I push his trousers down hips; he kicks boots aside, fabric pooling at ankles until bare. Moon pale scars across his thighs catch glow. I trace one with nail. He shudders, lifts me effortlessly, back pressing wooden post supporting rafters.
Snowmelt drips from roof edge through cracked beam, landing on shoulder, dissolving to steam against fevered skin. Outside wind glissades into higher pitch, but the world shrinks to pulse thrumming in cores.
He wedges thigh between mine, spreading legs. Friction sparks; I whimper, grinding against solid muscle. Crystal pulses harder, sending shock down pelvis. Lace lines inch higher on sternum— but pleasure floods nerves, masking sting.
“Bed,” he mutters but strides to table instead, sweeping dice scars clear with forearm. He sets me atop rough wood. Splinters prick thighs; sensation grounds. He drags mouth from throat to navel, tracing lattice’s edge, tongue warm counterpoint to icy veins.
I cup back of his head, fingers threading hair, urging downward. He obeys, kneeling, parting me with thumbs. First stroke of tongue steals breath completely. Outside, blast of wind rattles whole structure. Boards creak, but hold under quake of sensation.
Shudders escalate within seconds; each swirl of his tongue is a rune rewriting prophecy on flesh. I chant his name like mantra until release knocks through hips like rolling thunder. He rises, chest heaving, face glistening. I yank him up, hungry for taste of my climax on his lips. The kiss devours caution.
He turns, lifts me again, presses against wall beam, entry halted only by brief gaze seeking consent. I wrap legs aroundwaist, nails in broad shoulders. He thrusts. Breath exits lungs in a single cry. The bond spark flares bright golden, flooding exchange with warmth deeper than body heat.
We find rhythm—fast, desperate, storm-matched. Wood behind my back grooves into skin; pain merges with bliss. Each thrust slams shard pouch at his hip against floorboard; leather singes, smoke curling. I smell charred pine, sweet and sharp.
Crystal flares along my torso, lines bursting outward across breasts, shimmering. Instead of agony, a surge of delicious ache rides nerve endings. Kylan senses shift—eyes widen, but desire overpowers worry. He braces, pounds upward, chasing own release.
Pressure coils, unstoppable. I cup his face, whisper in Old Tongue, words meaninglet the stars fall. They ignite him. He thrusts once, twice; heat floods. Simultaneously shard erupts red within pouch. Flame whip flicks floorboard, leaving blackened streak. We cling through aftershocks while wind outside howls triumph.
He lowers forehead to mine, breaths colliding. Sweat and snowmelt drip down bodies, steaming where they hit char mark. We remain joined a moment longer, pulse syncing until bond spark dims to ember glow.
He withdraws, setting me softly on pallet strewn with his coat. The torn remnants of my shirt become blanket patches. For long minutes we lie side by side, catching breath, listening to storm’s retreat.
Steam curls from singed plank; he toes snow into scorched groove, smothering ember. “Shard disapproved,” he says, voice hoarse yet amused.
“Shard can learn manners.” I close eyes, smiling bare inches.
Silence returns, but this time thick with unspoken meanings. He speaks first: “Needed warmth. Body heat most efficient.”
“Practical,” I agree, though warmth still pooled lower belly is anything but. We both laugh quietly, on edge of nervous.
He traces cluster of crystal across my sternum with fingertip. “Lines spread less when flushed with blood.”
“For now,” I whisper. “Pleasure is potent medicine, but temporary.” The truth tastes bittersweet.
His expression shutters. He rolls to sit, backs me, re-lacing trousers. “Temporary or not, storm passed easier.”
I sit, gather shreds of shirt to fashion into makeshift wrap, hiding bloom that’s definitely larger. My joints ache differently—time accelerating. Yet heart beats strong, echoing his.
We don fresh layers from packs—dry tunics scented with cedar. He pours water, hands me cup. I sip; minerals tang remind of mountain springs. We rebuild fire, conscious of singe mark but saying nothing. Outside, storm quiets to distant whisper.
He sinks onto pallet across hearth, facing me. “We speak of it?”
“What is there to speak?” I blow on tea. Breath fogs. “We are companions in peril. Heat exchanges happen.”
“Companions in peril,” he repeats, eyebrow cocking.
“It is accurate.” I bite inside cheek to hide grin. “You object?”
He studies me long enough that heat climbs cheeks again. Finally he shrugs. “Object? No. Question? Yes.” He shifts, leaning forward. “Bond spark grew. I felt it.”
I lower cup. “And if so?”
“If it locks, the lattice may anchor to my lifeforce. Could accelerate or slow spread. Unknown hazard.”
“I accept hazard.” I set cup aside, crawl across floorboards until knee touches his. “But we cannot afford tangled hearts distracting us from mission.”
“Agreed,” he replies, though his gaze drops to my mouth. “We keep heads.”
