I flew for hours, wings slicing through the night air as the land shifted beneath me. The rolling plains of the Fire Kingdom faded to shadowed forest and winding rivers that glinted like silver veins in the moonlight. With every mile south, the air grew colder—the creeping chill of the Water Kingdom brushing against my scales.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, bleeding gold into indigo, I descended. The ground was soft beneath my claws, damp with the scent of rain and moss.
When I folded my wings, the weight on my back shifted.
Revik and Muir slid off first, stretching their legs. Lyra followed last, stiff from the long flight. She rolled her shoulders, the motion sending a faint ripple down her spine before she walked off to find a spot near the fire.
Muir followed, of course—always hovering too close, that smirk fixed on his face.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my hands to unclench.
She was right. I didn't get to be jealous. I had no right.
I was the one who'd said the kiss meant nothing. The one who pushed her away.
So why did I feel like I was burning from the inside every time she smiled at someone else?
I had to get control of this. I had to bury it.
But the more I told myself that, the more impossible it became.
Because whatever existed between us—it wasn't fading. It was a thread tightening around my throat. Every time I looked at her, I felt it pull.
My gaze found her across the clearing. Firelight kissed her silver-white hair, made it shimmer like molten glass. She was laughing at something Muir said, shaking her head, lips curved into that soft, dangerous smile.
Those lips.
I knew how they felt now—warm, sweet, the taste of her still branded into my memory.
And gods help me, all I could think about was kissing her again.
Not just kissing her—claiming her. Having every inch of her against me, beneath me, whispering my name like a prayer.
I let my thoughts slip too far, imagined her pressed against my chest, her breath catching as my hands explored every curve—
Stop.
I tore my gaze away, closing my eyes until the images faded.
I couldn't. I shouldn't.
But I wanted to.
⸻
Revik returned near dusk, a few rabbits slung over his shoulder, grin wide.
"Dinner is served," he announced, dropping them onto a flat rock.
Lyra rose immediately, brushing off her hands. "I can help—"
"Absolutely not," Revik interrupted, holding up a hand. "You almost killed us last time."
She scowled. "Wow. Rude."
"Not rude. Smart." He crouched, already skinning the rabbits. "Last time you turned stew into a weapon. It was so thick we could've used it as a shield."
"That's an exaggeration."
"Is it?" He gave her a pointed look. "You somehow made the potatoes purple."
"They were supposed to be!"
"Do you hear this?" he said to me, dead serious. "She defends it."
I didn't bother hiding my smirk. Even Muir chuckled from where he lounged, flipping a dagger between his fingers. Lyra huffed, dropping beside the fire. "Fine. Cook your stupid rabbits. But I'm taste-testing."
"Gods help us all," Revik muttered.
Dinner passed with laughter and low conversation. For a few moments, the air almost felt light again. Almost.
When the meal was finished, Muir suggested watch rotations. Lyra gave him a look.
"Do you really think your own kingdom isn't safe?"
"Is any kingdom truly safe?" he countered.
That ended the discussion.
⸻
We set camp, the fire dimming to soft embers. Lyra chose a spot near Revik, far from me. I told myself I didn't care. That I wanted the distance.
I was a liar.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled me under.
The night was quiet, the forest whispering beyond the flames. I was deep in sleep until a soft tap brushed my side.
I blinked awake, half expecting Muir for the watch change—
but it was her.
Lyra stood in the low firelight, wrapped in her blanket, shifting awkwardly on her feet. Her hair caught the light, glowing faintly gold at the ends.
"Everything alright?" My voice came out low, rough with sleep. "Revik's snoring too loud?"
She hesitated. "No. It's just—" Her teeth caught her bottom lip. "It's freezing, and I can't sleep. I know it's a lot to ask, but…" She trailed off, cheeks pink. "Can I maybe sleep beside you? You've got that whole… always warm thing going on."
I blinked once, twice. "You want to—"
"Forget it." She turned halfway, already flustered. "It was a stupid idea—"
"Lyra," I said quietly, and she froze.
I reached forward, taking her bedroll and placing it beside mine. Without thinking too much—because if I thought, I'd stop—I guided her down beside me, then pulled her gently against my chest.
Her back fit perfectly against me. She stiffened, then slowly relaxed, her body melting into the heat radiating off mine.
I bent my head slightly, voice a whisper against her ear. "Warm enough?"
A pause. Then a soft, drowsy, "Yeah. Thank you."
She fell asleep like that—her breathing evening out, the faintest smile ghosting her lips.
And I lay there, unmoving, staring at the stars through the break in the trees.
I shouldn't want this. I shouldn't need this.
But holding her like this felt right in a way that terrified me.
⸻
I don't know when I fell asleep, but Muir's boot in my ribs woke me.
"Your turn, lover boy."
I groaned, sitting up carefully so I wouldn't wake her. She murmured something under her breath and curled tighter into the blankets. I tucked the furs around her before standing.
Muir's grin was feral.
"Not a word," I warned.
He held up his hands. "Wouldn't dream of it."
I grabbed my sword and headed for the treeline, taking the first watch.
The night was still. Cold air bit through the silence. Only the occasional whisper of wind stirred the leaves.
Footsteps sounded behind me, soft but deliberate. I didn't turn. "You should be asleep, little thief."
Lyra's voice drifted through the dark. "Yeah, well, my heat source left."
I couldn't help the ghost of a smile that tugged at my mouth.
She didn't sit beside me. Instead, she sank down behind me, pressing her back to mine. Her head tilted until it rested just below my shoulder, hair brushing my neck.
Her warmth seeped through every layer of restraint I had left.
"The cold's not as bad as I thought," she murmured. "It's… kind of pretty, actually."
I said nothing. My throat was too tight.
She sighed. "Raiden…"
My jaw locked.
"Why did you lie?"
I didn't move. "About what?"
She let out a humorless laugh. "Don't do that."
Her voice softened. "You said the kiss meant nothing."
A muscle ticked in my jaw. "It didn't."
"Then why are you shaking?" she whispered.
The air went still between us.
Her voice came quieter, barely a breath. "You punish yourself for things you can't change. You think you don't deserve anything good. But you do. You deserve to feel something other than guilt."
I closed my eyes, the words cutting through me sharper than any blade.
She didn't know what she was saying. Or maybe she did.
When I finally spoke, my voice was low, rough. "The last time I cared about someone, I lost everything."
She turned, shifting until she was facing me. Her hands came up, gentle against my face.
Her touch burned like fire.
"You're not your past," she whispered. "You keep saying you won't hurt me, Raiden—but the truth is, you already are. Every time you push me away."
Her breath brushed my lips.
Her eyes held mine—steady, fearless, soft.
I should've stopped her.
I didn't.
Her thumb traced my jaw, slow, tender. "You deserve to live, Raiden. To feel something real."
I broke.
The distance between us vanished as I caught her mouth with mine.
The kiss was raw, hungry, all of my restraint snapping at once.
She gasped against me, and I swallowed the sound, my hand sliding to the back of her neck, pulling her closer—closer—until there was no space left between us.
Her lips parted, and I deepened the kiss, tasting her warmth, her fire, everything I'd sworn to stay away from.
Control shattered.
And I didn't care.