Page 49 of Scorched By Fate

That earned me a weak glare, but she let it drop. Instead, her eyes flicked briefly toward Reika, who lay asleep—or unconscious—on the uneven ground not far from us. The soft rise and fall of her chest barely betrayed she was still with us.

“I know the healers need the vyrathis, but we can’t abandon Reika. Not like this. What do you think they did to her?”

“I don’t know.” My attention flicked to the fragile human shape crumpled against the stone. “Ignarath aren’t kind to outsiders.”

The weight behind her silence was heavy. I didn’t look at her; I didn’t need to. Her emotions were loud, even when she buried them behind reason. “And Scalvaris is so friendly?” The bitter humor in her voice was muted but still sharp enough to hit.

I laughed. “Compared to the Ignarath? Yes.”

She blinked, as if genuinely startled by that response, and for a fleeting moment, her eyes shifted toward the landscape beyond the narrow ridge.

Her voice lowered. “Do you think she was on our ship? Is it possible there are more humans on Volcaryth? That they survived?”

She would know better than me. There were ancient stories of people from far away planets woven through our history, but I had never given them much thought until Selene and her fellow humans had crashed into the burning sands outside the city.

“You’ll have to ask her.”

Selene didn’t respond. I watched her in stillness, torn between wanting to do something—anything—to ease the weight she carried and the impossibility of action. Despite the razor edge of the situation, she still glowed. Stubborn as ever.

Mine, whether she knew it or not.

We were close now, both of us leaning against the walls that formed our makeshift camp. Her shoulder brushed mine—barely, but enough for my mind to fixate on it. Exhaustion should have dulled my senses, but no. The awareness of her warmth so near, the scent that clung to her as though even Volcaryth’s heat couldn’t burn it away.

I looked at her again, unable to help myself. Her profile was drawn in dimming light and shadow, and none of it was diminished by the grime and exhaustion streaked across her features. No, this was Selene at her rawest: worn but unbreaking.

And gods help me, I wanted her. Every stubborn, infuriating, breathtaking part of her.

I reached up and brushed a strand of her dark hair back, freeing it from where it clung to her temple. My knuckles grazed her skin—warm, impossibly soft against the sharp edges of this volcanic hellscape.

Her breathing hitched, just a bit, as her gaze darted to mine. She didn’t pull away.

“Zhyvarin.” Her mating name settled rough and reverent on my tongue.

Slowly, carefully, I tilted her face toward mine, my clawed thumb brushing her jawline with cautious precision. Her skin was fire beneath my touch—fragile and fierce all at once.

I leaned down, the world narrowing to the maddening slice of space between us. When my lips brushed hers, it wasn’t with urgency. No battle raged in that moment, no ferocity vying for control. The kiss was slow, soft but consuming, a quiet clash of heat and restraint. Her lips trembled against mine before she leaned in, her entire frame pressing closer with painstaking grace.

I could have drowned in that.

Her hands found their way to my chest, resting lightly against the scales just above my heart. I felt her hesitation—not because she didn’t want this, but because she did. Just as much as I did, perhaps more. The truth lingered between us, fragile and undeniable: there was no turning back from this.

And gods, for a moment, I didn’t want to.

But then she pulled away, her forehead resting lightly against mine as her breaths came shallow and quick. The space between us lingered, crackling with unspoken intensity neither of us dared to tip farther toward.

“We can’t.” Her whisper broke the hush, voice heavy but steady.

My claws curled into my palms to keep my composure. “I know.” The admission tasted like ash. “You should rest. I’ll take first watch.”

It was going to be a long night.

NINETEEN

SELENE

Reika trudged beside me. Her trembling had eased enough to keep her upright, though exhaustion clung to her shoulders like dead weight. Every step she took was driven by sheer will.

The strap of my pack cut into my shoulder, the clinking of the vyrathis container a reminder of what this delay could cost.

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