Page 15 of Rook
He summoned the flame, letting a single ember coil to life above his palm. Then, for her, he called up more. The fire burned hotter, brighter, swirling upward in a ribbon of living gold. He shed all his restraint, guiding the blaze into shapes she would know. A twisting helix. A burst of heat. The glow reflected in her eyes, turning them a wild, impossible green.
His instructors would have chastised him for wasting power on spectacle. Fire was a weapon, not a toy. But he wanted to show off for her. He needed to see that light in her tired face. The pull toward her, impossible and magnetic, overruled everything.
When his energy began to dip, he gently closed his fist, and the fire dissolved into a shimmer of heat between them.
Sasha just stood there, eyes wide, a real smile blooming on her face. “That was amazing. Thank you.”
She hesitated, her gaze searching his. Then, before he could move, she closed the small distance between them.
Her hand rose to cup his cheek, her touch warm and sure. Her thumb feathered just beneath his eye, and a jolt went through him, pure and clean. She leaned in and brushed her lips softly against his.
It was a fleeting, gentle kiss that held no questions, only a farewell. It was light as a breath, and it hollowed him out more completely than the raw, messy clash in the cabin. This was tender. Final. A goodbye pressed into his skin.
She stepped back, her hand dropping. Her eyes were shining with a storm of feeling. Longing, regret, and something that looked a lot like hope she was trying to stomp flat.
“Goodbye, Rook.”
She turned, squared her shoulders, and walked away. Her boots crunched over gravel as she headed toward the brightening edge of the woods. With every step she took, the strange ache inside him grew, as if something vital, something that belonged to him, was being torn away.
9
Rook wasn’t just going to leave Sasha alone.
He didn't tell her he followed, but he did. The old hunter’s urge, part duty and part something hungrier, drove him. His steps made no sound. He stayed just far enough back, concealed behind a tangle of young fir, then a veil of ferns.
She crossed from dirt to the ragged bite of gravel, then to the rutted pavement of the small parking lot. A large, battered brown van was one of two vehicles parked there. The other probably belonged to the human the slavers had killed. He watched her lift her chin, scanning the empty lot with a wariness he recognized. She checked every shadow before moving, her eyes narrowed against the morning sun.
This would be the perfect place for an ambush.
The jagged edge of the forest pressed against the crumbled curb. Too many places for a man to hide. He could see it all: the narrow lane in, the choke points, the way a pair of dragons with their fire primed could sweep the lot before she reached the van. He cursed himself for ever letting her walk alone.
He summoned his fire and waited.
Everything in him went sharp, his senses stretching wide. The distant wail of a bird overhead spiked the hair along his arms. He scanned the reflection in the van’s windows. Was that movement inside? A slaver’s eye, waiting? The bitter taste of anticipation curled on his tongue.
Tension threaded through his limbs. He watched for the flicker of a shadow, for a glint of metal or flame. The air felt too bright, as if the world was holding its breath for violence.
Sasha snapped the van door open. She ducked in fast, tossed her backpack onto the passenger seat, and slammed herself behind the wheel. For half a second, Rook braced for glass to shatter, for fire to slice through metal. He closed one fist, flame tingling at his fingertips, ready to burn anyone who showed themselves.
The engine coughed and sputtered, hacking like an old man, then caught with a shudder. Its rattle filled the lot. Tires crunched over gravel as she reversed.
Rook waited for an attack. His pulse thundered. He scanned for any ripple in the brush, any excuse to scorch the earth bare. His gaze darted between the woods, the trash bin, and the cracked public toilet. All perfect cover.
But nothing materialized. No movement, no sudden flare of fire. Only the wind hissing in the needles and the rumbling complaint of the van as Sasha straightened it out and drove away.
He remained a shadow, blending into the tree line long after she’d turned south and disappeared from sight. Only when the last faint cough of the engine faded did the tension in his shoulders ease.
The dragon inside him snarled, pressing at the cage of his flesh. He wanted to break free. He wanted to shift, to scream out a challenge, his wings tearing through the new day’s light. He wanted to hunt above the treetops, to see for miles and be certain her path was safe and clear.
The urge was so strong his fingers curled, digging half-moons into his palms.
He shouldn’t have let her go. The wild, primitive knowledge burned through him. Only he could keep her safe. She was his to protect. His responsibility. She was … his. The word was sharp, possessive, and undeniable.
He was going mad.
A dry wind caught his face, prickling along his jaw. The emptiness the van left behind was louder than its engine. He was a lord of Vemion and felt like an abandoned cub pining for the warmth of a den.
He vaguely recalled something Shade, the Royal Matchmaker, had said to him. He’d dismissed her words at the time, but they ran through his mind with a sharp clarity now.
