Page 60 of Scorched By Fate

Those words—those two damn words—crushed me.

Shock surged up, tangling with everything else I’d shoved down—fear, exhaustion, anger, grief. How could he say that? How could he just … drop this on menow, here, surrounded by dying healers? How could he saymineas though it wasn’t going to rip me open?

“I—”

There was too much. Too much to feel, too much to think, and no space for anything in the middle of this crisis. My chesttightened, and I tore my gaze from his, desperate to focus on anything else.

This didn’t make sense.

But my body knew otherwise. Even as fear and doubt trembled through my limbs, I felt a steady beating in my chest. Something undeniable. And I hated it. I hated how it pulled.

“I can’t do this,” I bit out. My hands clenched, nails digging crescents into my palms. “Not now. I can’t?—”

Vyne stepped closer, his movements careful, as if I was something fragile. “You’re overwhelmed,” he said low, a hint of a growl threading his voice. “But I’m not wrong. I know you feel it.”

I shook my head, hard. I needed to stop this, stop him. "Don’t call me that—your mate. I can’t?—”

“Youare.” His tone unraveled me further. “You’ve been mine from the moment I first saw you. This,” he gestured between us, “is too strong to ignore. I’ve tried.”

Every muscle tensed. Fight or flight screamed in tandem, and yet, I couldn’t do either.

Because he wasn’t backing down. He wasn’t walking away. And that terrified me more than anything.

But there was no room for this. Not now. Not here. Not when my responsibilities threatened to crush me.

Someone cleared their throat. Kaiya was standing a few paces behind us. Her face was pale, her shoulders tight. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said tightly, her eyes briefly flicking between me and Vyne. “Selene, I need your help. Rachel needs a second set of hands preparing the vyrathis extract so we can start administering it ASAP.”

She didn’t have to say more.

“Of course,” I replied, stepping toward her. My priorities were crystal clear. I shot Vyne a glance over my shoulder. “Go,” I told him. “I … We'll …”

I had no idea what I was supposed to say.

Vyne tensed, but he didn’t argue. And with one last lingering look that burned, he turned and left.

Kaiya seemed to shrink in on herself. “Thank god you’re here,” she muttered, already rushing back toward the central table.

I threw myself into the work. It was that or think of Vyne. And if I did that, I might actually go crazy.

TWENTY-THREE

VYNE

Night had settled over the makeshift infirmary, but no rest came with it—only a thick, stifling heaviness that pressed in, as though the stone around us devoured every flicker of hope. That same oppressive feeling slithered beneath my scales and knotted in my chest.

I carefully removed a half-formed metal clamp from the forge, its heated grip making my claws tingle. This was the fifth clamp I’d made in the last hour. They were simple and a little crude, but maybe they’d save lives.

Usually I’d craft weapons there—blades to fight things with teeth and claws. Now, I was shaping medical tools that Selene and the healers needed to survive.

Once the clamp had cooled in a bucket of water, I slung it with a few others in the crook of my arm and set off down the corridor. Darkness pressed close in these tunnels, broken only by the sullen glow of heat crystals embedded in the rock. My steps fell into a determined rhythm, matching the tension in my thoughts.

I'd already cursed myself a hundred times for how I'd handled our arrival back to Scalvaris. This wasn't much, but Iwould give her what help I could, show her that I knew just how important she was. To the city.

And to me.

When I entered the infirmary, it was the usual sight of cramped beds and tired faces, human and Drakarn alike. The air felt thicker than the forge’s blaze—clogged with infection, antiseptics, exhaustion. A few Drakarn, sporting half-mended scales, dozed or stared off in silence. Human healers bustled quietly, measuring powders, boiling water, checking pulses.

Selene stood across the room, tending to a bronze-scaled Drakarn who looked dangerously fragile. She leaned in, gently pressing a cloth to a reopened wound at his neck. There was a careful tenderness in her movements, but I saw how stiffly she held herself.

---