We stay like that for what feels like forever. The wind howls through the vents. The rain dances on the dome. The stars hide, shy behind the magnetic clouds.
But we stand.
Together.
And when he finally wraps his arms around me—gently, reverently—it doesn’t feel like surrender.
It feels likebeginning.
The air between us crackles like a live wire.
I don’t know who moves first—maybe we both do—but I step forward, and my hand finds its way to the center of his chest. My palm presses against him, against that wall of muscle and heat and ancient, aching silence. His skin is rougher than a human’s, thicker, warmer, threaded with a deep strength that feels earned. There’s coarse, dark hair beneath my fingers, and when I press harder, I feel the way his body reacts instantly—how his breath stutters, how his chest expands under my touch like I’ve struck something vital.
His heart hammers beneath my skin like it’s trying to break free.
I look up, and his eyes—those impossibly golden eyes—hold me in place. They’re wide, unsure, but hungry. So damn hungry. Not predatory. Not cruel. Just starving in a way that makes my chest ache.
And I realize, with a clarity that slices through every layer of doubt, that I’m not scared of him.
I’m scared of how much I want him.
“Do you want me to stop?” I whisper, barely breathing, my fingers curling reflexively into the fur at his chest, grounding myself in him.
His jaw tightens. His horns tilt slightly forward, a subtle shift that feels instinctive, animal. His voice is rough, gravel dragged across stone. “Never.”
And then we’re kissing.
It’s awkward at first. Tentative. Hesitant. His mouth is warm and dry, his lips pressing to mine like he’s afraid of doing it wrong. Like he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he applies too much pressure. There’s a second where our teeth bump, where hisbreath stutters against my cheek, and I feel the hesitation rolling off him in waves.
So I lean in harder.
I kiss him like I mean it.
My fingers dig into his shoulders—broad, solid, furred and powerful—and something inside him snaps.
The kiss deepens. Opens. Unleashes.
He groans low in his throat, a sound that vibrates through his chest and into mine, and his arms come around me like instinct finally wins over fear. He pulls me closer like the world might vanish if he lets go. His claws skim down my spine, the blunt edges barely brushing the fabric of my coat, sending a shiver straight through me.
“Jillian,” he breathes, like the name is a confession.
We stumble backward, lips still locked, and he catches us before we can fall. Effortlessly. Reverently. He lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing, my stomach flipping as my boots leave the rock. I gasp into his mouth, arms winding around his neck, fingers tangling in the thick hair at the base of his horns. My legs hook around his waist without thinking, my body already responding to his like it’s always known where it belongs.
He freezes for half a heartbeat.
“Is this—” His voice cracks. “Is this okay?”
I pull back just enough to look at him, my forehead resting against his. “Yes. Gods, yes.”
That’s all it takes.
He carries me across the camp—past the low-burning fire, past overturned gear crates, past the dome where everyone sleeps—into the shadowed alcove beneath the outcrop where we first met in the rain. The stone is still warm from the day, the air damp and mineral-heavy. There’s a pile of emergency blankets there, half-forgotten, half-soaked, but it doesn’t matter.
He lays me down like I’m the most fragile thing he’s ever touched.
The firelight flickers nearby, casting copper shadows across his face, his chest, his hands as they hover—hesitate—then finally settle on my waist. His expression is fierce and vulnerable all at once, like he’s standing on the edge of something he can’t take back.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits, voice low, ashamed.
