The terrace reveals itself—a natural shelf carved into the mountain’s face the night the twin moons last aligned. Pools shimmer, warmed by threads of volcanic heat weaving beneath. Mineral waters pick up moonstone sparkles, turning the basin surfaces opal. Vapor rises in spirals, catching starlight.
I stop at the lip and draw breath. The view reaches across three converged realms: jagged ferrous peaks of Feramundi to the south, the silvered pines of northern Shadow territory glinting east, and westward dunes where lightning still dances in distant storms. All stitched by the pale lattice like harp strings spanning an impossible instrument. My heart beats once, twice, then settles into the shared rhythm the realms adopted at dawn.
Kylan steps to my side, shoulder brushing mine. “Water’s waiting,” he says, voice thicker than the steam. “And I promised you an experiment.”
An amused warmth pools low in my belly. “Scientific rigor,” I agree. “First variable: can half-stone flesh feel swirl currents?”
He arches a brow, then sets satchel on a polished slab of moonstone. “Let’s test.” Already his fingers go to the fastenings of his light tunic. He strips with unhurried grace, letting fabric slide away. In the past I watched through a veil of doom—each line of his muscles a reminder of what I would lose. Tonight there is only admiration, untainted.
I peel my own layers: doeskin top, breeches, the thin linen band Fadine insisted protect crystal edges. When cloth lifts from shoulder, tempered moonlight strikes the collar, scattering prismatic shards across water. Kylan’s gaze softens as though light pours directly into him. I suppress the sudden bashful flutter and step forward, testing foot against water. Warmth enfolds skin instantly—rich with minerals but gentle. That same warmth seeps through crystalline plates. A gasp escapes. “I feel it.”
He joins me with a splash, ripples rolling outward. “Describe.”
“It’s like…” I pause, chasing words. “Amber syrup sliding through glass corridors.” Fingers trace collar—heat moves beneath like sunlight through stained ice. No pain. No crack spread.
Kylan smiles, teeth white in night. “Positive data point.” He crouches until water brushes his jaw, then flicks droplets at me with swift little waves. They strike crystal, scatter into rainbows. Childish delight bubbles; I splash back.
He shifts. One moment broad-shouldered man, next sleek river otter, fur flickering silver. The change ripples effortlessly, water swirling around his smaller shape. “You promised playful,” he squeaks in uncanny imitation of the animal’s chirp before darting beneath surface.
Laughter tumbles from my mouth, tugging crystal ridges but still painless. I chase after, stroke cutting silken water. Otter-Kylan dodges left, right, loop-de-loops, then brushes my calf. I feign indignant gasp, dive, arms sweeping. Fingers close on his slick tail; with a kick I roll, dragging him upward. He pops out mid-shift, regaining human form just as we break surface.
Water cascades off dark curls. He cough-laughs. “Unfair leverage.”
“Adaptive variable,” I counter, then tug him back under, lips meeting his. Warm mineral water surrounds, muffling sensation but heightening heat. Our mouths open—taste of salt-sweet minerals, of each other. Bubbles stream up around faces as we stay submerged longer than breathing should allow; lattice thrums within veins, answering desire by thinning water’s drag. When need for air asserts, we rise in unison, gasping, forehead to forehead, chests brushing with slick heat.
He strokes wet strands from my face, palm lingering on cheek. “How’s the collar?”
I roll shoulders. “Pulsing to your heartbeat.” Truth: the plates beat faint light in perfect mimicry of the pulse against my lips earlier.
His hands slide down arms, thumbs circling patches where skin meets crystalized lattice. Sensation travels each contactpoint like liquid lightning, collecting low in my belly. “Then we continue.”
We wade toward central pool where water deepens, moonstone ledges forming natural seats. I turn, backs my spine against a warm rock slab. He faces me, knee-depth. Starlight paints shoulders copper; beads raindrop down etched scars from earlier battles, now lines of pearl. He lifts a chunk of amber soapstone from edge; rubs between palms, working fragrant lather.
I extend hands. “Shared methodology?”
“Peer review.” He grins. Offers foam. We soap each other with slow precision—his palms slide along my arms, across shoulders, down sides; mine explore ridges of his abdomen, curve of hip. The water cloaks us waist-down—a tease rather than concealment. Each place his fingertips wander awakens more nerves I feared gone forever. I close eyes, arch slightly, letting pleasure ripple.
Foam rinses away. He leans, touches lips to hollow at base of my crystalline collar. No ache, only warm zing. My head tilts, breath hitches. “Real sensation,” I whisper.
“More to follow.” His voice lowers.
I step off ledge, deepening water to chest. Flow caresses hardened plates and supple skin together. Without warning I dip, pulling him by wrist. We sink, bodies aligning. Underwater silence amplifies heartbeats. Fingers wander flank, find curve of his backside; his hands knead waist, guiding legs around him. Heat pulses even here, magnified by mineral warmth. Water reduces weight—movement fluid, friction gentle. We break surface to breathe, then he reaches between us, gripping thighs to lift me onto ledge, water cascading.
Steam lifts, swirling starlight halos. He kneels in shallows, mouth trailing kisses from knee to inner thigh. Each press leaves comet trails across nerves. I brace on elbows, crystal catchingmoonlight into fractured constellations. He shifts again—this time partial: claws replace fingers, lending slight prick that contrasts silken tongue. Pleasure spears sharp and delicious. My cry echoes off cliff and drifts into night air among cricket song.
He pauses, meeting my gaze. Eyes glow amber; reverence sits heavy in them. “Pain?”
“None. Only more.” My voice already husky. He returns to worship, tongue drawing sigils hotter than any rune. I arch off stone, moan mixing with wind. Vision does not intrude; prophecy quiet. There is only present, thermal water, and Kylan.
Soon tension coils impossible tight. I tug him upward, needing completion. He rises, positions with cautious control. I cup his jaw, whisper, “Now.”
He enters slowly—water easing glide, intimacy forging bright pulse through already thrumming crystal. Sensation overwhelms; half-stone flesh registers every inch, every heartbeat. My hands find his nape, pulling him deeper until hips press flush.
He stills, shuddering. “Stars, you feel?—”
“I feel,” I confirm, voice choked with marvel.
We move. Rock pedestal supports while warm current laps sides. His rhythm starts measured, savoring. Moonstone beneath glows brighter each thrust, reacting to lattice energy. The air grows perfumed with pine and distant ocean—realms singing again. I meet him stroke for stroke, ankles locking behind. Pleasure builds, plates humming. When climax nears, crystal flashes bright teal; he growls, wolf edge threading voice, and thrusts once more.
