They were supposed to be keeping watch.
But Aelira couldn’t stop looking at him.
Astren stood at the edge of the dying fire, shirt slung over one shoulder, scars silvered by moonlight. His jaw was set, tense in that way that meant he was trying to hold something back. But the way his eyes kept flicking toward her—like she was gravity itself—told her everything.
She should’ve looked away.
She didn’t.
Her body still ached from the last time. From how rough they’d been. From how desperate. But gods, she wanted more. Not just the heat of it—the escape—but the feeling that, when they touched, the chaos inside her went quiet. That when he kissed her, the flames obeyed.
She stood slowly.
He turned at the sound, eyes darkening.
“Aelira,” he said, low, warning.
She stepped into his space a
