“It wasn’t your fault, Kyron.”
His expression goes vacant, as if his consciousness has left him and he’s a shell of flesh and bones. “I enjoyed it—taking his gift, my mother’s praise, and the power. I fucking craved that power. I would have sucked everyone there dry, taken it all and not given a damn. I didn’t feel an ounce of remorse as I stole his life-force. None. And when he hit the floor dead, I ran.”
“You were scared.”
He shakes his head and tears well in his eyes. “My father showed me the last tunnel. I knew the good he was doing. He told me that one day I would be a ruler who would break the barriers that separated our kingdoms, and the tunnels wouldn’t be necessary anymore. I used the passageway that was meant to free the innocent to run from what I did.”
The fractured state of his heart and the belief that he is unworthy make my chest ache. He doesn’t need to say it. He wears the fear that the only place he can ever belong is by his mother’s side. Kyron deems himself as no better than her.
I crawl into his lap, straddling his thighs, and take his cheeks in my hands. Bending so I am the only thing he sees, I say, “It wasn’t your fault. Your mother should have never given you the Posseda. She should have never made you carry out such a task. And you didn’t stay and hurt others.You didn’t drain others. You ran. A part of you knew what you had to do, and you were stronger than the cravings and brave enough to get away. Even as a little boy, you displayed courage and strength that most never find in a lifetime. I believe your father would have wanted you to use the tunnels to get away. He would be proud of the man you’ve become.”
Kyron stops breathing, and the way he searches my eyes tells me that he’s looking for any hint of a lie, any sign that I’m trying to soothe him with empty words. He won’t find it. Everything I said I believe. He has spent almost his entire life in a kingdom where people viewed him as an outsider and a threat. The odds were stacked against him. Others would have given up, fallen to the preconceived notions they had of him. But he didn’t. A Stigian boy in Lucent who had committed the greatest sin against a weaker people redeemed himself. He became one of the best among us, and he still is.
He places his palms over my hands, holding them in place on his face. “Why did you come back to Basecamp?”
It would be so simple to fall into my excuses. I want to fight for our land, to defeat the Allaji. It’s important that I be a ruler who leads by example, and I missed my friends. But the pain and need consuming my parah breaks my resolve. It’s time I let go of the lies I’ve told myself to keep my heart safe.
“You. I came back for you, Kyron,” I say.
And with those words, the last of my defenses crumble into weightless particles carried away on the night breeze.
“I came back for you,” I say again, my thumb brushing his bottom lip. “No matter how hard I fight it, the truth remains. My heart belongs to you. It will repair itself over and over again if that’s what it takes, because you are worth infinite heartbreaks, Kyron LeFur.”
His throat bobs as he swallows and his eyes grow wide, like he’s afraid if he blinks, I’ll disappear. He believed this moment would define my feelings for him and break us. I’ve toed the line of love and hate, wanting so desperately to cross it, but I could never abandon my love for him. Kyron sold his soul to the woman responsible for his darkest nightmares to buy my happiness. His love for me is limitless and mine for him desires to be its match.
He circles his fingers around my wrists and kisses each of my palms. “I won’t break your heart again.”
“I know you won’t, and that’s one of the many reasons I love you.”
His breath hitches, and he whispers, “You love me?”
I lower my head, bringing my lips closer to his. “Yes.”
“Say it again.”
“I love you, Kyron.”
He grips my nape and closes the short distance between our lips. The soft give of his mouth, the gentle strokes of his tongue, the steady rumbling in his chest, the scent of his skin, I can’t help but breathe him in. After an eternity of shallow breaths, fresh, healing air fills my lungs. It’s a spring breeze infused with blossoming flowers, awakening my soul, and carrying away my fears. I wrap myself in the air—in Kyron—and hand over my hemorrhaging heart to the promise of a safe place to mend and begin anew.
“I love you,” he whispers against my lips as his hands move to my robe’s sash. With a tug, it loosens, and he glides the fabric from my shoulders. His touch travels up my spine, and his mouth moves along my neck. My eyes flutter shut as I savor the reverent way his lips move across my collarbone, like he wants to memorize every single inch of me with his lips.
His tongue leaves a wet trail on my skin, and I ache for more. My hips roll over his, drawing a moan when the hard length of him presses to my center. Grasping the back of his neck, I rock against him harder.
Every kiss, every nip of his teeth sets me on fire, and all I want is to let it consume me. But Kyron rests his palm on my lower back, slowing the friction between us.
“Don’t rush it. We have all night,” he says, his mouth moving across my shoulder. He lowers the straps of my nightgown and leans back to watch the linen drift down to my waist.
It’s been so long since I’ve been vulnerable to his stare. My body isn’t as it was when he last saw me like this. Sculpted muscles grace my once slender arms and scars testify to the fervor with which I trained. The abuse my body underwent to become strong is now the cause of my insecurity.
He traces a trembling finger over a scar on my ribcage and furrows his brow. My worry heightens, afraid that he is put off by the imperfection. Unable to ask but aching to know he still feels the same, I call to his gift.
Immense tension grips my chest, squeezing my heart. The emotion is so unexpected that I’m tempted to pull away. It’s remorse.
I lift his face and shake my head. “You have nothing to regret.Everything that happened brought us to this moment. Now that it’s done, I wouldn’t change it. Besides, it’s just an ugly scar.”
“I appreciate you feeling that way, but I ask you to let me stew in this for a minute. I caused you a lot of mental and physical pain, and that will never sit well with me.” He tenderly brushes his thumb over the scar. “And it’s not ugly. It’s a part of you, and I love it.”
My trepidation vanishes with those words. I grab the bottom of my gown and lift it over my head. If he loves my scars and bruises, then I want them all on display.
