“Yours.”

The word was now closer to a begging whine than actual speech. Regan’s breath came in quick gasps. Her fingertips itched as if claws would emerge, but none came. Regan reached for Warren instead of the temptation of burning. Her eyes—now alive with fireworks of flame—stayed fixed on his. In the safety that Warren offered, Regan started to come undone.

And she did let go—not with fire and teeth but with parted lips and fluttering eyes. Regan gave in to something gentler than the wild desire to consume the world in flame. The sound of his voice kept her tethered to her humanity tightly enough that the heat of her skin didn’t ignite. A moan hummed through her lips as she kissed him and the fire in her eyes mixed with inky darkness.

“Warren…”

Regan’s skin was still warm, but not dangerously so. It was a heat that wrapped around them both like a blanket in a blizzard. Her eyes were now so dark they looked almost black, shining like the slick surface of a river rock. Panting, Regan nodded as girlish smile tugged at her lips.

“You alright?”

Her fingers traced slowly along Warren’s jawline as if memorizing the angle of it.

Regan basked in the sincerity and abundance of Warren’s affection; the sureness and safety of it that was more warming than any fire. Perhaps Regan should have felt guilty. There was only so much of herself she’d ever be able to give—or so she’d convinced herself—and for Warren she wasn't sure it wouldn’t be enough. But the closeness was too soothing of a balm to resist, his laugh too addictive, his arms too sure a shelter.

So, smiling back, Regan kissed him before laying down on her side to face him and nudging him to do the same. Settling in so closely her nose brushed against this, she gazed into his eyes with a soft smile and flushed cheeks.

“No cuts, no flames,” Regan echoed, “Glad neither were enough to scare you off.”

Regan was practically purring as Warren his hand down her side, wiggling a little with the simple pleasure of it all. She rested her hand on his cheek so that her thumb absently stroked the stubble there as she contemplated his request. She sorted through all the clutter in her mind, but discarded one fact after another: this one too dark, this other too plain, this one downright untouchable. Eventually, she just tossed something out, unable to discriminate a fun fact from a bad one through the fog of her own contentment.

“Regan’s a boy’s name,” she said with a sheepish smirk, “the lady that found me had just lost her son. I didn’t have a name, obviously, so she figured she’d keep his name around. So that he didn’t disappear. Or, that’s what I like to think anyway.” She shrugged, still stroking his cheek.

Warren’s smile was like a prize won. Once you managed one, you wanted nothing more than to snag another and another. Regan wasn’t sure just what had made him grin, but it made her beam with satisfaction to have caused it. Regan wasn’t sure if her dead namesake would have been proud of what she’d become, but it didn’t matter. Warren’s smile was more than enough.

To answer his question, she softly shook her head, still grinning, running her fingertips slowly along his cheek.

“Your turn now,” Regan teased, kissing him, “I’m not letting you off that easy. Tell me something about you.”