Page 20 of Scorched By Fate

Selene stepped back to compensate, muttering, “Bit tight in here, huh?”

Her voice was low in the winding echoes of the tunnel. But the way it cut through the silence between us was sharp enough to draw my attention.

“Only for those who aren’t paying attention.” My voice was as dry as I could make it. A reflex. A defense.

She gave me a narrow look, though the faintest twist of amusement tugged her lips upward. “Of course. Because your wings don’t seem to be taking up half the path.”

“They’re efficient. Unlike your stride.”

She let out a sharp breath just this side of laughter. Her pace didn’t falter, and when her shoulder brushed mine again, this time she didn’t pull back so quickly. I didn't think it was on purpose, but the contact lingered.

My claws flexed against the rock for balance, the scrape unnervingly loud in the too-close air. Her scent was even stronger now, distinct and maddening. My tongue tingled again, that same cursed sensitivity pulling my focus where it didn’t belong.

We crossed a sudden dip in the floor—a pocket of uneven stone that split the path where magma had once scorched through centuries prior. It forced her step to falter, her footing catching awkwardly, though she masked it quickly and pressed forward. I caught her movement before my mind registered what I was doing, my wing shifting instinctively to steady her balance.

Her hand shot out, reflexive. It wasn’t enough to grab me—she didn’t—and instead her fingers caught the edge of the wall beside her.

“Careful,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

Her head tilted, sharp and questioning, though her pace didn’t falter again. “I've got it."

Her dark eyes cut toward me as much as the tunnel allowed, the shadows obscuring the finer details of her expression but not enough to dim the glint of teasing steel in her gaze.

“Is there a reason we're not flying? Or are those wings of yours just for show?"

I bristled, wings flaring, sharp taloned tips scraping against the narrow cave wall. "The path to the Harrovan Mountains would take us too close to a field of noxious gas given off by one of the volcanoes. If we leave by the entrance at the end of this path, we'll avoid it. And keep breathing."

"Breathing is the preferable option."

The tunnel opened after a sharp bend, giving us a bit more room to breathe. Selene exhaled low, like she’d been carrying the weight deep inside her and could finally draw a full breath.

I glanced over at her. A scar ran along her temple, thin but sharp enough to suggest violence, caught the light as she turned and something dangerously close toneedclenched in my chest.

“That scar. Is it from fighting for them?” I asked quietly, the words slipping before I could rationalize the cost of asking.

Selene paused, her brow tightening in confusion. “Them?”

“The humans. Whatever you call them. Your warriors.”

She didn’t speak immediately. Her fingers brushed against her temple, tracing the old wound. Finally, she rolled one shoulder in a small shrug, though the motion looked heavier than it should have. “No, my scar didn't come from battle. A piece of glass hit me when I was fourteen. From a broken bottle. Wrong place, wrong time sort of thing. I joined the army for the usual reason: college."

My jaw tensed, muscles pulling tight in my throat though I wasn’t sure why. “I don't understand." What wascollege?She spoke Drakarn now, thanks to some little piece of Earth technology, but the word didn't translate.

"School," she said, and this time I knew the word. "I was supposed to serve out my contract and then they'd pay for my education. Then my superiors offered another option. I could leave early if I volunteered to go on the generation ship. They needed more medical professionals. I'm not a doctor or anything, but I was promised more education. More room foradvancement. And it wasn't like there was a life I was missing out on at home. I'm not like Kira; I'm not missing a sister or anything like that. I thought this would be the opportunity of a lifetime."

"And instead you ended up here."

"This was definitely not what I was promised." She cast a sidelong glance my way. "But it's not all bad."

Her scent burned sharper against the compact air, and I swore the space had grown smaller again, closer. Too close.

When I spoke, my voice came quieter, rougher at the edges. “Good.”

“What about you?” she tossed the words out casually, probing but not prying. “How did you become a forge master?”

“I forged my first blade when I was eight,” I said. “It wasn’t sharp, but I liked the shape. My father liked the ambition. That was enough.”

Her expression flickered—soft, if only slightly. “Eight. Damn.”

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