Rein hadn't planned to stay this long.
He'd sat down beside her passed-out body only to catch his breath, to wait for the drug to wear off, maybe to slip away before the sunrise-that-never-came burned the Devourlands red again.
But somewhere between watching the rise and fall of her breath and letting her tail drape unconsciously over his thigh, he'd stopped thinking about escape.
Not permanently.
Just… not yet.
The truth was, he wasn't sure what waited outside the den besides teeth and heat and beasts bigger than the lies he told himself.
And inside this den—inside this tangle of furs and fur and strange, violent affection—was warmth. Food. A bed. And a woman who hadn't flayed him alive despite having claws and motive.
Rein told himself he was just playing the long game.
But even now, as Zeraka began to stir, golden eyes flickering open with that feral gleam—he still hadn't moved.
She didn't leap up like before.
She stretched. Slowly. Muscles rippling under bare skin and battered armor. A yawn like a lioness in heat.
Then her eyes met his.
And she smiled.
"You drugged me," she murmured, voice still thick with sleep.
"I did," Rein said flatly.
"You stayed."
"I was weighing the odds."
She cocked her head. "And?"
"Still leaning toward regret."
She grinned wider, crawling slowly into his lap, not with force—yet—but with the lazy weight of a predator who knows the mouse isn't going anywhere.
"But you didn't run."
Rein shrugged. "Maybe I'm learning to pick my battles."
"Or maybe…" she whispered, nose brushing his ear, "you liked holding me."
He didn't answer.
Her hands slid to his sides. Warm. Calloused. Careful, this time.
"You said it again," she purred.
"I didn't."
"You did. When I was asleep. You touched my hair."
Rein's voice dropped. "You were snoring."
She laughed softly. "Liar."
She climbed into his lap again, hips resting just enough to steal his breath. Her eyes burned bright. Not angry.
Hungry.
"You made me feel wanted," she said.
He tried to speak.
Her tongue flicked against his throat. That killed the thought.
Her breath was hot. Her lips hovered over his.
"You going to say it again?"
Rein shook his head. "You're impossible."
She leaned closer.
"Then I'll make you beg to say it."
Her fingers hooked his shirt. Pulled.
He caught her wrists—half-heartedly.
"Zeraka—"
"You scratched me," she whispered. "You petted me. You whispered it."
Her hips shifted against his lap with slow, impossible confidence.
"Now I'm going to do the same."
She kissed him. Deep. Greedy. Lips and teeth and tongue, all heat and hunger and something dangerously close to worship. Her claws didn't draw blood. But they knew where to land.
She pressed him down, breath ragged. Her voice trembled with restraint.
"You belong here now. You feel like mine. Even when you lie."
Rein didn't stop her.
He didn't say it again, either.
But he didn't pull away.
Because in that moment… he couldn't tell if he was still pretending.
____
Rein woke slowly, face half-buried in furs, body blanketed in heat.
Zeraka lay behind him—curled around his spine, her arm draped across his chest. Her tail coiled around his calf.
Her breath was soft. Rhythmic. Her hand, even in sleep, was resting low on his stomach.
He should've felt hunted.
Instead, he felt… kept.
He didn't move right away.
The weight of her body was comforting in a way that terrified him.
Last night blurred in his head—the kiss, the lap, her pressing into him with need and reverence and promise.
Not the empty kind.
The kind with intention.
She wasn't playing at obsession anymore.
She wanted a future.
He slowly turned his head, watching her sleep.
She looked peaceful.
Vulnerable, even.
But Rein's pulse wouldn't slow. His thoughts spun.
This wasn't a mistake he could take back with sarcasm.
He'd scratched the wrong ear.
Said the wrong word.
Stayed one night too long.
And now she was wrapping her life around him like it was already decided.
His fingers brushed the edge of the pelt-nest beneath them.
It was shaped like a cradle.
At the den's edge, he saw it—clumsily stitched from fur and hide:
A second bed.
Smaller.
His breath caught.
"…No."
He sat up slowly, carefully.
Zeraka's tail shifted.
She murmured something unintelligible in her sleep. But didn't wake.
Rein stood.
He paced once around the edge of the den, hands shaking slightly.
She hadn't just claimed him. She'd started planning around him.
This wasn't love.
It was ownership in disguise.
No shackles. No chains.
Just warmth that made him feel like choosing to stay was his idea.
He stared at the exit.
Faint light filtered through ash-heavy air.
He couldn't stay.
Not because she would hurt him.
But because she wouldn't.
Not unless he left.
And she'd make that hurt worse than anything he'd faced.
He walked back to her side, crouched down, and watched her sleep one more time.
"Rein~"
She murmured his name.
Smiled in her sleep.
God damn it.
He brushed her hair gently off her face.
And whispered:
"You're the wrong kind of warm."
Then he turned.
And ran.