathing inexplicably difficult.

“I—” Words failed me as my thoughts got all tied up. My lips parted in an attempt to say something—anything—but before coherent language could rally itself, some shared thread between us tightened and snapped clean through.

I kissed him.

NINE

ORLA

It was instinctual—messy and unplanned, like something breaking through a dam you’d ignored was cracking all along. My hands had moved without permission to brace against his chest, my fingertips instinctively brushing the heat rolling beneath his tunic. His skin, warm like heated stone, burned against me in a way that made my stomach twist.

I barely registered the way his breath stopped short, the faint hitch of it ghosting across my cheek. And still, I couldn’t stop.

Everything ground to a halt. Rath didn’t move, caught mid-instinct and undecided about which way to fall. His hands hovered in that uncertain space between grasping and retreating, claws curling tight against his palms. For a second, I wasn’t sure if I’d gone too far, crossed a line I didn’t fully understand, until?—

Until he moved.

Slowly, deliberately, Rath leaned into the moment with a care that bordered adoration. If the kiss was meant to break him open, it did so in increments—his lips firm but measured, like he was unlearning and relearning the world in the span of seconds. He tilted his head faintly, matching me, and just when I thoughtthe storm between us was only a distant rumble, his hand found my waist.

The sharp heat of his claws, even through the protective layers of fabric, sent a shiver racing across my body. His grip was firm but careful, aware that the strength he carried so effortlessly could crush if miscalculated. The other hand came up too, fingers grazing my jaw with a touch so tender it left a trail of fire.

For all his capacity for destruction on the field, Rath kissed like he was holding something fragile. It undid me completely.

An involuntary sound escaped me—a quiet tremble fought and failed to be smothered. Rath stilled for only a heartbeat before a low hum rumbled deep in his chest, that faint growl a visceral reaction that spoke more than words ever could. The weight of it pressed against me, made every small tether anchoring me to reality snap.

There was no disguising the hunger threaded into his kiss—the way his lips moved more firmly now, with just enough edged desperation to make my heart stutter and spiral all at once. His grip tightened against my waist as his other thumb grazed just along the edge of my face. The warmth radiating from his skin enveloped me completely.

Time didn’t exist between us. There was no measured counting of breaths, no acknowledgment of anything beyond the persistent, magnetic pull binding me irreversibly to him.

When Rath finally pulled away just enough to breathe, the space between us felt fragile, the air charged with something that hadn’t yet settled. His forehead brushed lightly against mine, unwilling to pull back completely, and for a fleeting moment, we both stood frozen in that sizzle. His eyes burned with something unreadable, raw and unguarded in a way that tightened and softened my chest all at once.

He exhaled, the hint of warmth in his breath lingering against my lips. “Shyrarva,” he rasped, that word catching somewhere low in his throat, vulnerable and rough-edged.

I couldn’t respond. Couldn’t move. Because the look he gave me wasn’t just intense—it was exposing Rath’s inner soul, daring me to step into the chasm I’d just forced open.

“I—” The syllable was barely audible; a ghost of a word that dissolved the moment I uttered it.

My voice had betrayed me, my thoughts racing too fast to form anything coherent. I tried again, but the tightness in my chest stifled any clarity, leaving me breathless and trembling in a way I couldn’t control. My hands slipped from where they’d been clutching at his tunic, retreating awkwardly to my sides.

Rath didn’t speak. He stood motionless for a moment, caught between moving closer and pulling away entirely. His gaze dropped to my lips again before sweeping back upward, catching and holding mine with the same intensity that had turned my pulse inside out moments ago. When he finally stirred, his hand didn’t fall away. Instead, his thumb lingered at the edge of my cheekbone, brushing the curve of my skin with an unexpected gentleness that made my core clench.

He leaned in slightly—just enough for his lips to ghost across my temple in a gesture so soft it was almost imperceptible. The whisper of contact was there and gone, but it left a weight in its place. His claws flexed once at his side before stilling again.

“You …” His voice, rough and deliberate, dropped low. “Taste sweet.”

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