Page 71 of Sy

Ashley tried to swallow, wincing at her dry throat. “Seven?” The word rasped out. “Eight when I move.”

Zeke nodded, adjusting something on one of her IV lines. “This should help. You’ve got some impressive bruising and three cracked ribs but nothing that won’t heal.” He paused, his expression softening as he read the question in her eyes. “Lila’s fine. She’s been in to see you, but you were still asleep.”

The tight knot of worry in Ashley’s chest finally began to loosen. “She’s okay? Really okay?”

“Perfectly fine.” Zeke’s smile widened. “She’s down in the dining hall with Tor and Kal. Actually, she’s become quite the celebrity. Everyone with a legion is calling her ‘Your Highness’ now. Apparently, only a legion with royal blood can operate as a trigger.”

A tired laugh bubbled up in her throat, quickly turning to a grimace as her ribs protested. But the amusement remained, bringing memories flooding back.

“She always wanted to be a princess when she was little.” The words came easier now as whatever Zeke had added to her IV began taking effect, dulling the sharp edges of pain. “Though she was always rescuing the prince—or the dragon. Used to say the dragon was just misunderstood and needed a friend.”

“Well, she’s certainly living up to that now.” Zeke nodded as he adjusted her monitors, his movements swift and practiced. “She’s got half the garrison wrapped around her finger, and we all owe her our survival. I’d say that makes her a pretty impressive princess.”

Their voices must have carried because Sy jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, found her face immediately. In the space of a heartbeat, he was out of the chair and on his knees beside her bed.

Zeke murmured something and excused himself, his footsteps fading as Sy’s fingers trembled against her palm. The usual stern set of his jaw had given way to something raw and vulnerable that made her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with her injuries.

“Ashley.” Her name came out rough, almost broken. “I thought—” He swallowed hard, his grip tightening fractionally on her hand. “When I saw the explosion, when you wouldn’t answer?—”

He broke off again, his free hand reaching up to brush her cheek with trembling fingers.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, turning her face into his touch. “I’m right here.”

The gentle reassurance seemed to break something in him. Words spilled out in a rush, tumbling over each other.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I was wrong—about everything. About humans being weak, and I’m so sorry I said that.” His voice cracked. “When I saw that explosion, when I thought I’dlost you… I’ve never been so terrified. And all I could think was that you’d never know how much I?—”

He drew in a shuddering breath.

“I love you. I love your strength, your compassion, your fierce heart. I love how you fight for what matters, how you never give up on people.”

She pressed her finger to his lips, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder. Her heart felt too full, tears pricking at her eyes.

In that moment between throwing herself from the gun emplacement and its destruction, she’d had her own moment of clarity. The thought that had filled her mind hadn’t been fear for herself but grief at never telling him how she felt.

“I love you too,” she said softly, watching his eyes widen. “Have for a while now.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, hope and disbelief warring across his features. Then he leaned forward, one hand sliding into her hair with infinite gentleness as he pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was soft, careful of her injuries, but it sent warmth spreading through her entire body.

When they finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered again. “I couldn’t… I can’t?—”

“You didn’t lose me,” she assured him, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

She sighed softly as the pain meds kicked in, turning everything a little fuzzy around the edges and making it easier to focus on the warmth of his touch rather than the ache in her ribs.

“There’s something else.”

He moved and pulled back his sleeve, revealing his wrist. Her eyes widened at the sight of dark, intricate patterns wrapping around his skin. They looked almost like tattoos, though sheknew the Izaean didn’t have them. The marks were beautiful and strange—ivy-like patterns that seemed to flow into each other.

“What is that?” she whispered, reaching out.

“Mate marks,” he said softly, turning his wrist so she could see the full pattern. When her fingers brushed against them, the marks felt warm beneath her touch, almost alive.

“They appeared when I…” His voice roughened. “When I realized I couldn’t lose you. Warriors of my people only receive them when they’ve found their true bond mate.”

---