The fire had burned low in the hearth, its embers pulsing in the quiet. The warmth barely touched the edges of the room, chased off by the cold creeping in through the cabin's cracks.
Lucien's hands were still on her thighs. His grip was too tight. He didn't let go. Neither did she. His breath was slow. Measured.
But beneath it—
He was shaking.
Kah'el still hadn't moved. His knuckles were white where they rested on his knees. His breathing wasn't steady. His jaw was tight.
And Taryn—Taryn wasn't sure what would happen if she moved.
Because the moment hadn't passed.
It was still here. Thick. Unrelenting. Waiting.
Lucien exhaled, the sound rough and uneven. "You're thinking too much, Warrior."
"And you talk too much."
His smirk was immediate. "Maybe."
She felt it before she made the decision to move. Something low in her chest, thrumming, pulling.
She didn't have to think. Didn't have to second-guess.