“I chose you,” I said. “In that office. When Tarsus offered me a deal. I chose you.”
His hands went still on my arm. “Carys...”
“I know what that means. I know you’re Vinduthi. I know about the claiming bite. I’ve cataloged enough artifacts to understand your species.” I met his eyes. “I chose you. And I’d do it again.”
He finished wrapping my arm. Sat back on his heels. “You chose freedom. Not me. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.” His voice was quiet. Certain. “You chose to escape. To live. To stop being his property. That’s not the same as choosing me.”
I reached out. Touched his face. His skin was warm. The gray textured. His horns smooth under my fingers.
“Maybe it was both,” I said.
He closed his eyes. Just for a moment. When he opened them again, something had shifted. The careful distance he’d maintained was cracking.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said.
“Then tell me.”
He stood. Moved away. Put space between us. “The claiming bite isn’t just marking. It’s transformation. Your body changes. Your biology rewrites itself. You become something other than human. Stronger. Faster. Longer-lived. But not human anymore.”
“I know.”
“And it’s permanent. Irreversible. Once it’s done, there’s no going back. You’ll carry my marks for the rest of your life. You’ll be bound to me through a connection you can’t break.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” He turned to face me. “Because I need you to be certain. I need you to choose this without fear or desperation or gratitude. Not because I saved you. Not because you’re running from Tarsus. Because you actually want it.”
I stood. Crossed the space between us. “What do you want, Brevan?”
His hands came up. Framed my face. His touch careful despite the intensity in his eyes. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since you stood in that museum wing and called out my lies. Since you met me in the tunnels and negotiated terms. Since you created chaos in that ballroom to save my plan.”
“Then take me.”
“Not the claiming. Not here. Not like this.” His voice was rough. Strained. “When I claim you, it will be because you’re choosing me. Not because you’re running. Not because you’re grateful. Because you want to be mine and you’re ready for everything that means.”
“What if I’m ready now?”
“You’re not.” His thumb brushed my cheek. “You’re free for the first time in six years. You need time to understand what that means. What you want without a... without him.”
He was right. I knew he was right. But the heat between us was real. The attraction was real. And I didn’t want to wait.
“Then no claiming,” I said. “Just this. Just us. Right now.”
His hands tightened on my face. “Carys?—”
I kissed him.
He went rigid. Surprised. Then something in him snapped. His arms came around me and he kissed me back like he was starving for it.
His tongue swept into my mouth. Demanding. Taking. I opened for him and tasted something alien and good and entirely him.
His hands slid down to my waist. Gripped hard. Pulled me flush against him. I could feel every hard line of his body. The muscle. The heat. And lower, pressing insistent against my stomach, proof of exactly how much he wanted me.
I grabbed his jacket. Yanked it off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it. Set the Regalia aside. Then his hands were back on me and I was drowning in sensation.
