Chapter 11 Aisling #3
“Cork.” The word comes out rough. “My practice. I built it from nothing—worked eighteen-hour days, barely slept, poured everything I had into making it succeed.”
“That sounds exactly like you.”
“It was my whole life. My identity. When I wasn’t working, I was planning. When I wasn’t planning, I was worrying.” I stare at the dancing light. “I told myself it was ambition. Drive. But really, I think I was just... running. Filling every second so I didn’t have to face how lonely I was.”
“Lonely?”
“No friends. No relationships that lasted more than a few months. My parents and I hadn’t spoken in a long time.” I laugh—rueful, self-aware. A few weeks ago, I couldn’t have admitted any of this. “I had everything I thought I wanted, and I was miserable.”
“And now?”
The question hangs between us. I reach over, lace my fingers through his. His hand is warm, solid, familiar now.
“Now I have people who care whether I live or die.” My voice wavers. “Now I have Selene, and the Brotherhood, and—“ I stop. Squeeze his fingers. Can’t quite say the rest.
“And?”
You. Now I have you.
“And a dragon who won’t stop asking if I’m okay.”
His mouth curves. “That sounds annoying.”
“It is.” I’m leaning toward him, pulled by gravity I can’t explain. “Incredibly annoying.”
“Want me to stop?”
“No.” The word slips out without thinking. “I don’t want you to stop.”
His breath catches. We’re so near now—near enough that I can see the firelight dancing in his gaze.
“Aisling.” My name in his mouth sounds different. Heavier. Reverent.
His hand rises. Hovers near my cheek.
I don’t pull away.
His fingertips brush my skin—tentative, questioning. Warmth blooms where he touches, spreading through my chest, down my spine, settling low in my belly.
“I’ve wanted—“ His voice cracks. “Since the moment I saw you—“
I lean into his palm. Feel his grip curl against my jaw. His focus drops to my mouth. Mine drops to his.
We’re inches apart. Centimeters. The air between us feels charged, electric, full of potential energy waiting to release.
His thumb traces my lower lip.
I stop breathing.
“Rurik.” His name is barely a whisper. “I—“
Footsteps crash through the underbrush.
We spring apart. My heart is hammering so hard, I can barely hear anything else, but Drayke’s voice cuts through the chaos.
“Movement ahead.” His face is grim, urgent. “Quarter mile east. At least three rogues—possibly more.”
The moment shatters. Whatever was building between us dissolves into cold reality—the mission, the danger, the prison waiting at the end of this journey.
Rurik is on his feet, body coiled, the warrior replacing the man who’d been about to kiss me.
“How many total?”
“Uncertain. Could be scouts. Could be a patrol. Marcus is shadowing them now.”
“We engage?”
“We observe. If they haven’t spotted us—“
They keep talking, strategizing, planning. But I’m frozen in place, fingertips pressed to my lips where his thumb just traced.
So near. We were so near.
Selene appears at the edge of the clearing. Her gaze finds mine, flicks to Rurik, then back to me. Understanding dawns on her face.
She makes a hand signal I haven’t seen before.
I shake my head. What?
She points at me, then at Rurik, then makes a slow, exaggerated gesture of explosion.
Interrupted.
I nod, something between frustration and hysteria bubbling in my chest.
She smiles. It’s sympathetic and knowing and entirely too amused for the circumstances.
Later, she signs. There’s always later.
I hope she’s right.
The rogues turn out to be scouts—three young dragons on patrol, easily avoided with a wide detour that adds two hours to our journey.
Marcus returns with a full report: no indication they spotted us, no alarm raised.
Our guards handled the situation with quiet competence, slipping through the night without leaving a trace.
We fly until dawn, putting distance between ourselves and any further patrols.
I lean against Rurik’s scales, letting his warmth seep into my bones. The almost-kiss plays on loop in my mind—his thumb on my lip, his voice cracking on my name, the way he looked at me like I was something precious.
Later, Selene had signed. There’s always later.
I’m going to hold her to that.
By morning, the eastern mountains rise before us—dark and jagged and wrong in a way I can’t explain. The air feels different here. Heavier. Older.
I know this place.
The realization hits me in the gut. My grip tightens on Rurik’s neck, nails digging into scales.
He rumbles beneath me—questioning, concerned.
“I’m fine,” I manage. Then, because I’m done pretending: “Actually, no. I’m terrified. But I’m still going.”
His rumble shifts to something warmer. Proud. His wing tilts slightly, adjusting our path so I’m shielded from the cold wind.
The mountain looms ahead. Black stone against a bruised sky. Somewhere inside, Valdris waits.
And somewhere in my blood, I feel her calling.
Little Fire-Bringer. You came back to me.
I close my eyes. Focus on Rurik’s body beneath me. On the steady beat of his wings. On the memory of his touch against my cheek—and on the promise of more waiting on the other side of this nightmare.
I’m not yours, I think fiercely. I’m not anyone’s tool. And I’m not alone anymore.
The voice in my blood laughs.
We’ll see.