Chapter 35 Kara
KARA
The desert is quiet, but inside me everything roars.
Each step grinds sand beneath my boots, and every grain feels like it presses harder against my skin. The suns are climbing, casting long red shadows over the dunes, but all I see is him—his rigid shoulders, his steady pace, the weight of silence he wears like armor.
I can’t stand it.
He’s lost too much. Buried too much. And now he’s burying himself, too—piece by piece, scar by scar.
If I let him keep walking like this, the space between us will harden into something unbreakable. And I can’t—won’t—let that happen.
I step closer, close enough that my shoulder brushes his arm. The contact jolts through me, sharp as lightning. He doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t look at me either. His gaze stays locked ahead, black eyes unblinking against the horizon.
My hand trembles as I lift it. Every instinct screams that I shouldn’t, that he’ll pull away, that I’ll break something fragile and vital. But I can’t stop. I press my palm to his forearm, fingers curling over the ridges of his scales.
“Don’t do that,” I whisper. My voice is raw, cracking. “Don’t lock me out.”
His stride slows, just barely. A muscle ticks in his jaw, his wings flexing once—sharp and restless.
“You don’t understand,” he rumbles. The words scrape low, pained, like stone cracking under too much weight.
“Then tell me.” I squeeze his arm harder. “Make me understand. Don’t carry it alone.”
Finally, finally, he looks at me—and the force of it nearly buckles my knees. His eyes aren’t just dark; they’re bottomless, carved out by years of loss, brimming with a grief so deep it terrifies me.
I don’t look away.
My throat tightens, but I hold his gaze, hold the unbearable weight of it, and somehow that’s enough. His chest rises and falls, sharper now, breath hitching as though the act of meeting my eyes cracks the dam.
When he speaks again, his voice is a whisper I have to lean close to catch.
“She was everything to him. And I swore to guard her if he couldn’t.
When the Devastation came, I hid her—thought I saved her.
But the radiation still took her. And when she died…
” His voice fractures, his eyes closing tight for a single beat.
“It was as if I lost him again. Failed him twice. Failed them both.”
My chest twists until I can’t breathe.
The desert stretches wide around us, endless and merciless, but right here it feels like there’s only the two of us, standing in the wreckage of everything he’s carried.
I reach higher, sliding my hand to his chest, over the scars that mark him. His heartbeat thrums steady and strong against my palm—alive, defiant.
“You didn’t fail,” I whisper fiercely, even as tears sting my eyes. “You’re here. You survived. And you’re not alone anymore.”
For a moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His gaze searches mine, raw and unguarded, as if I’ve just cracked open something he thought was buried too deep to touch.
“No—” he says, jaw clenching as his wings flex. “I’m not. And that…”
He trails off. I stare, waiting, but nothing more comes. He lowers his head, silent, but his chest heaves, his tail twitching suddenly—manic and out of control.
“Drazan,” I exhale. “Please…”
His head snaps up, dark eyes locking onto mine, swimming with unreadable emotions.
“I can’t.”
I touch his face, tracing one of the scars with the tips of my fingers.
“Yes, you can.”
He shakes his head. I slide my hand onto his neck, hook it behind him, and rise onto my toes, bringing my lips to his.
Our breath mingles. Close. So close. He’s breathing fast. He blinks once, twice—stiff as a board in my arms, but his muscles tremble.
“Drazan… mine…”
I press my lips to his. At first he’s stiff and cold, resisting—but then he softens, and we melt into one another. The kiss is deep, full of passion—of everything unsaid and everything shared.
When at last we pull apart, our eyes meet, and it takes my breath.
“I can’t…” he hisses.
“You can,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, pain etched into every line of his face, into the depths of his eyes.
“I can’t lose you,” he exhales.
“Then don’t,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck as I jump up and lock my legs around him. “Ever.”
“Forever,” he says—before our lips find each other again.