Kell shivered as Neria's fingers slid over the scar, the connection, the magic, and so recently, the moral wound. There was no trace of it now. No scar to say where the first had been, where his heart had torn free, lungs ripped.

It was a sobering distraction, and his smile faltered, but the warmth didn't fade. Kell pressed into her hand, the full push of his chest against her palm, the magnetism that came so easily with her.

So naturally.

"I can," he answered, running his finger against her cheek, catching her eyes to remind her. He was warm.

Kell closed the distance, leaned in, and touched their foreheads together, found the edge of her tunic, pulled it up and off.