Then came another voice, heavier and rougher. Familiar.
“You stir her too soon,”Vornokh growled, the words echoing through the shared tether. His tone crackled like distant thunder.
Nyxariel, ever unshaken, replied coolly, “She stirred me. Your mate has teeth.”
“So does yours,”Vornokh answered. His growl turned almost fond. “I missed this banter between us.”
Thorne shifted subtly beneath her. Not a flinch, but a ripple, a tension that suggested he felt it too. Not the words, but the presence. The weight of something stirring beneath the surface. His voice pressed into her thoughts, silent at first, a touch rather than a word. A pulse of comfort.
“Can you feel them?” he whispered, mind-to-mind.
“Yes,”she replied softly. “They’re talking.”
“Arguing, more like.”
Nyxariel’s voice returned, dry and amused. “He is territorial. Always has been. But he waited for me.”
That word,waited, landed with unexpected weight. Waited through centuries. Waited through silence. Waited for the return of something fated.
“Why do I feel everything? And for someone who I thought was such an arrogant ass. Sure, I can’t deny I think he is drop-dead gorgeous, but I didn’t like him as a person,”Thaelyn asked.
“Because your bond is no longer surface”,Nyxariel said gently. “It roots deeper now, into flesh, spirit, memory. That is the nature of the fated.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Vornokh’s voice, heavier now, directed to Thorne.
“Do you feel her heartbeat when you sleep now?”
Thorne didn’t reply through the bond. Instead, he whispered aloud, barely audible against her ear. “Yes.”
Thaelyn turned her head, startled, but his hand was already at her side, fingers brushing just beneath her ribs, over the place where her heart pulsed.
“Like it’s mine,” he murmured.
Her breath caught. “Can you hear my conversation with Nyxariel?”
“You mean the part where you think I’m gorgeous, but you think I’m an ass.”
She leaned into him, her cheek against his shoulder, letting the truth settle over them like fog. Their dragons didn’t just share a bond. They were one. Which meant…“We’re becoming that, too,” she said aloud.
Thorne nodded slowly, his lips brushing the edge of her hair. “And I’m guessing it’s not something we can stop.” Let’s just enjoy this moment for a while longer.
Thaelyn’s skin was flushed from the warmth, her hair clinging in damp strands against her shoulders. Tonight, there was no battlefield between them, no commands, and no masks. Just the quiet sound of water and the shared rhythm of their breathing.
Thorne brushed his thumb along her jaw, pausing just long enough for her to pull away if she wanted to. When she didn’t, he leaned closer and kissed her again, slow, searching. His lips were warm, his breath unsteady.
When they finally broke apart, Thaelyn’s eyes lingered on his, steady despite the thunder in her chest. “Thorne,” she started softly, her voice barely above the whisper of the water. “I can’t—” She swallowed, looking away. “I don’t want to rush this. Whatever this is between us, I want it to mean something. Tobesomething. But I need time to breathe.”
Thorne’s expression shifted, first confusion, then understanding. He reached up, brushing a damp strand of hair from her temple, his fingers trembling just slightly. “You think I don’t want that too?” His voice was low, roughened by restraint. “I’d wait a lifetime if that’s what it took.”
Her gaze snapped back to his, surprise flickering there. He gave a faint, crooked smile, the kind that never reached his eyes but said everything his words couldn’t. “You set the pace, Thaelyn. I’ll follow it.” His thumb traced the back of her hand underwater, slow and reverent. “Just don’t ask me to stop wanting you.”
The heat between them changed, from burning to an ache. Thaelyn’s lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “I wouldn’t.”
He nodded once, quiet, the fire in him barely leashed but wholly hers. Then he drew in a slow breath, releasing it like a vow. “Then slow it is.”
They sat in silence after that, the world narrowing to ripples and the soft pulse of their bond. His hand stayed in hers, steady and patient, as moonlight crept through the steam.
Thaelyn stood near the hearth, wrapped in one of Thorne’s spare tunics. The fabric hung to her knees, swallowing her slender frame in folds of soft black linen. It had been cleaned, but the scent of him clung to it, sandalwood, pine, leather, steel, the faintest trace of dragonfire. Her damp hair was now loosely braided over one shoulder, a few strands curling along her cheek. He did a better job this time with her guidance.
