Jassyn’s fingers tightened in Lykor’s hair, a shiver sparking across his scalp. The kiss deepened with heat and friction—tongues tangling, teeth grazing, the taste of him wild as the kiss turned feral.
Chests heaving, they broke apart only long enough to draw air before crashing together again, fiercer this time, the kiss striking like the rebound of a storm.
Burning hotter than before. Hungrier.
Lykor answered breath for breath, pulse for pulse, fire catching behind his ribs until every part of him sparked awake.MORE.That was all he could think, unable to stop.
Not with Jassyn kissing him back.
Not with thunder pounding in his chest, lightning searing his veins, and something dangerously close to wonder burning away everything else.
Jassyn’s tongue swept into his mouth and the universe fractured. Lykor groaned. He meant it to be a growl, but Jassyn dragged something needier from him instead. And in that moment, he didn’t care how unguarded it sounded because Jassyn responded to the noise like heneededit. His breath shuddered against Lykor’s lips as if devouring him was the only way left to fill his lungs.
Releasing his hair, Jassyn’s hands slid lower, skimming the curve of Lykor’s throat, fingers drifting over skin still bared from healing.
Lykor’s fangs extended. He had no hope of recalling them even if he tried.
“I—” He attempted to speak, maybe to apologize—he wasn’t sure—but Jassyn’s mouth stole the words. Words dissolved, leaving only heat and heartbeat. So Lykor kissed back instead.
Jassyn didn’t avoid the sharpened canines, only pressed closer when Lykor caught his bottom lip between his teeth and tugged. The guttural sound that tore from Jassyn’s throat—wanting, reckless, and utterly raw—hit Lykor square in the chest, too wild a noise for anything he’d ever imagined.
Mouth turning ravenous, Jassyn launched forward, driving his hands against Lykor’s chest, shoving him down. The moss-covered platform caught his back with a muffled thud, the jolt punching the breath from his lungs.
Jassyn shifted as he crashed on top of him, straddling like a siege—knees bracketing Lykor’s hips, wings flaring wide, amber eyes slitted and wild. His palms struck Lykor’s shoulders, pinning him like prey.
Lykor’s pulse hammered, bludgeoning every thought from his skull until air itself deserted him. He’d never seen Jassyn likethis—power and hunger and want made flesh.
Unleashed. Feral. Glorious.
Then Jassyn went still, blinking hard as if realization had just caught up to the motion. The heat in his eyes dimmed, clarity slicing in as a flicker of shame doused the fire.
“Stars,” he rasped, the haze of desire clearing from his face. “I–I didn’t mean to do that.”
Before Lykor could recover, Jassyn pulled away, the retreat quick as a heartbeat. Wings and scales vanished as he surged to his feet, stumbling over the vines in his haste to flee. His chest heaved as he stopped a few paces away, eyes wide and fixed on Lykor—still sprawled on his back, stunned.
Lykor couldn’t move, the ache of Jassyn’s absence throbbing through him like a second pulse. He could still feel the phantom press of his weight, the reckless intimacy of the claiming.
A slow breath escaped him. His mouth curved, testing a shape he’d never dared. He’d spent a lifetime keeping his defenses sharp enough to draw blood from anyone who tried to get close. But Jassyn had crossed the line as if it didn’t exist at all. And Lykor had let him.
He’dlikedit.
Not just the chaos of the kiss, but the surrender. The exquisite shock of letting go. He’d spent years measuring everycost, never reaching for anything at all. Always the blade. Never the sheath.
Jassyn had seen him—the ruin, the rage, the wreckage—and hadn’t shied away. He’d dared to touch what others only feared to look at, and kissed Lykor like he wasn’t made of scars at all. A breath shuddered loose, trembling on the edge of peace, perilously close to something gentler than he’d ever let himself feel.
The silence stretched, real again. Lykor’s heart steadied as the world came back into focus. The taste of Jassyn still clung to his lips when he finally blinked and looked up.
Across the chamber, Jassyn stood motionless, fingers buried in his curls, gaze locked on the moss beneath his boots.
The air between them still hummed with what they’d done. Lykor pressed a palm to the cool vines and pushed upright. He rose slowly and stepped forward, careful not to crowd.
“You don’t have to run,” he said.
Cheeks flushed, Jassyn swallowed and glanced up, meeting Lykor’s eyes.
Lykor stepped closer and offered his hand. Just to hold. “If that happens again,” he said, voice rough with the confession, “I wouldn’t mind. But if it was too much, you don’t have to explain.”
For a moment, Jassyn hesitated. But then slipped his fingers into Lykor’s.
