FOUR #2
Warmth rushes through me with startling force. The connection beneath my ribs pulls taut, awareness flooding my senses until everything else fades into the background. The crystals. The cave. The wind outside.
All of it disappears.
Leaving only him.
The heat of his skin beneath my fingertips. The steady rise and fall of his breathing. The powerful muscles shifting beneath dark skin. The fact that my hand looks absurdly small against him.
A low rumble vibrates through his chest. The sound washes over me. It’s deep and rich, and not riding his thick thigh is becoming harder to ignore.
My fingers still against him, and the rumble deepens.
Oh.
Well.
That explains some things.
The sound isn’t a warning. It isn’t aggression. It isn’t even possessiveness.
It’s contentment.
The realisation settles heavily between us.
The impossible creature sitting beside me is happy because I’m touching him. The knowledge sends a strange warmth spiralling through my chest.
So very fucking dangerous.
Especially when combined with the scent surrounding me.
I’d noticed it earlier without truly processing it.
Here, enclosed within the cave and seated far too close for anyone’s good judgement, it’s impossible to ignore.
Smoke and stone mingle with something darker beneath it.
Something wild. Something distinctly male.
Every breath draws it deeper into my lungs. Every breath seems to make thinking more difficult, which is unfortunate because I still have a patient to examine.
Several deep lacerations cross his chest and side. Most are already healing at a rate that would cause every medical journal on Earth to collectively lose its mind, but the largest wound remains angry and raw, blood still gathering at the deepest point.
When I trace the edge carefully, the rumble becomes positively unfair. My breath hitches, his eyes darken, and neither of us speaks. Neither of us moves.
The connection between us hums like a living thing, filling the space between our bodies until it feels almost tangible. And fuck if I’m forced to confront a deeply uncomfortable truth.
The most dangerous thing about this world isn’t the monsters. It’s the fact that I’m beginning to like one.
I refocus on his injury. The wound continues to bleed despite his body’s obvious attempts to heal it. I reach for the strange fabric he’d provided and press it carefully against the deepest section, only for the Hendroy to shift beneath me.
It’s a tiny movement, barely enough to matter. Unfortunately, it’s enough.
The fabric slips, and my hand follows. A smear of dark blood streaks across my fingers. “Fantastic.” I glance down automatically. “That’s exactly why health and safety keeps yelling at us about gloves.”
The words leave my mouth before I notice the sting.
There’s a shallow graze across the side of my hand. Nothing serious. I’d probably earned it during my spectacular tumble through the forest.
The moment the blood spreads into the graze on my hand, something tears through me.
My breath catches so sharply it hurts.
Heat floods my body, racing through every nerve with frightening speed. One second I’m focused on the wound beneath my fingers. The next, the cave seems too small, the air too thin, and the male I’m sitting on is entirely too far away.
Awareness crashes over me.
Not attraction.
Not exactly.
Something deeper.
Need.
The connection that has been quietly humming beneath my ribs since arriving in Terrafeara suddenly surges to life. It wraps around me, tightening until I can barely think around it. Every instinct I possess points towards him. Towards his warmth. His strength. His presence.
Towards safety.
Towards home.
The urge to close the distance is overwhelming.
Before I realise what I’m doing, I’ve leaned closer and shift my hips, finally feeling glorious friction against my clit. I moan, desire urging me forwards to do the same again and again.
He goes completely still. The low rumble that had been vibrating through his chest cuts off instantly. “Iris.”
My name emerges rough and urgent.
Concern.
Not satisfaction.
Concern.
The distinction barely registers through the chaos roaring through my bloodstream. My pulse hammers, and the world tilts, while the need to touch him, to anchor myself against something solid and real, becomes almost unbearable.
Then his hands close carefully around my wrists, steadying and grounding. The contact sends another wave crashing through me, but this time I catch something else beneath it.
Alarm.
Protectiveness.
Control.
The emotions aren’t mine. They’re his, and they’re aimed entirely at me.
His gaze locks onto mine. The red glow in his eyes has darkened. Not with hunger. With worry. “Iris.”
The way he says my name cuts through the haze. It feels like a lifeline, an anchor.
Slowly, painfully, the world begins to come back into focus.
The crystals.
The cave.
The bed beneath us.
The male sitting far too close and somehow not close enough.
I drag in a shaky breath, then another. “What...” My voice cracks. “What was that?”
His jaw tightens. For the first time since meeting him, he looks genuinely unsettled. The shadows around him shift restlessly. His grip remains gentle but unyielding, as though he’s determined to hold me together until I can do it myself.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than I’ve heard it before. “My blood.”
The words settle heavily between us. And suddenly I understand something important. Whatever just happened, he could have taken advantage of it. He didn’t. Instead, he stopped me. Protected me. Protected my choice.
The realisation lands harder than the rush itself. And fuck if that doesn’t make him even more dangerous.
One of his large hands moves to my back and settles there, and the world begins to steady.
It’s not immediately or completely, but it’s something.
The wild, desperate need still burns through my veins, leaving me trembling and breathless, but something about his touch cuts through the worst of it.
His grip remains gentle but unyielding, anchoring me while the impossible rush slowly loosens its hold.
He watches me carefully, as though he’s cataloguing every reaction, every breath, every heartbeat. Whatever he sees clearly worries him.
A low sound escapes him. Not the contented rumble from earlier. This is different. Tighter. Uneasy. Then, without warning, he lifts me.
A startled yelp escapes before I can stop it.
One moment I’m perched far too close to him. The next, I’m being effortlessly relocated as though I weigh nothing at all. The male deposits me on the opposite side of the bed and immediately puts distance between us.
The loss hits harder than I expect. A sharp ache twists through my chest, and my stomach cramps. The breath I’d only just regained vanishes again.
“Ow.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
The Hendroy freezes. His entire posture changes instantly as concern flashes across his face. Quickly followed by genuine distress. “Iris.”
Before I can reassure him that I’m not actually dying, one of his hands closes around mine.
The effect is immediate.
Air rushes back into my lungs. The ache eases—not completely but enough. And I drag in a shaky breath and stare down at our joined hands.
Well, that’s certainly interesting.
His shoulders loosen fractionally, and the relief on his face is impossible to miss. Apparently, I’m not the only one who felt that.
The thought settles heavily between us.
For a few moments, neither of us speaks. The crystals embedded throughout the cave cast soft silver light across the stone walls while the wind whispers faintly beyond the entrance. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the crackle of the fire we’d left burning outside.
The world feels strangely far away.
“I think,” I say eventually, “we may have skipped several important conversations.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, just slightly. Then he sobers. “Yes.”
The simple admission catches me off guard, because for the first time since meeting him, he sounds uncertain. I don’t think about the situation but about me. About how much to tell me.
The distinction matters.
His thumb brushes lightly across the back of my hand. The contact steadies something deep inside me.
“We are connected.”
I snort. “Really? What gave it away?”
His gaze remains entirely serious.
Fair. Sarcasm is probably not helping.
The Hendroy studies our joined hands before looking back at me. “We are fated mates.”
The words settle between us, somehow not landing like a physical blow. Maybe because some part of me has been expecting them. Maybe because after everything else that’s happened today, cosmic soulmates no longer rank particularly high on the list of impossible things.
Or maybe it’s because holding his hand feels so alarmingly right.
A laugh escapes me. Not that there’s anything remotely funny. Apparently, that’s become my coping mechanism whenever reality breaks.
The male watches me carefully while I continue to spiral into hysteria as one laugh turns into another, then another. “Of course.” I shake my head. “Of course that’s the answer.”
His brow furrows. “You do not believe me.”
“Oh, no. Weirdly, I do.”
That seems to surprise him. It surprises me too since I should be arguing, or at least questioning. Most definitely demanding evidence.
Instead, I feel oddly detached.
Floaty.
Like someone slipped something into my drink several hours ago and I’m only now feeling the effects.
The thought makes me narrow my eyes at him. “This could still be the blood.”
His expression remains blank. “The blood?”
“I feel...” I gesture vaguely with my free hand. “Drunk. Or high. Or concussed. Potentially all three.”
The concern returns immediately. Apparently admitting vulnerability has the same effect on him as setting off an emergency alarm.
“The blood affected you.”
“Right.” I nod slowly. “Good.”
Then I pause.
“Wait. Not good.”
When another almost-smile appears, the sight does ridiculous things to my pulse.