“You’re not a ‘settlement.’ You’re a choice.”
“A choice you might regret.”
“The only thing I regret is you thinking you get to make my decisions for me.”
A beat of silence passes between us. Then my hand comes up, covers hers where it rests against my heartbeat. My pulse speeds up in response to her closeness.
“I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“Then stop trying so hard,” she says, her voice softening. “Just… be with me.”
“Ember—”
She rises on her toes, kisses me. For two seconds, I hold still, clinging to the last vestige of control. Then I’m kissing her back, hands sliding into her damp hair, pulling her against me.
The kiss deepens, edged with desperation, all my restraint and fear finally finding outlet. We stumble backward until her spine hits the wall, my weight pressing her there. Our hands turn urgent—her fingers yanking my shirt free, my palms sliding beneath her shirt to find bare skin.
She tastes like mint toothpaste and something sweet underneath. She gasps when I touch her ribs, her waist, places still tender from the ordeal. I groan when she rocks against me, grinding against my cock. The connection between us hums with energy; not just desire but something deeper, more elemental. Every immortal recognizes the sensation, that rare magnetic pull that comes once in a lifetime.
It’s a thought that terrifies me.
We move toward the bed without breaking contact—stumbling, pulling at clothes. Her hoodie goes over her head; my shirt buttons giving up under her impatient fingers. We fall onto the narrow bed together, tangled and graceless and urgent.
My mouth finds her throat, her collarbone, lower. Her nails drag down my back, setting fire to every nerve ending. Themarks she leaves will heal within minutes—my dragon power has returned full force since we got back—but I savor the fleeting pain. Clothes are pushed aside rather than fully removed—too desperate to bother. My hand down to cup her mound; her breathing fractures.
“Luke! Please, I—”
There’s an abrupt knock. “Kenan, Viktor asked me to call you in.” The door handle turns.
We freeze—caught, exposed, my hand still beneath her waistband.
Hargen stands in the doorway.
For a second, no one moves. Shock crosses his face, then immediate retreat. Unlike Vanya, Hargen’s immortal energy signature is muted, controlled—but right now it spikes sharply with surprise.
“I— apologize. I was looking for you. Viktor said it was urgent, so I thought—” He stops, clearly rethinking everything. “I’ll just—” He backs toward the door.
Ember scrambles away from me, face burning as she yanks her shirt back down. “Dad, wait—”
I sit up, running a hand over my face, equal parts frustrated and mortified. My enhanced senses pick up on Hargen’s conflicted emotional state even across the room; the cocktail of protectiveness, surprise, and uncertainty rolling off him.
She crosses to Hargen, voice urgent. “Please don’t tell Mom.”
Hargen’s expression conflicts, loyalty to Vanya battling with Ember’s obvious distress.
“Ember—”
“Please. Just… give us time to figure this out before she—” She can’t finish. Doesn’t have to.
“If I lie about where I found you—” Hargen begins carefully.
“I’m not asking you to lie. Just… don’t volunteer information. Please.”
Hargen looks between us; Ember desperate, me standing behind her, silent but already dreading Vanya’s inevitable reaction. For immortals, grudges can last centuries. If Vanya decides I’ve betrayed her trust with her daughter, that conflict could outlast nations.
After a long pause, he nods once. “I won’t say anything. For now.”
Relief floods Ember’s face.
