Page 35 of Scorched By Fate

“You should rest.”

His voice broke through my thoughts more firmly this time, less suggestion and more instruction. When I glanced back toward him, he’d finally shifted out of that perfect crouch, standing in a smooth motion that sent his wings flexing. His stance was too steady, his gaze too focused, and I hated that the sharp edge of it made my pulse falter.

“What does it look like I'm doing?” I snapped.

His narrowed gaze didn’t budge. The huff that followed was subtle, barely audible, but it cut all the same. Without saying anything, Vyne stepped closer—his tall frame shadowing me.

“Selene.” The sound of my name wasn’t harsh. He said it with just enough force to dig under every fragile excuse I wanted to give. “You’ve done enough.”

I swallowed hard, the air clinging between us too heavy. This close, Vyne wasn’t just sharp edges and brutal efficiency anymore—there was something else to him. Something softer, buried beneath the skin of his alien presence like a broken ember glow, threatening to burn brighter the longer I looked.

The moment pressed down like everything else in this place—the heat, the sulfur, the rocks underfoot. But this—this was heavier in a way you couldn’t run from. I felt the sharp edges of it cutting through every breath, twisting tightly as Vyne’s gaze stayed locked on me.

“You’ve done too much,” he repeated. His voice dipped lower this time, rough but steady, like he could force the air itself to yield. “Rest. Now.”

Something flared in me—not defiance, exactly. Not quite. Just the reflexive need to push back against whatever told me I couldn’t keep going.

Pride was a hell of a thing. I wasn’t about to let it go.

“I told you, I’m fine.” The words came out sharp, but not sharp enough to cut through the tension clinging stubbornly between us. "We rest here for a few hours and then head out."

Vyne didn’t step back. Of course he didn’t. I hated how steady he was; hated the way that same steadiness made something underneath my walls crack.

He tilted his head, his expression shadowed but calm, like he was holding back more than I could ever read. The sharp line of his jaw twitched, dragging every inch of my focus straight to him.

“You’re lying,” he said simply. Blunt. No malice. Just a cutting sort of truth that landed harder because of how quietly he wielded it.

Something snapped. Exhaustion, maybe, or frustration from how tightly he'd held me under that unreadable gaze. Either way, I exhaled sharply, letting the angry, restless part of me rise to the surface.

“Yeah? Well, we can’t all be untouchable super-warriors.” My voice cracked just slightly at the edges, but I twisted the words into a dry sneer, hoping they’d be sharp enough to hold their own weight. “Let a girl have some damned pride.”

“I’m not untouchable,” he said, his voice quieter this time. But something in the way he said it—sharp-edged in a way it didn’t need to be—made the hair along the back of my neck lift.

His claws shifted at his sides, the restraint in the motion all the more noticeable because it was too controlled. Like something far deeper simmered just beneath his composed surface. Something real.

He took another step forward, closing the already narrow space between us, and my first instinct was to stiffen. Not out of fear, but because the weight of his presence—sharp and focused, frayed but unyielding—felt like it might crush me if I let it.

“You’re not weak,” he said firmly, the words catching me off guard enough to throw me silent. His green eyes pinned me in place, their intensity like a wrecking ball through every wall I’d carefully built. “But even the strongest need their rest. We wait out the night. Push now and we might break.”

My throat worked against the dryness pressing in, the heat running rough fingers against every inhale. His words clung tighter than the sulfur to the back of my mouth, and for half a second, I didn’t have the energy to fight them off.

“That some lesson they teach you in Drakarn warrior school?” My tone slipped somewhere between sarcasm andbitterness. But the edge of my voice cracked, betraying me when I least wanted it to.

“No,” he said without hesitation. His gaze stayed soft—not in its strength, but in the way it didn’t waver, didn’t narrow the way it might if his patience was thin. “It’s something I learned because I didn’t. Not soon enough.”

That admission hit differently—quieter, smaller, but sharp all the same. He didn’t elaborate, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask. The space between us hung too heavy for words to do anything but pull everything tighter.

I shifted on my feet, trying not to let the air clawing its way between my ribs sound too uneven.

But Vyne didn’t let me drag myself away too far. He moved again—not a full step this time, just enough that the edge of his hand brushed against my arm.

Not forceful. Not demanding. Justthere. Subtle.

And stupidly, infuriatingly steady.

I didn’t pull away. I wanted to. Wanted to shove the strange weight of his presence out of my space until I could think clearly again. But the pull it created kept me frozen where I stood.

That same steadiness in him left me undone.

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