Page 59 of Scorched By Fate

Rachel and Kaiya were in the center, heads bent over one of the makeshift tables overflowing with vials and crushed plant matter. Smudged lines of exhaustion painted Rachel's features, dark shadows pooling beneath her eyes.

Kaiya’s hands flew between a mortar and pestle, crushing something with frantic energy, her curls plastered damp and flat against her temples. They were both close to collapsing—two women, stretched far beyond their limits, but still fighting.

A choked cough from a nearby bed drew my focus. One of the healers—a broad-shouldered Drakarn male—shook violently, his once-brilliant red scales dull and marred with dark, web-like veins. His breathing was shallow, punctuated by strained, wet gasps.

I looked to the other beds. The sight sent a sharp twist deep into my chest. The healers were crumbling. The same spread of bruises marred every weak body. Wings hung limp. Mysha’s bed was at the far end, her breathing low and weak, but, thank god, steady. She still had a chance.

“Selene!” Rachel’s voice cut through the haze. Her relief was visible. “Tell me you have it.”

I swung the pack off my back, setting it on the table with a thud that made Kaiya jump, though her hands kept working. “Yes. Here.”

Rachel’s hands were on it instantly, pulling the container free with care, her fingers quick. For all her exhaustion, she moved with practiced precision.

“How much did you find?” Rachel asked. Her words were coated in cautious hope.

“I hope it's enough.”

Rachel nodded in sharp agreement, already moving to prepare the medicine. Another cough dragged my attention to the far side of the cavern, where a younger healer thrashed weakly.

My gut clenched.

Behind me, Vyne cleared his throat. Of course, always watching, always steady, always too near and too far. His presence loomed, an anchor I couldn't let drag me down. Not now.

“You need rest,Zhyvarin,” Vyne said quietly. “Let’s go to our quarters.”

Our quarters?

What?

His words landed, and my brain stuttered. I snapped my gaze to him. “Our quarters?” My voice came out ragged. “What are you talking about?”

We'd slept together twice. Since when did that mean living together? Or was I jumping to conclusions? A week on the surface of Volcaryth had nearly knocked me out, and relief now was mixed with exhaustion. Whatever Vyne was saying, I was probably misunderstanding. We were just … hell, I didn’t know.

You know it's more than that.

I shoved the thought away.

His wings shifted. He spoke low but steady, each syllable careful. “You need rest. You’ve done enough. More than enough. Come home with me.”

A bitter laugh clawed up my throat. “Enough? You honestly think this is enough?” My hands jerked up, motioning toward the rows of beds. Drakarn lay on them, motionless or writhing,their breaths rasping. “In case you haven’t noticed, they’re still dying, Vyne. Until that stops, nothing is enough.”

The truth scraped my throat, but I didn’t care.

Tension rippled through him, though his voice remained calm. Too calm. “I’m not telling you to stop,” he replied slowly. Measured. “But even you know you can’t pour from an empty vessel. You need rest. You need time to?—”

“To what?” Anger flared, hot and sharp. “Rest? Recuperate? Learn to live with failure while I sit back and watch them die?” The words tumbled out, and I couldn't pull them back.

His gaze dropped, briefly, to my hands. The tremble betrayed me. I curled my fingers into fists.

“You’re my mate,” he said, softer now, but the word shook me to my core. “I won’t let you burn yourself out.”

Mate. Mate. Mate.It seemed to echo off the walls around us.

“Stop.” The word came fast, sharp, exploding from somewhere deep in me. My voice cracked. I didn’t mean it to come out that way—cold and rough—but it was the only thing I had. A shield. “Just stop. Please.”

The tension between us shifted. He stilled, expression hardening, his wings pulling close to his body. His eyes—so sharp, so unrelenting—found mine again. He didn’t falter.

“You’re mine." It was a declaration.

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