The air inside the cave had shifted from the stagnant, heavy scent of sickness to something electric. It was the smell of a brewing storm, ozone, scorched earth, and a deep, underlying heat that seemed to vibrate out of the very stone walls. As Amara sat astride Darien's lap, Darien's hands, large enough to span her entire waist, were no longer trembling with the weakness of the morning.
The "healing" had begun the moment she touched him, but now that she was pressed against him, the process had accelerated into something primal. His silver eyes were no longer clouded with the haze of pain.
"Sir..." Amara whispered, her voice a fragile thread in the vast, echoing silence of the lair.
