Only then does he let me collapse.
He gathers me against his chest, both of us slick with sweat and cum and hay, hearts hammering in unison. I’m trembling, wrecked, perfect.
“Mine,” he whispers into my hair, voice raw.
“Yours,” I whisper back, and mean it with every shattered piece of me.
Afterward, we lie tangled in hay and moonlight, his massive arm cradling me against his chest. His heartbeat drums beneath my ear, strong, steady, alive. Real. Present. Mine, for this one stolen night.
“I can’t lose you,” I whisper against his skin.
His grip tightens. “You won’t. Whatever happens, you won’t.”
We both know he’s lying. We both pretend to believe it anyway.
Dawn is still hours away, and I intend to wring every second of pleasure from this night that I can. I crawl down his body, take his spent cock in my mouth, and spend the rest of the night worshipping the beast who just ruined me for every other male on Rach.
By the time the first gray light creeps through the barn slats, I’m hoarse, covered in his marks, full of his seed in every possible place, and utterly, perfectly his.
And when he finally falls asleep with me curled against his chest, I stay awake just to listen to his heartbeat and memorize the weight of his arm across my back.
Because tomorrow he leaves.
But tonight, I was fucked like a ragdoll by the only male who ever made me feel safe enough to beg for it.
And I will carry the ache of him between my thighs for the rest of my life.
7
THOKTAR
Morning light streams through the barn slats, turning Forla's hair to spun gold where it spreads across my chest. She's perfect in my arms—soft where I'm hard, gentle where I'm savage, everything good about this world wrapped in human skin and pressed against my heart.
But the sunlight brings harsh truth with its warmth.
Dark Elves are drawing near. I can smell their magic on the wind, taste their corruption in the air that whispers through the barn walls. Every moment I stay puts her in greater danger, draws their net tighter around this peaceful farm that's become my sanctuary.
She stirs against me, and I memorize the feeling—her breath warm against my ribs, her hand curled over my heart, the way she fits perfectly in the curve of my arm like she was made to be there. Last night feels like a dream now, too perfect to have been real. But the taste of her still lingers on my lips, and her scent clings to my skin.
"Morning," she whispers, voice rough with sleep and satisfaction.
"Morning." I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the honey-sweet smell of her hair. "How do you feel?"
She tilts her face up to mine, and the smile she gives me could light up the darkest cave. "Like I'm alive. Really alive, for the first time in years."
The words hit me like an arrow to the chest. I know exactly what she means—I feel it too, this sense of waking up from a nightmare I didn't realize I was living. But that makes what I have to do next even harder.
"Forla," I begin, then stop. How do you tell someone who's become your heart that you have to walk away?
Her expression shifts, reading the conflict in my face. The smile fades, replaced by understanding that cuts deeper than any blade. "You have to go."
"I have to go." The words taste like ash. "The Dark Elves?—"
"I know." She sits up, magnificent in the morning light, and I have to clench my fists to keep from pulling her back down into my arms. "They're getting closer."
The practical part of me—the warrior, the survivor—knows this is how it has to be. I'll slip away in the pre-dawn darkness, carry my danger far from this place, let her return to the safe life she's built with Talia and Brom. Clean break, no complications, no one else gets hurt.
But looking at her face, seeing the careful way she's rebuilding her walls, I can't make myself accept it.
