Rhaegal's hands, which had been steady only moments ago, faltered. For a heartbeat, he did not move at all, caught between instinct and the flood of something far more dangerous.
"Malin—" his voice broke against the press of lips.
He gripped Malin's shoulders, not to hold him close but to push him back. Yet the boy clung tighter, refusing to let go. Rhaegal could feel his desperation in the way Malin trembled, in the fevered insistence of the kiss.
With effort, he pulled his head back, their mouths parting with a sharp breath. His golden eyes burned, not with anger, but with something rawer and unsteady.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" His voice was low, roughened, as though dragged over gravel.
Malin's gaze lifted, wide and defiant at once. "Yes."
