My breath catches as I drink in the sight of her—flushed and glowing and absolutely radiant. “Laney,” I whisper, voice rough with emotion. “Do you feel it?”
“Ryder?” Her voice is shaky, wondering. “What—I can feel you. Like, really feel you. Your emotions. It’s like you’re inside my heart.”
“We’re soulbound, Laney. It’s rare—a gift from the Goddess. It happens when two people love each other deeply, commit to forever, and seal it with…” I gesture vaguely at our still-connected bodies.
“Seal it with mutual bliss?”
I pull her impossibly closer, one hand tangling in her hair, the other splayed across her lower back. “Exactly. And I never thought—” My voice cracks with emotion. “After everything, after all the loss and loneliness, I never thought I’d be blessed with this. Soulbonds are rare even among orcs. But here you are, glowing like captured fire in my arms, bound to me heart and soul.”
Her eyes shimmer with tears. “I can see it in your eyes—how much you love me. I can feel it. It’s overwhelming.”
“Good overwhelming or bad overwhelming?”
“The best kind.” She kisses me softly. “I love you, Ryder. Now and forever.”
“Now and forever,” I echo, and seal the vow with a kiss that tastes like salt and promises and home.
We lie tangled together for a long time, neither of us willing to break the connection. Outside, the world continues without us. Inside, everything has changed.
“So this is permanent?” she asks eventually, tracing idle patterns on my chest. “This bond?”
“Permanent,” I confirm. “Unbreakable. You’re stuck with me now, Solarin.”
Her smile is radiant. “Best curse ever.”
“It’s a blessing, not a curse.”
“I know.” She presses a kiss over my heart. “But ‘best blessing ever’ doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
I laugh, the sound rumbling through both of us thanks to our connection. “Sleep, Solarin. We’ve got all the time in the world now.”
“Forever,” she murmurs, already drifting off.
“Forever,” I agree, and hold her as she sleeps, watching the red glow that only orcs can see pulse in time with her heartbeat.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Laney
I’ve spent twenty years imagining this moment.
In some versions, my father opens the door and doesn’t recognize me. In others, he slams it in my face. In the worst ones—the ones that wake me at 3 AM—he tells me I was right all along: he never wanted a daughter.
Still, none of my imagined scenarios prepared me for the real thing.
“You’re sure about this?” Ryder asks as we pull up to the modest house in a quiet Sacramento neighborhood. His hand finds mine across the console, steady and warm. “We could reschedule. Give you more time to—”
“I’m sure.” The words come out stronger than I feel. “I’ve waited twenty years. I’m not waiting one second more.”
The house is exactly what I pictured from Dad’s descriptions on the phone—single story, pale yellow siding, a small garden out front that someone clearly tends with care. There’s a basketball hoop over the garage, a welcome mat that says “Home Sweet Home,” and wind chimes that catch the afternoon breeze.
This is where he’s built his life. The life that went on without me.
The front door opens before we reach the landing, and my heart stops.
He’s older—of course he is. Graying hair where I remember dark brown, weathered lines around eyes that are still the same brown as mine. But when his face breaks into a wide smile, I see it. The dad who called me Sunshine. The dad who taught me to be gentle with scared animals. The dad I thought abandoned me.
“Laney,” he says, and his voice cracks on my name.
