Chapter 10 Zara #2
Zara exhaled, grabbed Hektor’s wrist, and tugged him back toward the bar. “Come on,” she muttered. “Before someone tail-whips a car and we’re stuck filling out incident forms all night.”
He followed, just a step behind, close enough that she could still feel his warmth. And despite the ridiculous interruption, she smiled. Because now she knew that when she stepped away, he would follow.
By the time they reached the top of the stairs, more people had gathered. Phones were out, recording the chaos like it was the evening’s entertainment.
“Oh great,” Zara muttered. “Drunken basilisk fight turned Lifting the Vale content. Exactly what civilization needed.”
Before she could say more, three very familiar figures appeared beside them: Elian, Liora, and Pythorus, all looking far too entertained.
Liora leaned close, eyes dancing. “I think,” she whispered dramatically, “we need to triangulate.”
Elian nodded earnestly. “We have a feeling about these guys.”
Zara arched a brow. “Really? Now?”
“Chaos tends to shake loose magic,” Pythorus only shrugged. “Might as well use the opportunity.”
So, they triangulated. Zara in the center, Hektor closer than necessary, his arm almost brushing hers as if the distance between them was now a negotiable concept.
The world sharpened.
Magic thrummed.
A bright white lightning symbol cracked into existence above the loudest cluster of basilisks, flickering with unmistakable divine energy.
Zara stared. “Oh gods…at least three of them are demigods.”
The basilisks kept arguing, blissfully unaware.
“We need to talk to them,” she said, “but how do we get their attention?”
Elian gestured toward the growing crowd of phones. “Too late for subtle.”
“I can handle that,” Hektor said.
Zara snapped her gaze to him.
But his chest was already glowing, ruby-bright, molten, and alive.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “Not that.”
Too late.
A column of fire roared upward from his mouth, blazing past the awning and lighting the night sky in brilliant red gold.
Phones dropped.
Screams echoed.
The courtyard cleared in seconds.
When the smoke drifted away and the heat faded, only the basilisks remained, stunned, impressed, and mildly offended.
One blinked and muttered, “…okay, that was excessive.”
Another shrugged. “Well, I’m awake now.”
All attention shifted to Pythorus.
Straightening, voice calm and authoritative, he said, “We’re here because some of you are not just basilisks. You are demigods descended from Zeus.”
Silence fell, charged and electric.
“With a statement like that,” one of the basilisks said dryly, “we should take this inside.”
Zara glanced at him. He looked older than the rest, a bit weathered around the eyes, maybe mid-thirties, which could mean much older. He had the calm voice of someone who had seen enough nonsense to stop reacting to it.
A younger basilisk, smooth-skinned, green-eyed, hair tied in a too-casual knot, lifted a hand. “I’m going to need a drink for this,” he muttered.
Another one, taller, bulkier, and absolutely radiating eldest-child energy, gave the younger one a shove with his tail. “Be respectful,” he scolded…then added under his breath, “But yes. Definitely inside.”
Zara almost laughed.
The group of them headed back toward the bar, now mostly cleared out thanks to Hektor’s dramatic fire display. Pythorus fell into step beside the older basilisk, voice low, diplomatic. “If you’ll allow us a private corner, we can explain everything without an audience.”
Hektor motioned subtly for the siblings to follow, eyes sweeping for threats. His knight-mode was on; Zara could practically feel the tension humming beneath his calm face.
When she moved to follow, Hektor’s hand reached for hers. Not accidentally. Not casually. On purpose.
Her breath hitched before she could stop it. His hand was warm and steady. She looked up, and he was looking at her with a soft, unguarded look. The kind he never allowed anyone to see.
Her lips lifted before she could rein it in.
“Oh, come on,” Liora sighed loudly, dramatic as a stage actress. “This is happening now?”
Elian elbowed her. “Let them have their moment.”
Zara tried to hide her grin, her cheeks aching with the effort.
The basilisks led the way into the bar’s private lounge, stone walls glimmering with vein-like gold, ancient carvings catching firelight. It felt secret and dangerous.
She squeezed Hektor’s hand once, barely there, more of a whisper than a motion. But he tightened his grip in return.
She couldn’t help it. She was glowing. Maybe it was ridiculous, maybe it was abrupt, maybe a god might smite them before the hour was over, but she’d been right.
This was happening.
It was late, just shy of midnight, when Zara knocked.
Hektor answered faster than she expected, like he’d been pacing, waiting, listening. He wore dark sleep pants and nothing else.
That nothing else hit her like a brick.
Oh.
So that’s what was under the button-ups and tactical vests and stoic Drakkon posture. His shoulders looked…impossible. Broader than she imagined, defined, warm-toned, and strong in a way that made her knees forget how to function.
His eyes widened, just a flash, then his hand shot out, closing around her forearm, and he tugged her inside with effortless strength. The door shut with a soft click.
Zara stumbled a step and laughed. “Hi to you too—”
“Why,” he hissed under his breath, “did you walk around in that?”
She blinked, looked down at her pajamas, tiny shorts, thin tank, soft cotton, and zero coverage, and then grinned. “It wasn’t that far. I’m literally next door.”
“That’s not the point.” His jaw clenched, embarrassment and possessiveness warring in real time across his face.
She raised a brow. “What is the point then, oh mighty fire-breather?”
He exhaled sharply and guided her to the couch, still holding her arm, as if he let go, she might float out of reach.
“You agreed,” she reminded gently, settling in with a bounce of the cushions, “that we still had to talk. So, we’re doing that now.”
“I know,” he muttered, dropping beside her but not too close. Her knee was one nudge away from touching his thigh, and the awareness of that space made her pulse do confused gymnastics. “There’s no changing your mind once you decide something.”
“Correct,” Zara chirped. “Congratulations, you understand me.”
He gave her an unimpressed look, which only made her grin wider.
“You can stop glowering,” she continued. “I didn’t parade down the entire hotel in silk and sin. Just across one door.”
“That is not—” He cut himself off, looked upward like praying for patience. “Drekhar, you are…difficult.”
“And you like that,” she singsonged.
His gaze dropped back to her. Very slowly. Very intentionally. “I do,” he said, voice low. “Too much, probably.”
Heat unfurled in her stomach.
“Well,” she tried to smother her smile before it got smug, but it was useless, “this is already more productive communication than the entire couple of weeks.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Zara.”
“Yes?”
“You’re teasing.”
“Yes.”
“It’s working.”
That caught her breath because he meant it. Not flustered-working, not irritated-working. Honest-working.
She tucked her legs underneath herself, facing him fully now. “Good,” she said softly. “Because I don’t actually want to make you miserable. I just want you to…let yourself have this. Have me.”
Hektor went still. Not cold-still, not shutting down, but the kind of stillness that came before choosing. His eyes finally, finally met hers without deflection. “I’m trying.”
“I know you are.” She nudged his knee. “And I’m here. So that helps.”
He huffed, the closest thing he had to a laugh.
And for the first time since this whole impossible tension began, they simply sat, Zen calm, close but not yet touching, not yet rushing, and just breathing the same space, letting the silence turn into something good. Something real.
“See?” Zara smiled at him, gently. “Talking wasn’t so hard.”
“It’s easier,” he said, surprising her again, “now that I’m not pretending.”
Her heart tripped. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”
Zara inched closer, just enough that the air between them shifted from tentative to charged.
She lifted her hand and cupped his jaw. The diamond-cut scales weren’t rugged rough but smooth and impossibly warm.
They shivered faintly under her touch, a tiny ripple of instinct betraying how controlled he usually forced himself to be.
His breath hitched.
She leaned in, just close enough that her words brushed his mouth. “I’ve changed my mind.” Then she kissed him. It wasn’t urgent; this one was deliberate, grounding, full of I-choose-you instead of I-can’t-stop.
He kissed her back, answering with slow certainty, letting the moment decide its own pace. For once, she didn’t try to chase it or fill the silence; she let him lead, let him decide how deep, how long.
But curiosity tugged at her, bold and bright. When she gently changed the rhythm, her tongue sliding against his lips, tasting him, and his hand came to her waist, not pushing her away, not pulling her closer, just steadying.
“I wouldn’t…do that,” he murmured, voice suddenly low. “Sharp teeth and all.”
“Okay,” she said softly, not wounded, not offended, just listening. She kissed him again, and when his mouth opened in answer, she answered him with equal patience. He drew in a breath, unsteady but controlled, and that sound alone sent a thrill through her.
“Zara.”
She shook her head, and the movement brushed her forehead against his. “You think,” she said slowly, “that talking like that will make me step back. Reconsider. Be rational.”
“Let me guess. It won’t?”
“No, it hasn’t, and it makes me want to ignore each boundary and just…lose myself in you.”
Heat fluttered through her, not wild but deep and sure. “Just be here. With me.”