"Cinder." He was trying not to smile. I could see it—the way his mouth kept twitching, the way some of the devastation in his expression was being crowded out by something warmer. Something that looked dangerously like adoration.
"I'm serious. From a research perspective, this is fascinating. The selective thermal immunity alone would warrant a paper. 'Localized Cryoprotection in Human Subjects Exposed to Draconic Ice Generation: A Case Study of One Very Confused Nurse.'"
"You're spiraling."
"I'm processing. There's a difference." I signaled and changed lanes, checking over my shoulder because both windows weregone, even though there was nothing behind us but empty highway. "I process verbally. You've met me."
"I have." His voice was soft now, that low register that made my chest do complicated things. "And you're deflecting because you want to ask something and you're afraid of the answer."
Damn him. Damn him and his quiet observation and his ability to see through every wall I built.
I drove in silence for half a mile, gathering courage like it was something I could scoop up off the floor of the truck.
"The connection," I said finally. "The one between dragons and certain people. Does it have a name?"
The flush on his neck deepened. Even in the near-dark, I could see it spreading—creeping up past his collar, climbing his jaw, reaching his ears. Taranis Rees, who had just transformed into an apex predator capable of freezing a mountain solid, was blushing like a teenager asked to prom.
I waited. He didn't continue.
"You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"I want to." He turned back to me, and the look on his face—God. Open and terrified and hopeful and ashamed all at once, like he was offering me something he'd convinced himself no one would ever want. "But if I say it now, like this, after everything that just happened—after I lost control and nearly destroyed the truck and scared you half to death—it'll feel like pressure. And I promised myself I would never pressure you."
My grip on the steering wheel tightened. Not from fear. From something so tender it almost hurt.
"You didn't scare me," I said.
"Cinder—"
"You didn't." I said it firmly, the way I said things in trauma bays when people needed to hear the truth and believe it. "Shocked the fuck out of me, yes. Rearranged my entire understanding of reality, definitely. But scared?" I shook myhead. "The only thing that scared me tonight was Gavin. Not you. Never you."
“Are we sure it was him?”
I glanced over at him. “Unless you have someone wanting to target you?”
Taz shook his head.
"We need to report Gavin… the incident," I said, reluctantly admitting to myself I didn't actually see the driver. I also said it because if I didn't change the subject, I was going to pull over and climb into his lap and we'd never make it home. "What he did tonight—that's attempted vehicular assault. That's not a window opened
or a text message. That's a felony."
"Agreed." His voice had steadied, something harder settling into it. The protector. The dragon, even in human form, already calculating threats. "And this time, we document everything. The damage to the truck. The timeline. The texts you deleted—"
"I know. I know I shouldn't have deleted them."
"We'll get the records from your carrier. Ignatius has people who can help with that." He paused. "If you'll let me involve him."
"Does he know what you are?"
Taz paused, and I got it. “Not your secret to tell?”
"He’s a man who will make Gavin wish he'd never been born."
I considered this. The old instinct—handle it alone, don't burden anyone, don't owe anyone—rose up like bile. But I was sitting in a truck with no windows, driving home from watching my boyfriend turn into a mythical creature, and my ex had just tried to run us off a cliff. The time for handling things alone had officially passed.
"Yeah," I said. "Involve him."
Taz exhaled like he'd been holding his breath since I started driving. His hand found my knee—cold, careful, askingpermission with the lightness of his touch. I covered it with my own and held on.