She steps closer instead of away.
I freeze.
What—
My breath catches. My hands clench at my sides. Heat flares beneath my skin—my magic responding before I can stop it.
The berserker strength stirs just under the surface. It’s not anger. It’s something deeper, more primal.
Because this woman has gotten under my skin.
Every instinct screams at me to reach for her, pull her close, keep her safe.
But I don’t move.
Can’t move.
“I don’t want you to deal with it alone,” she says softly.
Something in my chest hurts.
No. Don’t do this. Don’t say things like that unless—
“Kaia…” My voice drops. Rough. Desperate. “Please don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”
I can’t take pity. Can’t take her trying to make me feel better if she doesn’t actually want—
“I meant every word.”
She steps even closer.
Close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin. Close enough that her shadows brush against the heat radiating off me.
Oh gods.
She wants—
She’s choosing—
My restraint cracks.
I raise my hand. Slow. Careful. Touch her cheek with one finger.
She’s soft. Warm. Real.
“I don’t know how gentle I can be,” I whisper.
It’s the truth. I’m terrified. Terrified of being too much. Too rough. Too intense.
Terrified of hurting her when she’s still healing.
Terrified my strength—berserker and fire combined—will break her if I lose control.
She meets my eyes. “I don’t want gentle.”
I break.
I kiss her like I’m starving.
