Page 18 of Ashfall

There’s something in his tone—raw, unspoken, and laced with a kind of hunger I don’t know how to answer. It settles under my skin like a secret waiting to be named, curling there with heat and weight and the whisper of something inevitable. I want to ask what he’s not saying—but I already know the answer would change everything.

The bar’s jukebox changes the music to something slow and sultry. It drifts into the air between us, thick and low, curling around my spine like temptation. Dax steps in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body radiating across the small space. His eyes search mine, heavy with things he’s not saying, then he extends his hand—not a command, not a plea. An offering. But the way he looks at me? It says everything.

“Dance with me.”His voice is velvet over gravel, low and edged with something that isn't just desire—it's command wrapped in a question. It snakes into me, warm and thick, lighting every nerve it touches. It’s not just the words—it’s the way he says them. Like he already knows I will.

I blink. “Are you serious?”

His eyes drop to my lips, then back up. “Deadly.”

I should say no, but I don't. I shouldn't take his hand, but I do—because apparently my self-preservation instinct is no match for six feet, four inches of heat and temptation wrapped in bossy dominance and that damn voice. It's reckless. It's stupid. It's exactly the kind of trouble I promised myself I'd never chase again. And yet, here I am—already falling into his gravity.

He pulls me in, slow and easy, like he’s done it a thousand times in dreams I haven’t let myself remember. Our bodies fit too well—like puzzle pieces shaped by fire and instinct. His hand settles on my lower back, fingers spreading possessively, drawing me closer until the space between us evaporates. The heat of his palm sinks into my spine, awakening every nerve.

It’s not just a touch. It’s a claim. The kind I’ve let no one get close enough to make. It’s the kind of touch that speaks in a language older than reason, one I’ve spent years pretending I don’t understand. Despite that, I don't step away. And when I exhale, my breath comes out shaky, as if trapped since the moment he looked at me like this.

It’s a slow dance. Simple on the surface. But nothing about it feels simple. There’s a tension threaded through every step, every brush of contact, like we’re teetering on the edge of something combustible. His other hand finds mine—confident, warm, a tether I didn’t ask for but don’t shake off. My free hand rests on his chest, and I feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

Everything about Dax is firm, and unforgiving—muscle wrapped in heat and something deeper. But the way he holds me? It’s careful. Intimate.

“You’re not bad at this for someone whose idea of foreplay seems to be scowling,” I whisper. “This is probably a terrible idea.”

He nods. “Want to stop?” His voice is rough silk.

I don’t answer. I can’t.

We keep moving. One slow circle. Then another. The music fades into a distant hum, and the rest of the world disappears. It’s just him and me—heat and breath and the fragile silence wrapped between us. My breath syncs to his, like we’re tethered by more than just hands. My thoughts scatter like sparks, every one of them landing on him, burning holes in the walls I’ve spent years building.

His hand slides up with agonizing slowness. Fingers brush the edge of my jaw, a featherlight tease that makes my lips part involuntarily. They trail down the side of my neck, leaving a wake of heat that pulses just beneath the surface. His thumb strokes over my throat—slow, deliberate—like he’s feeling the thrum of my pulse, searching for the confession I won’t say aloud. It’s intimate. Dominant. Seductive. Like he owns the silence between us.

Everything inside me wants to press my lips to his and lose myself in the fire I know is waiting there. To feel his mouth claim mine with the same heat simmering in his gaze. I want to know if his kiss is just as dangerous—if it will undo me, burn straight through every wall I’ve built and leave nothing but ash and want behind.

My body aches, but then the part of me still thinking—the part that remembers how trust burns faster than oxygen—flares to life. A cold shiver races across my skin, dousing the heat like a water bomb dropped from a plane. It jerks me back to reality and I pull away from the edge I almost willingly stepped off. My heart pounds like I’ve just escaped something I wasn’t sure I wanted to survive.

Dax drops his hand, slow and reluctant, fingertips dragging against my skin like they don’t want to let go. But he doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t speak. Just watches—and for a split second, I swear his eyes flash gold, bright and wrong. It’s gone before I can be sure, smoothed over like nothing ever happened.

It’s just my imagination, I tell myself. It has to be. He doesn’t speak—just watches, jaw tight, eyes shadowed with heat and something deeper I don’t dare name. The silence between us is louder than any goodbye.

I turn and walk away without looking back. Behind me, I feel his restraint snap taut, like a leash on something feral held just this side of control. The tension clings to the air betweenus, charged and thrumming with everything he didn’t say—everything I almost let myself want.

My steps quicken, but it’s not the distance I need. It’s an escape. From him. From the burn he leaves behind without ever touching flame.

CHAPTER 8

DAX

She walks away like she didn’t just almost kiss me. Like she didn’t tremble under my hands, her breath hitching when my fingers brushed her jaw. Her scent—a mixture of arousal, hesitation, heat, and denial—still fills my lungs. That sweet, stubborn challenge I can’t stop wanting—can’t stop watching. It clings to me, igniting every part of me that’s been starving in silence.

We don’t speak on the drive back to base. The tension between us crackles louder than the tires on the gravel. She stares out the window, arms crossed tight, like she’s trying to rebuild every wall I just cracked. I keep my hands clenched on the wheel, jaw locked, replaying the way her body molded to mine—how close she came to giving in. When we finally pull into camp, she’s out of the vehicle before I can kill the engine. No goodbye. No glance. Just distance. And I let her have it.

My dragon claws at the inside of my skin, furious I let Ember go. My fists flex, nails digging into my palms hard enough to break skin. The muscles in my shoulders bunch like I’m holding something massive back—and I am. My breath is shallow, my vision sharpening unnaturally, as if the shift is already trying to bleed through.

One wrong move, one more second of her scent thick in my throat, and the beast would break free. I grind my teeth and breathe through the fire coiling in my gut, forcing myself to stay human. For her. Furious, I didn’t claim what’s already ours. I taste her in the air—citrus and smoke, fire barely leashed—and it takes everything I have not to shift and go after her. Not to chase. Not to take.

She’s not ready. And I swore I wouldn’t destroy this—wouldn’t scorch something before it had a chance to take root. But that doesn’t mean I’m not watching. Not protecting. Not wanting. With every step she takes away from me, my dragon paces just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment she looks back.

Kade intercepts me near the edge of the ridge, his boots silent on the sand, the way only a dragon masking his presence can be. The tension on his face mirrors my own—jaw set, shoulders squared. He's not just bringing intel. He’s bringing confirmation of the unease prickling down my spine since Ember walked away.

"Got something," he says, holding out a thermal map. "Same weird scorch marks we found upstate. Symmetrical. Controlled. Not natural. Not random."

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