They waited until darkness fully claimed the sky. The fire outside had long died to embers, leaving the cave steeped in shadows. She didn't know when she had fallen asleep, the exhaustion of the day's flight overtaking every thought. Yet when she awoke, she realized she hadn't slept alone.
He lay a few paces from her, body sprawled on the hard stone, chest rising and falling steadily. For a moment, she simply watched him, captivated.
How could someone appear so angelic—so impossibly calm—and yet emanate danger in every line of his body? His face, angular and striking in the dim glow of the moonlight spilling through the cave entrance, seemed sculpted from some divine hand.
Her thoughts drifted back to their conversation from the night before. She had thought his existence a myth, a story whispered in the city about a god punishing his rebellious son.
Never had she imagined she would meet him—him, standing before her in flesh and blood. But what if he was lying? No… everything about him suggested otherwise. The way he moved, spoke, even breathed, was not human.
Her gaze wandered to the small pile of berries and fruit laid carefully on a large green leaf beside her. He must have left them for her before they fell asleep, a silent act of care. She had rested on the soft cloak, but he had endured the unforgiving stone. A pang of guilt rose in her chest.
Without thinking, she slipped from her hiding spot and tugged the cloak closer to him. Gently, carefully, she draped it over his shoulders.
He stirred instantly. In the blink of an eye, the world shifted. His hands shot out, and before she could react, he rolled them both over. Now he was above her, pinning her to the ground with the weight of his body and the undeniable presence of his heat.
"I… I thought you might have been cold," she stammered, voice trembling, fear and something else warring in her chest.
For a heartbeat, his eyes blazed, glaring down at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. They were no longer the playful, teasing eyes she had known—they were fierce, dangerous, unreadable.
She shivered, half from fright, half from the inexplicable pull she felt toward him.
Then he blinked, as if registering her words, and his tension softened. Slowly, he let his hands drop, shifting just enough to release her. She blinked rapidly, trying to catch her breath, her heart hammering in her chest.
"We move now," he said abruptly, voice low, rubbing his temples as though trying to shake off the haze between them. The command left no room for argument.
She hesitated, the closeness, the warmth, the way his presence lingered over her, refusing to leave, making it impossible to move away. Her eyes followed him as he stretched, the shadowed muscles of his back flexing, the firelight playing over every line.
"I… thank you," she whispered finally, voice soft, almost shy. She did not mean the cloak alone. She meant everything—his protection, his care, his inexplicable presence that made her feel both safe and exposed in the same breath.
He turned slightly, catching her gaze. For a moment, his lips quirked in a small, knowing smile. "You think too much," he murmured, and it was teasing, yet there was a weight beneath it, a truth she couldn't ignore.
She wanted to reply, to ask who he truly was, what he had been hiding, why he seemed both mortal and divine. But the words faltered. Instead, she felt the urge to reach for him again, to test the closeness, the danger, the heat between them.
His hand brushed hers almost accidentally as he adjusted the cloak around her. She froze, acutely aware of the contact, the nearness, the slow, deliberate way his fingers lingered near hers before pulling back. Her pulse raced, awareness igniting in every nerve.
Osairin's gaze softened, though a flicker of that dangerous edge remained. "We'll rest again later," he murmured, voice low, intimate. "But not now. The night isn't safe."
She nodded, though her chest still throbbed with the memory of him above her, the warmth of his body, the electricity in the air between them. She had never felt anything like this—fear and desire entwined so completely that it made her breathless, alert, and achingly aware of every inch of him.
As he led the way deeper into the cave, she followed, steps tentative but willing. And though the night was dark and the shadows thick, the heat of him lingered in her mind, a promise she couldn't name yet, a danger she didn't want to flee.