Greer’s stolen vehicle blurs ahead, its taillights bobbing like devil-eyes across the scrub. I lean the ATV into a washout, jaw locked, knuckles white on the grips.
Kade slumps behind me, one arm cinched around my waist, a furnace of weight pressed into my back. His breath rasps against my neck, uneven and fever-damp. Heat radiates through my gear, an unwelcome second skin of fire. Each inhale grows shallower beneath his bulk, and the tremor in his chest says he’s hanging on by threads. The bond hums at the base of my spine, urgent and dissonant—time slipping away. His other arm braces against his ribs, heat seeping through my Nomex with the slow persistence of blood.
"Not passing out," he mutters against my ear, breath ragged.
“Good,” I snap, forcing the throttle wide-open. “Bleeding out on my back seat would be rude.”
A choked laugh—half pain, half grit—vibrates against my spine. But the bond tells on him: pressure thuds through the sigil in erratic stabs, every pulse weaker than the last. The pain from his wound is winning.
The desert opens into a sweep of basalt flats. Greer swerves south, aiming for the county road that skirts Whiskey Basin. Iangle east instead, cutting across raw stone toward a notch in the ridge—an old cavern I mapped some time ago. Natural choke-point, shelter from aerial cams, and close enough to intercept if Greer doubles back.
The ATV skids to a dusty halt inside the shadow of the cave. Dust spirals up around us, the engine ticking as it cools, each sound amplified by the quiet that blankets the basalt.
Above us, the moon hangs sharp and cold, casting fractured shadows through the narrow canyon mouth. The cave exhales smoke-tinged air, cooler than outside but laced with soot and the sharp sting of scorched minerals from the fire’s edge. The scent of scorched vegetation mixes with the ancient mineral tang of volcanic stone.
My boots scrape through loose grit as I try to steady Kade with one hand. The air wafting from the cave hits my nose—char-heavy, thick with scorched pine and sulfur. The scent carries a warning, sharp enough to twist my stomach and tighten something beneath my ribs. I scan the jagged throat of rock for signs of collapse or movement, keeping Kade close as I move. His weight presses into me, steady but unyielding, while my gaze sweeps the narrow entrance for any hint of a hidden threat.
Shadows flicker along the walls, pulsing in rhythm with the distant wildfire’s glow. I kill the engine, swing off the seat, and catch Kade as he begins to slide. He’s heavier than sin—fever-hot, slick with sweat, his muscles gone slack from sheer exhaustion.
Beneath his skin, scales ripple—an otherworldly shimmer of heat tracing muscle and bone before fading. The dragon strains to rise, pressing against the toxin’s grip. It binds him in place,holding back the transformation with every labored breath, a brutal war fought in silence through flesh and will.
“Cave,” I order. “Now.”
He grits his teeth and forces three staggered steps, jaw tight, muscles locked against collapse. Only when his vision flickers does he accept my support. I catch his weight without hesitation, locking his arm across my shoulders as we move. He doesn’t sag—he resists. Even half-broken, he fights for control. The basalt swallows us, a jagged throat of stone. The air cools slightly, carrying a gritty sting of smoke and scorched pine. Dust sifts from the ceiling in lazy spirals, but he doesn’t flinch.
I ease him onto a natural ledge. Moonlight from outside shafts through a fissure, painting his face in pale stripes. The light cuts across his features like blades of silver fire, casting shadows beneath his cheekbones and along the ridge of his jaw.
My breath catches—not just from worry, but from awe. Even weakened, even fighting off the last of the toxin, he looks like something forged in the heart of a star. I can see every line of pain etched into his expression, but also the grit that won't let him fall. And that—more than the fire, more than the bond—is what steadies me. What little color he has left leaches away; sweat beads silver at his hairline. The entry wound under his shirt oozes sluggish crimson around a charred rim.
“The fragment may be gone,” he rasps, “but the poison’s… persistent.”
“Then we burn it out.”
His brows knit. “You’ll drain yourself.”
“Better me tired than you dead.”
I strip my gloves, press both palms around the wound, and close my eyes. The sigil flares—bright and urgent—not with my strength, but his. Heat wells inside me, not summoned, but siphoned, channeled through the pendant he marked as mine. It’s his fire I feel—raw, potent, alive beneath my skin. Thecave’s shadows tremble as I guide it into him—slow, deliberate—funneling that borrowed warmth through shredded muscle, seeking the jagged fissure left by the sniper’s bullet.
Pain lashes down the bond, raw as exposed nerve. He hisses but doesn’t flinch, eyes locked on mine. Gold halos flicker in his irises—his dragon fighting to surface. I breathe deeper, draw stray heat from a tumbleweed smoldering outside, from glowing embers swept in on the wind. Sweat courses between my shoulder blades; the world’s edges blur.
“More,” he grits out. “I can take it.”
“Commanding even half-conscious,” I mutter, but I give him what he asks. The brand beneath my collar burns brighter, until silver sparks dance over our joined skin. His wound sears closed under my palms—flesh knitting, blood sealing. The sigil at his sternum flashes gold, then dims to a steady silver-gold glow that mirrors mine.
The cave’s air thickens, growing heavier with each breath. Heat turns sultry, new hunger threading through exhaustion. Kade’s gaze drops to my mouth. The fire between us changes flavor—healing to wanting in a single breath.
“Liv,” he warns, voice gravel-deep, “you’re tapped.”
“Still standing, and you’re finally not bleeding. I’ll call that a win.”
He stands—slow but sure—closing the scant distance until basalt presses my back. His fingers stroke ash from my cheek, trailing sparks inside my skin. “Need to thank my medic.”
“Words?” I tease, curling fists in his shirt.
“Not exactly.”
He kisses me—no preamble, no gentleness—mouth scorching, tongue staking claim. Heat cascades through me, pooling low and fierce. He drags the elastic from my hair, tangling fingers in the loose waves as his lips slide to my throat.Each sweep of tongue leaves a molten sting. My knees threaten to fold.
