“We did it,” she whispers. “Survived everything. Freed the prisoners. Completed the bond. Changed fate itself.”
“You did it,” I correct. “You saw the path forward when I would have accepted death. You refused to let me go. You saved me with the life-bond.”
“We saved each other.” She turns in my arms to face me. “ Neither of us could have done this alone.”
I cup her face, studying her in the soft light. She’s beautiful—storm-gray eyes bright with intelligence and love, silver-streaked auburn hair damp and curling, her expression open and vulnerable in ways she never was before the bond.
“I love you,” I say, needing her to hear it. “Lyra Starling, my mate, my life, my everything. I love you more than I have words for.”
“I love you too.” She kisses me softly. “Magnus Ironwood, my mate, my heart, my home. I love you beyond measure.”
The kiss deepens naturally, and I feel desire building through our bond—not the desperate need of the ritual, but something gentler. Celebratory. Joyful.
“We should rest,” I murmur against her lips, even as my hands trace patterns on her skin beneath the water.
“We should,” she agrees, her hands exploring me in turn. “But I want you. Want to celebrate being alive, being bonded, being together in peace for the first time.”
The want in her voice, echoed through our bond, makes my control slip. “The ritual was sacred but desperate. This would be different.”
“This would be ours. Just us, choosing each other without ceremony or witnesses or death hanging over us.” She straddles me in the water, positioning herself over me. “Make love to me, Magnus. Not to save my life or complete a ritual. Just because we want to.”
I lift her slightly, guiding myself to her entrance, and sink her down slowly. We both gasp at the sensation—amplified through the bond, pleasure doubling as we feel both our own reactions and each other’s.
“Gods,” Lyra breathes. “Is it always going to be this intense?”
“I hope so,” I manage, starting to move. The water helps, buoyancy making the motion smooth, and I set a rhythm that builds steadily rather than desperately.
Through the bond, I feel what she feels—the stretch and fullness, the building pleasure, the love that makes every touch meaningful. And she feels me—the tight heat of her body, the overwhelming need to claim and protect and cherish all at once.
We move together, finding rhythms that please us both, adjusting based on sensations shared through our permanent connection. It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced, for it is not just physical pleasure but emotional and spiritual satisfaction, knowing that every touch brings joy to my mate.
“Magnus,” Lyra gasps, her inner muscles beginning to flutter. “I’m close?—”
“I feel it.” And I do feel her building climax through the bond, feel the exact moment she tips over the edge. Her pleasure crashes through me, triggering my own release, and we come together in perfect synchronization.
The bond flares bright with our combined satisfaction, magic swirling visibly around us—ice and storm made manifest, frost patterns and lightning traces decorating the bathwater in beautiful chaos.
We stay joined for a long moment, both trembling, both basking in the afterglow that’s twice as strong when shared through permanent connection.
“That was...” Lyra can’t find words.
“Everything,” I finish. “That was everything.”
We finish bathing, helping each other wash, touching with tenderness rather than urgency now. Then we dress in sleep clothing and curl up on the bed, wings folded around us both, bond humming contentedly between us.
“What happens now?” Lyra asks sleepily. “After all the crisis and fighting and saving people—what do we do with peace?”
“We build a life,” I say, holding her close. “Figure out what normal looks like for us. Maybe help the integration council with their plans for other facilities, but from a consulting role, not front-line missions. Give ourselves time to just... be together.”
“I’d like that.” She yawns. “And Magnus? I had another vision. A clear one, not branching futures.”
“Of what?”
“Our daughter. Three years from now, with your silver eyes and my gift for seeing possibilities. She’ll be extraordinary.” Lyra places my hand on her still-flat stomach. “We’re going to have a family, Magnus. A real, peaceful, normal family.”
The thought fills me with wonder and protective determination. A daughter. Our child. The next generation that will grow up in a world where integration is normal, where bonds between different clans are celebrated rather than feared.
“Then we’ll build that future,” I promise. “Together.”
