Page 45 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
"You can look now," I call out softly.
Lurok turns, his gaze finding mine across the water. For a moment, he remains perfectly still, a statue carved from silver stone. Then his hands move to the battle-sling wrapped around his middle, unfastening the leather straps with practiced efficiency. The sword at his hip follows, the weapon set carefully at the water's edge.
He enters the water with barely a ripple, his massive form gliding beneath the surface with serpentine grace. When he emerges near me, droplets cling to his silver scales like tiny stars.
We float in silence, circling each other in the gentle current. The water washes away days of travel and fear, soothing my burns and easing the ache in muscles I hadn't realized were still tense. For the first time since I found him wounded in the garden shed, I feel something close to peace.
"I thought you were gone," I confess, breaking the silence between us. The words emerge unbidden, carried on the gentle ripples that spread around us. "When I woke up alone in the darkness, I thought you had left me."
Lurok goes still, his massive form suspended in the water mere feet from mine. The heartglass rests on the shore, its glow reaching us as muted blue-green light that turns his silver scales to liquid moonlight.
"I would not leave you," he says, his voice so low it seems to vibrate through the water between us rather than travel through the air. "Not—” He stops, something vulnerable flickering across his usually stoic features. "Not ever."
Two simple words, yet they land with the weight of an oath. I watch his face, the play of emotion there so subtle most would miss it. There’s a tightening around his eyes, a barely perceptible softening of his mouth.
"I know that now," I say, drifting closer to him, the water parting around my body like silk. "But when I woke up alone in the dark, with everything gone—the pack, the heartglass, you—I thought maybe..."
"Maybe what?" He doesn't move away as I float nearer, though his pupils begin to dilate.
I swallow hard, gathering courage to voice the fear that gripped me. "Maybe you'd realized what was happening between us and decided it was better to go."
His jaw tightens, muscles working beneath the fine scales there. "Is something happening between us, Serin Valen?"
The way he says my name sends ripples down my spine that have nothing to do with the cool water. I've never heard anyone speak my name with such care, as though each syllable were something precious to be savored.
"Don't you feel it?" I whisper.
We circle each other slowly, neither advancing nor retreating, like dancers learning the steps to an ancient ritual. His massive form moves with impossible grace beneath the water, coils undulating with careful control. I should be terrified, a tiny human floating within striking distance of a predator who could drag me under in an instant. Instead, I feel safer than I ever have.
"When I was small," I say, watching the water bead on his scales, "my father told me naga were monsters who would devour me if I wandered too far from Clavenmoor house. That they felt nothing but hatred for humans. That they were incapable of gentleness."
Lurok's expression darkens. "We tell our hatchlings similar stories of humans. That you are treacherous. That you destroy everything you touch."
"But you've never been anything but gentle with me." I drift closer still, near enough now that I can feel the heat radiatingfrom his body even through the cool water. "Your hands, capable of crushing stone, bandaged my burns with such care. You who could break me without effort have only ever tried to keep me whole."
His breathing changes, grows slightly more rapid as I close the remaining distance between us. The water laps around us, creating tiny currents that push us together then pull us apart, an endless dance of approach and retreat.
"Serin." My name is a warning on his lips, though whether he's cautioning himself or me, I cannot tell.
Beneath the water, my hand brushes against his, an accident of current and proximity. His fingers twitch at the contact but don't withdraw. Instead, after a heartbeat's hesitation, they curl around mine, engulfing my hand in gentle warmth.
Time slows, narrowing to the point of contact beneath the surface. His scales should feel alien against my skin, yet somehow they don't. They're smooth and warm, each one a tiny miracle of design, fitting together in perfect harmony. I trace the edge of one with my fingertip, feeling the slight ridge where it meets the next.
"This is forbidden," he says, but his fingers tighten around mine.
"Why?” I ask. "We stopped being enemies the moment we chose to help each other.”
His eyes meet mine, pale and fathomless in the soft light. I see the struggle there, centuries of hatred warring with something new and fragile taking root between us. His free hand rises from the water, hovering near my face as droplets fall from his claws like tiny crystals.
"You should fear me," he says, his deep baritone vibrating through the water between us like lightning seeking ground.
"Well, I don't."
A single claw traces the line of my jaw with such delicacy that I lean into his touch, my lips parting on a soft gasp. Water trickles down my neck from his hand, cool rivulets that awaken every nerve ending they touch. Heat pools low in my belly, molten and insistent, as his eyes lock with mine. My skin tingles where he touches me, the heat from his scales radiating against my already flushed skin.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs. "Tell me this is wrong."
"I can't," I breathe. "Because it doesn't feel wrong to me."
