She swallows, lips pressing into a line. “But you’ve all shared so much. Your stories, your pain, and I… I can’t give you anything back.”
“You’re wrong.” I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve given us you. All that you are, even when you don’t remember all you’ve been.”
Her lashes lower, and when she leans into my touch with a soft sigh, my own heart matches the racing tempo of hers.
“We cannot dwell on the past—the unknown.” I press my lips to her forehead. “Be here.” Her cheek. “With me.” The corner of her mouth. “Now.”
She closes her eyes, like she wants to believe me, like shealmostdoes. But then she whispers it. The thought that’s been haunting her from the moment Kane told her the truth.
“What if I was cruel?”
Ah. So that’s where her mind has gone. I feel it,trulyfeel it. The depth of her fear. Not just of who she was, but what it would mean for us.
I don’t let go of her face, don’t let her turn away. “Ce qui est écrit est écrit,” I murmur. “What is written… is written.”
Her brows furrow faintly, and I press a kiss to the crease between them.
“We were always going to find you, Jasmine. That is our ending. No matter the beginning.”
The hesitation and doubt in her gaze, it’s enough to crack ribs open.
“Maybe you were cruel, maybe you were a weapon, or something forged in darkness, just like we were.” I smile faintly at the horror in her expression from my casual tone. “We are notgood men, mon âme. We are not innocent. We are not safe. Not to the world, not even always to ourselves.”
My thumb brushes along the corner of her mouth.
“So either you’re just as wicked as we are…” I lower my face, voice a breath against her lips, “or you’re the piece we’ve always been missing. The one bright thing twisted fate gave to monsters like us.”
I pull back again, just enough to meet her gaze. “But it doesn’t matter, because in the end, we were always going to find you. We were always going to belong to you.”
She leans in, her lips meeting mine softly. Nothing hungry or urgent. Then she pauses, whispering, “Are we allowed to kiss in a temple?”
I smile against her lips, pleased the storm inside her mind is easing.
“We can do anything you want,” I murmur, kissing her soft and slow, sealing that promise to her skin.
When the kiss fades into a breath shared between us, her eyes flutter open, still half-lost in thought. Our foreheads rest together, and her fingers tighten their hold in my shirt.
“You’re so damn good at talking,” she says suddenly, leaning back with a soft smile.
“Is that all?” My eyes linger on her lips.
I want to kiss her again, to taste her sighs, to draw out more breathless sounds—but I won’t diminish what we’ve just shared.
“And listening.”
My gaze lifts to hers. The soft glow of her crimson eyes illuminated by dawnlight, her lips still curved in the smallest of smiles.
She is so beautiful.
She is everything I’ve spent centuries convincing myself didn’t exist. Didn’t deserve. Softness and strength. Fury and grace. A storm I want to be lost in.
She fears she’s offering a version of herself that isn’t real. That without her past, she’s only half-formed—a truth with pieces missing. But what I see is no imitation.
I have never believed in divinity so easily.
“Thank you.” Her fingers rest lightly against my chest.
I almost frown, almost ask why she’s thanking me—but her fingers press gently to my lips.
