When his mouth found my breast, I arched off the bed, fingers digging into his shoulders. He was careful with his fangs, always careful, but everything else was pure need. His hand slid between my thighs and I nearly came apart at the first touch.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and I opened my eyes to see his red gaze burning into mine as his fingers moved, watching every reaction, cataloging every gasp and shudder like he had cataloged my tells at the gaming table.
I was close, so close, when reality crashed in. The weight of what we were doing. The danger. The way this would change everything. My body tensed, and he felt it immediately.
He stopped, hand still but not withdrawing. “Sabine?”
“I—” Fear and want tangled in my chest. “I cannot. I am sorry, I thought I could, but?—”
He moved up to cradle my face, his touch gentle now. “It is alright.”
“It is not. I want this. I want you. But?—”
“But you are scared.” No judgment in his voice. Just understanding. “So am I.”
That admission made me look at him. Really look. And I saw it, the same fear beneath the want. The same recognition that this was bigger than either of us had planned for.
He kissed my forehead, then rolled to lie beside me, pulling me against his chest. I could feel his heart, hearts, plural, the dual rhythm all Vinduthi had, racing against my cheek.
“We do not have to do anything you are not ready for,” he said into my hair.
“Stay anyway?” I hated how small my voice sounded. “Just… stay?”
His arms tightened around me. “Yes.”
We lay there in the dark, bodies cooling, breathing synchronizing. I was half naked in bed with an alien warrior who had terrorized guards for thinking about me. He was holding me like I was precious, like I was worth protecting, like I mattered.
Tomorrow everything would be complicated.
But tonight, I fell asleep feeling something I had not in five years: safe. He had stayed, and for the first time, the silence in my quarters did not feel like loneliness.
VARRICK
She fit against me like a mathematical proof. Every curve aligned to every angle, her breath warming the space above my hearts, her hand splayed across my ribs.
Watching her sleep, dark hair spilled across my chest, face relaxed in a way I had never seen while she was awake, I could not summon any regret. I had come here for the Regalia. Not for this. Not for her. And yet.
Her breathing changed. That subtle shift from sleep to awareness. Her body tensed slightly, processing where she was, who she was pressed against, what had happened.
“Morning,” I said quietly.
She lifted her head, meeting my eyes. Hers were uncertain, vulnerable in a way her professional mask never allowed. “You stayed.”
“You asked me to.”
“I—” She sat up, pulling the sheet with her, suddenly conscious of her state of undress. “Last night?—”
“We do not have to talk about it.”
“But we should.” She tucked hair behind her ear, that nervous gesture I had cataloged days ago. “I froze. You were—we were—and I just?—”
“You were not ready.” I sat up too, not reaching for her though every instinct screamed to pull her back against me. “There is no timeline for this, Sabine.”
She looked at me, really looked, and something in her expression softened. “Most men would be frustrated.”
“I am not most men.”
“No,” she agreed. “You are not.”
