The air was thick with smoke and the lingering scent of scorched earth, remnants of the battle that had raged hours ago. Selara leaned against the fractured stone wall of the old Blackclaw estate, silver veins glowing faintly along her arms as she drew a shuddering breath. Her heart still hammered from the chaos, her pulse syncing with the subtle rhythms of Draven's steady presence at her side. He had been relentless, unwavering a tether in the storm, and yet, in the quiet after, his golden gaze held something more, something that made her insides coil with anticipation.
"You held the line beautifully," Draven murmured, his hand brushing hers, fingers threading together without hesitation. The touch was electric, grounding, igniting a slow fire in her chest she had no intention of hiding.
