Page 28 of Echoes of Fire

Rath’s claws flexed again—a small motion, but one I recognized now as a sign of his restraint cracking. “I will not lose this,” he said finally, his voice rough, his gaze steady as it pinned me in place. “Do you understand?”

I swallowed hard, his words—and the meaning behind them—settling heavy in my chest. “Rath,” I started, the syllables too small for the enormity of what surrounded us. “I?—”

But Rath shook his head, cutting me off with a look rather than words. “Stop running,” he commanded, the simplicity of it unraveling me in ways I hadn’t thought possible.

My heart twisted painfully at the honesty etched across his face.

How long had I been doing just that—running? From losing my future, from the shattered remains of what I’d left behind, from the truth of what existed between us now? The enormity of it settled around me, and I didn’t know how to answer; didn’t know how to step into the space he’d so carefully made for me. But I wanted to try.

Rath’s hand found its way to my waist again, not gripping but resting there in a way that tethered me to him, grounding me when my thoughts threatened to spiral. It was steady, solid,and patient. “May I?” he murmured, voice low and edged with hesitation as his eyes flickered briefly downward, lingering on my lips before meeting my gaze once more.

“I want to kiss you now. When no one else is looking.”

I nodded, a small motion that sent everything else tumbling out of the way.

When his lips found mine again, it wasn’t with the same urgency as before. His warmth spilled into me as his claws skimmed along my side, careful and reverent. I let him in, let the storm of everything that had bound me up dissipate in the face of quiet, unrelenting truth.

Whatever this was, I wasn’t running anymore.

TEN

ORLA

I sat cross-legged on the edge of Rath’s bed, my fingers tracing the intricate weave of heat-resistant silk beneath me, when the door slid open with a quiet scrape. Things had changed since the cave, since the kiss. Kisses.

I was starting to feel more comfortable in Rath’s rooms. Our rooms. I didn’t shy away when he looked at me like he wanted to devour me. And I cherished the few stolen kisses we’d shared since then. It wasn’t some seismic shift in our relationship.

But things were different. Maybe even better.

Rath clutched a small cloth pouch in one clawed hand. The scent hit me first—sweet, floral,rich—cutting through the room’s usual musk of charred stone and spice. My stomach betrayed me with a low growl.

Rath’s nostrils flared, a flicker of satisfaction tightening his jaw as he stepped inside. “You’re hungry,” he said, not a question.

“I’m fine,” I lied. Old habits.

He grunted, unimpressed, and crossed the room in three strides. The pouch landed on the bed between us with a softthud, its contents shifting like treasure. Up close, the scent was dizzying—caramelized sugar, something nutty, a hint of flowers.

“What is it?” I asked, eyeing the pouch like it might hiss.

His tail flicked impatiently against the floor. “Open it.”

I tugged the drawstring loose, and the aroma bloomed fully—honey, hot oil, crisp dough. Nestled inside were six golden brown fritters, their surfaces crackled and glazed, still faintly steaming. My mouth watered.

“You … got these? For me?” I blinked up at him, surprised.

He shifted, the scales along his neck rippling faintly. “You favor sweets.” A statement, blunt as a blade. “The vendor claimed these were … sufficient.”

Sufficient.The word felt too small for the effort. I plucked a fritter from the pouch, the pastry’s heat seeping into my fingertips. The first bite was a revelation—crisp shell giving way to airy dough, the honey inside hot and floral, tinged with a smoky aftertaste that could only be Volcaryth. A low, involuntary moan slipped out.

Rath went very still.

I froze, the sound hanging between us like a spark. His pupils narrowed to slits. “You … approve?”

“It’s delicious,” I admitted, licking honey from my thumb. His gaze tracked the movement, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

Without warning, he sank onto the slab beside me. His thigh pressed flush against mine, scales warm through the thin fabric of my pants. My breath hitched.

“Here.” He plucked the fritter from my hand, claws sheathed as he broke off a piece. His other hand cupped my chin, tilting my face toward him. “Eat.”

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