Kyr stepped closer. “Vaelrik, you’re done here. I’ll look after Tamsin and coordinate the recovery.” His scarred hands reached for the girl with surprising gentleness. “Take Serenya and rest for now. There will be time for strategizing how to beat the Shadowbinder later.”
Vaelrik stiffened, and Serenya felt his instinctive resistance through their strengthening bond.
Kyr met Vaelrik’s eyes without flinching. “Warlord,” he said quietly, the title carrying undertones of respect and affection earned through centuries of shared battle. “You have a mate nowto protect. And your dragon’s stabilized shadowfire is the only reason Cinderhollow still stands.” A rare smile ghosted across Kyr’s mouth. “Go. Recover.”
Vaelrik’s tension eased fractionally. He nodded once, the gesture sharp and decisive.
Serenya’s steps began to falter as they crossed the Citadel’s threshold, exhaustion finally hitting her. Vaelrik’s large hand settled against the small of her back—steadying and protective. The touch sent electricity racing along her spine despite her fatigue.
They walked through the corridors filled with whispered voices—scared but safe citizens murmuring their names with something approaching awe. Even the Citadel guards stepped aside to let them pass, heads bowed in acknowledgment of what they’d witnessed.
When Vaelrik finally closed the door to his quarters behind them, the sound echoed like finality. Or perhaps beginning.
Serenya exhaled a breath that shook at the edges, and the silence stretched between them—thick with everything they’d survived, everything they’d revealed in the heat of battle, everything that pulsed unspoken through their strengthening mate bond.
Vaelrik stepped closer, heat radiating from his skin like he carried his own personal furnace. The scent of him—leather and spice and something distinctly him—filled her senses.
Neither spoke yet. The half-brand across her heart pulsed warm, reacting to his proximity. His storm-gray eyes tracked to the torn fabric of her shirt and to the faint glow visible beneath.
His jaw clenched, hunger and reverence swirling behind his eyes like competing storms.
“I heard you say you love me,” he said finally, his voice rough as granite. “Was I imagining that, or is it true?”
The words hung between them, raw and vulnerable, making her chest tight. This man—this dragon, this weapon, this impossibly gentle protector—had just asked her the most dangerous question in the world.
“It’s true.” The admission slipped out before she could second-guess it. “Yes, it may seem impossible after only knowing each other for several days. But everything we’ve been through, everything I feel...” She met his gaze without flinching. “I know it. I love you.”
Something blazed in his eyes—triumph, possession, reverence all tangled together. “I love you too, Serenya.”
Then before she knew it, he was kissing her, deep and passionate and desperate, his hands cradling her face like she was something he couldn’t live without. The mate bond flared between them, warm and electric and absolutely certain.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he studied her with predatory focus. “Are you hurt?” he asked, stepping closer.
She shook her head. “No, but you are.”
“It’s fine. Just a scratch.” His mouth curved. “But maybe you can help me clean up in the shower.”
Her breath hitched at the implication, heat pooling low in her body. She wanted this. Wanted to care for him, protect him, claim him in all the ways that mattered.
“I thought I might lose you today to the darkness,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I thought?—”
He rested his forehead against hers. “Serenya,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
The bond warmed between them—gentle, steady, inevitable.
Then he took her hand and led her toward the bathroom, and she knew with crystalline certainty that she was ready. Ready for all of it. Ready to be his.
The steam from the shower soon wrapped around them like a living thing, thick and warm and carrying the faint metallic tang of volcanic heat. Vaelrik’s hands were steady as he undressed her, his fingers brushing over her skin with a reverence that made her shiver. Each piece of clothing fell away until she was bare before him, her skin glowing faintly with the pulse of her lumen sigils.
He stepped back, his storm-gray eyes raking over her like he was committing every curve and every line of her to memory. Serenya didn’t look away. She didn’t want to. She wanted him to see her—really see her—as she removed his clothes, revealing the hard, sculpted lines of his body.
The water cascaded over them as they stepped into the shower, and she reached for a cloth, her hands trembling slightly as she began to clean the gash on his ribs. The wound was deeper than he admitted, the edges raw and angry, but it was already healing faster than it should. His dragon’s blood was powerful, even without the shadowfire roaring beneath his skin. She worked carefully, her fingers gentle as she wiped away the blood and grime. His breath hitched when she pressed the cloth to the wound, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands settled on her hips, anchoring her to him.
Her hands stilled for a moment as she looked up at him. His eyes were dark, filled with a hunger that mirrored her own, but there was something else there too—something softer, something that made her chest ache.
“I’m ready,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside her. “I want you to complete the mate brand. I want to be yours. Fully. Completely.”
His eyes widened, the hunger in them flaring into something possessive and primal. A smile spread across his face—wide and unrestrained, the kind of smile she’d never seen from himbefore. It transformed him, softening the hard edges of his face and lighting up his eyes in a way that caused her heart to stutter.
