Chapter 16
LYKOR
It took Lykor longer than he’d ever admit to realize what was unfolding.
Jassyn’s mouth grazed his, light at first, before heat rushed everywhere. Fingers swept from Lykor’s jaw into his hair, the motion so sure it sundered the air from his lungs.
He blinked, half-dazed by the certainty of it, as if he’d taken a thunderbolt straight to the skull. Jassyn pressed in close, lips moving with a steadiness like this wasn’t their first kiss at all.
That confidence only made Lykor’s pulse stutter harder, unmade and helpless. He’d been the one to ask, yet now that the moment had become real—now that Jassyn had leaned in—he didn’t know how to meet it.
So he sat frozen, stunned and slack-jawed while Jassyn’s lips lingered on his.
When Jassyn finally drew back, breath unsteady, the small distance snapped something loose. Before thought could stop him, Lykor caught Jassyn by the nape and hauled him back to his mouth. Too fast—their teeth clicked, lips crashing together—but neither pulled away.
Jassyn’s fingers tightened in Lykor’s hair, a shiver sparking across his scalp. The kiss deepened with heat and friction—tongues tangling, teeth grazing, the taste of him wild as the kiss turned feral.
Chests heaving, they broke apart only long enough to draw air before crashing together again, fiercer this time, the kiss striking like the rebound of a storm.
Burning hotter than before. Hungrier.
Lykor answered breath for breath, pulse for pulse, fire catching behind his ribs until every part of him sparked awake. MORE. That was all he could think, unable to stop.
Not with Jassyn kissing him back.
Not with thunder pounding in his chest, lightning searing his veins, and something dangerously close to wonder burning away everything else.
Jassyn’s tongue swept into his mouth and the universe fractured.
Lykor groaned. He meant it to be a growl, but Jassyn dragged something needier from him instead.
And in that moment, he didn’t care how unguarded it sounded because Jassyn responded to the noise like he needed it.
His breath shuddered against Lykor’s lips as if devouring him was the only way left to fill his lungs.
Releasing his hair, Jassyn’s hands slid lower, skimming the curve of Lykor’s throat, fingers drifting over skin still bared from healing.
Lykor’s fangs extended. He had no hope of recalling them even if he tried.
“I—” He attempted to speak, maybe to apologize—he wasn’t sure—but Jassyn’s mouth stole the words. Words dissolved, leaving only heat and heartbeat. So Lykor kissed back instead.
Jassyn didn’t avoid the sharpened canines, only pressed closer when Lykor caught his bottom lip between his teeth and tugged. The guttural sound that tore from Jassyn’s throat—wanting, reckless, and utterly raw—hit Lykor square in the chest, too wild a noise for anything he’d ever imagined.
Mouth turning ravenous, Jassyn launched forward, driving his hands against Lykor’s chest, shoving him down. The moss-covered platform caught his back with a muffled thud, the jolt punching the breath from his lungs.
Jassyn shifted as he crashed on top of him, straddling like a siege—knees bracketing Lykor’s hips, wings flaring wide, amber eyes slitted and wild. His palms struck Lykor’s shoulders, pinning him like prey.
Lykor’s pulse hammered, bludgeoning every thought from his skull until air itself deserted him. He’d never seen Jassyn like this—power and hunger and want made flesh.
Unleashed. Feral. Glorious.
Then Jassyn went still, blinking hard as if realization had just caught up to the motion. The heat in his eyes dimmed, clarity slicing in as a flicker of shame doused the fire.
“Stars,” he rasped, the haze of desire clearing from his face. “I–I didn’t mean to do that.”
Before Lykor could recover, Jassyn pulled away, the retreat quick as a heartbeat. Wings and scales vanished as he surged to his feet, stumbling over the vines in his haste to flee. His chest heaved as he stopped a few paces away, eyes wide and fixed on Lykor—still sprawled on his back, stunned.
Lykor couldn’t move, the ache of Jassyn’s absence throbbing through him like a second pulse. He could still feel the phantom press of his weight, the reckless intimacy of the claiming.
A slow breath escaped him. His mouth curved, testing a shape he’d never dared. He’d spent a lifetime keeping his defenses sharp enough to draw blood from anyone who tried to get close. But Jassyn had crossed the line as if it didn’t exist at all. And Lykor had let him.
He’d liked it.
Not just the chaos of the kiss, but the surrender. The exquisite shock of letting go. He’d spent years measuring every cost, never reaching for anything at all. Always the blade. Never the sheath.
Jassyn had seen him—the ruin, the rage, the wreckage—and hadn’t shied away.
He’d dared to touch what others only feared to look at, and kissed Lykor like he wasn’t made of scars at all.
A breath shuddered loose, trembling on the edge of peace, perilously close to something gentler than he’d ever let himself feel.
The silence stretched, real again. Lykor’s heart steadied as the world came back into focus. The taste of Jassyn still clung to his lips when he finally blinked and looked up.
Across the chamber, Jassyn stood motionless, fingers buried in his curls, gaze locked on the moss beneath his boots.
The air between them still hummed with what they’d done. Lykor pressed a palm to the cool vines and pushed upright. He rose slowly and stepped forward, careful not to crowd.
“You don’t have to run,” he said.
Cheeks flushed, Jassyn swallowed and glanced up, meeting Lykor’s eyes.
Lykor stepped closer and offered his hand. Just to hold. “If that happens again,” he said, voice rough with the confession, “I wouldn’t mind. But if it was too much, you don’t have to explain.”
For a moment, Jassyn hesitated. But then slipped his fingers into Lykor’s.
“It wasn’t the kiss,” he said softly, his thumb tracing a slow circle. “It’s the fear of losing myself to the beastblood—to that hunger. I just need to know it’s real, and not me losing control.”
Lykor tightened his grip. The strange thing was, he felt nothing dark prowling beneath his skin. No beastblood clawing at his chest, no pull of power—only the steady weight of Jassyn’s palm in his.
“Then take the time you need,” Lykor said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Jassyn’s lips curved, hardly a smile, but the start of one. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted, brushing a stray lock of hair from Lykor’s eyes. “But I want to learn. With you.”
Lykor’s chest nearly capsized. He wasn’t used to being wanted, not instead of Aesar. But Jassyn’s eyes held no confusion, no mistake. Only choice.
A part of him ached to answer it, to meet that choosing again with his own.
“I want to kiss you again,” Lykor said quietly, “but only if it’s not too soon.”
Jassyn didn’t answer right away. His gaze swept across Lykor’s face, as if measuring the fragile space between fear and want. Then, with that same steady certainty as before, he leaned in, hand sliding back through Lykor’s hair.
“On one condition,” Jassyn murmured, lips hovering a breath away. “Don’t ask when you already know the answer.”
And then he kissed him, without urgency this time. Enough to call it wanting. Enough to call it theirs, if only for this moment.
Letting himself feel, Lykor melted into it. One hand rose to cup Jassyn’s cheek, but he didn’t deepen the kiss. Didn’t push for more.
Their mouths parted, just enough to breathe. Jassyn didn’t retreat, his eyes searching Lykor’s. And in that stillness, where breath mingled and silence held, what they’d both chosen hovered between them.
Peace lasted exactly one heartbeat before the world came rushing back.
Jassyn jolted like a current had seized him. He stepped back, eyes snapping toward the tree’s sealed entrance.
“I—” he choked, dragging both hands down his face. “Scorching stars, I didn’t think to mute the bond.”
Lykor blinked, still recovering when Vesryn’s voice filtered through the vines—amused and utterly unrepentant.
“I’m coming in.” Shadows curled beneath the green curtain. “And if this is a bad time, consider it…noted.”
Jassyn’s shoulders sagged with an expelled sigh. With a twist of his hand, he parted the vines to reveal the prince.
Lykor glared as Vesryn strolled into the hollow. Uninvited. Unwanted.
The prince halted just inside the tree, gaze raking over the heat still clinging to Jassyn’s flushed cheeks before cutting to Lykor.
Then, as if to confirm what he already suspected, his eyes flicked back to Jassyn’s tousled curls.
The look lingered just long enough for his mouth to twitch, but whatever questions rose, he caged neatly behind a smirk.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Vesryn said, tone bright enough to mock sincerity. He tossed a berry into the air and caught it on his tongue. “Though in my defense, it felt like the mending part was over.”
Jassyn composed himself faster than Lykor, though the tightening of his lips betrayed that he’d caught the barb. He wrinkled his nose at the violet stain darkening Vesryn’s fingertips—juice from the same berries he idly tossed in the air, almost certainly something questionable scavenged by Fenn.
Lykor seized the opening before the prince could pry, noting an absence.
“Where’s Fenn?” he demanded, gaze cutting to where the captain had arranged his armor. Forgoing the discarded tunic, he ignited a burst of force, whipping the flight leathers to his waiting claw.
As he buckled the pieces into place, Vesryn only shrugged, waving a hand toward the jungle.
“Probably still talking to the wind. I left him by a tree.” Another berry vanished between his teeth.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing on Lykor.
“Are you two…finished? Or does Jassyn need to add any final touches?”
With a snarl, Lykor warped across the hollow. Vesryn flinched as he materialized beside him, but Lykor didn’t slow. His shoulder clipped the prince’s, staggering him before he strode out beneath the tree’s arch, never once looking back.
He wasn’t fleeing, only peeling himself away before Vesryn could sour the moment further. Leaving Jassyn to face the prince alone hadn’t been deliberate. Or an act of cowardice. He simply needed air to douse what still smoldered inside his chest.
The jungle’s breath pressed close, thick with damp moss and humidity that dripped from fronds. The nerves on his back crawled, but it wasn’t pain, only the void where it had crouched. Out of habit, he rolled his shoulders, waiting for the sharp pull.
Nothing came.
He’d learned to live around pain like a scar, and now the absence felt like a skin he didn’t know how to wear—too smooth to trust. Lykor nearly reached inward, just to see if Aesar felt it too. But instead of barging into Aesar’s mindspace, he stopped himself.
This stillness, this strange peace, belonged to him. Or rather, the hands that had given it.
Lykor released a slow exhale before reaching for the flame in his chest, plunging into the shift.
In a rush of heat, wings flared from the slits in his armor, membranes snapping taut. Just like before, his spine didn’t scream and no joints buckled in protest. His throat tightened as every motion flowed smooth. Seamless. Painless.
Shoving the feeling down, he folded his wings with a soft rustle and angled toward the jungle. The new weight tugged at his shoulders, tilting his balance. His body adjusted, muscle and instinct finding their rhythm until his stride steadied.
He barely made it twenty aimless paces before spotting Fenn, trussed to a tree. Shadows coiled around the captain’s limbs, writhing around his jaw, clamping his mouth shut.
For once, Lykor grudgingly thought Vesryn had the right idea.
He sighed, muttered a curse at his own mercy, and flicked his wrist, slicing through the bindings with a sliver of rending.
Fenn straightened with a chuckle and rubbed his throat, his grin already returning—amused as though the whole ordeal had been a private joke. His gaze swept over Lykor, irises flaring.
“So Jassyn’s magics worked,” he said, stepping closer. “Care for a first flight?” He reached for one of Lykor’s wing claws—too curious for his own safety.
With a low growl, Lykor dispelled his wings before the touch could land. Lip curling, he glanced up at the canopy. “Yes, let me just launch myself through a mile of jungle and find out whether it’s my wings or the branches that snap first.”
Fenn’s fangs flashed. “So that’s a yes?”
Lykor didn’t bother answering. A rustle behind them hauled his attention back toward the tree. Steps clipped, Jassyn burst through the vines, mouth pressed tight. Grinning like a jackal, Vesryn trailed on his heels, already gnawing at whatever answer he wanted next.
Lykor turned away before the questions could curdle into conversation. He reached for his Well, ready to spin a portal back to Asharyn and leave this mess behind. If they were done fucking around, he was beyond ready to go.
The world shuddered.
A gust slammed into him, cold enough to feel stolen from the frozen peaks beyond this pocket of jungle. Moss stiffened beneath his boots as frost laced ferns in shivering spirals. In a blink, the air crystallized, all warmth gutted from the forest’s lungs.
Scales rippled up Lykor’s arms at the same moment as his wings tore free from his spine. Unsummoned. Reflex. But he wasn’t alone—the others had shifted too.
Before he could open the portal, the world convulsed again and a primal instinct he couldn’t control locked his body in place. A distant thudding rose above them, slow at first, then pounding.
Wingbeats.
The canopy shattered. The jungle bowed, the ground trembling with every echoing pulse. A shape ripped across the patch of sky, vast wings churning snow.
Lykor’s breath seized as a guttural sound invaded his mind. The words weren’t heard so much as felt, sliding between thoughts.
“Found you.”
He didn’t need to ask what had found them.
A dragon.