Something hurt stabbed sharply at the snow dragon’s heart when Kobato pointedly evaded his attempt at an embrace. “Hey.” Vladya couldn’t help saying it—he sounded no better than a child who’s had their treasured toy taken away. Except Ko was so much more than just some glittering plaything. And Vlad was too damned abrasive to invent a way to tell her that. Maybe it was the crackling energy of the building tempest overhead that frayed his nerves so much . . . Sure. That was the reason Vladya felt his lip curl in a half-snarl at his lass. That was why he found himself reacting with such anger at her innocuous, reasonable denial of contact. For a monster educated by war, so used to reacting to violence with violence, this frostbitten brute still had so much more to learn. So many more ways to grow up.

He heard the tentative waver in her voice as she tried to figure out how to say what she wanted to say. Normally the snowy soldier gave her plenty of time to reach for her words, as fascinated by her private thought process as he was by anything; however—and Vladya honestly couldn’t stop himself—that poisonous thread of impatience tugged itself into a little noose about his chest and tugged until he had to swallow a growl. “I wasn’t saying that I love this place,” Vlad muttered bitterly. “Just wish I knew where this change of heart is coming from . . .” It feels like we’re still running, he wanted to add. I want to sit still. Even if it’s here.

Thunder resounded more aggressively; massive black storm clouds loomed like mountains over the forest and robbed what little warmth there was in the air. Vladya merely flattened his ears, but Kobato moved toward him. Frightened? Nervous? It took a moment this time for her tattered ivory prince to return the gesture; his jawbone rested on her head like a crown but his hard-muscled body went rigid, unyielding, as if he were no longer sure of his ability to embrace her with affection. Don’t lash out at her. You’re not mad at HER, so don’t do it, idiot bastard. He let her speak her mind. And . . . it made him a little sad.

That was coming from a creature that had not been given permission to feel “sad” for most of his life, to the point where he no longer completely understood the emotion. What the hell was he supposed to do at this point? There was no instruction manual for this shit. Words of comfort squirmed and strangled themselves to death in Vladya’s throat. He wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter about her princess dream ending, she was much better than that, fuck Serris and his pack—except Vlad knew he couldn’t say it right. He felt about as useful as a convict using knives to paint. There needed to be delicacy to fix this, not hack-slash haphazard stabs at being kind.

Until Kobato mentioned Kershov. And her so-called selfishness. Then her battledog’s protective ire rose. He wrenched himself away from Kobato, oblivious to the shiver-cold rain beginning to drip from the sky. It spattered his ivory robes as he slowly stood and turned to face her, leaving glittering streaks down the intense, angry lines of his mask. He didn’t like the softness of her lyrics. The smothered guilt. “Don’t you dare say that,” Vladya grated out past grinding teeth—because fury was the only method he knew, and he was terrible at this love shit, and dammit poor poor Kobato what was he doing WRONG? “Are you kidding me? The fact you gave him a fucking address told him he wasn’t just messing with a homeless stray. That you have people behind you. And, yeah, Serris isn’t exactly who I’d share a carcass with but ABENDROT DOESN’T KNOW THAT.” Rage was a blizzard inside of him. Blazing pyrite eyes roamed Kobato’s suddenly closed expression, as just by looking hard enough he’d see her smile. Nothing.

“Fine. Where shall we go, kid? Should I choose this time? Should we even go to a pack? Wouldn’t want to run into any more of your precious pseudo-family members.” That last part meant to be a barb toward Serris—but too late did Vladya realize that his careless comment might wound his maiden. His heart jumped. She described Munashii Gekko as a playground . . . but it had been a place of joy in her childhood. He’d just accidentally insulted the family she’d created for herself, as well as her effort to seek shelter and save them both. The rain transformed from pearls into bullets. It pelted both wolves mercilessly, yet Vladya could not move until he’d heard his girl’s repy—if she even deigned to give him one. “I didn’t mean that,” he breathed.