“Vokar…” I start, unsure.
He takes my hand gently — impossibly gently for someone whose fingers end in lethal weaponry — and lifts it to his chest. To the center of his ribcage where the bone spurs split around a softer patch of dark skin.
His hearts beat under my palm. Two of them. Strong. Steady. Anchoring.
“This beats for you.”
My breath stumbles. I blink at him. “That’s… a lot.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” I admit. “You’re a warlord. You eat fear for breakfast.”
His claws graze my hip in a slow, thoughtful stroke. “I don’t want your fear,” he says softly. “I want your fire.”
And just like that, everything in me melts.
I shift to straddle him, and the sheet slips away. His hands move to my waist, holding me steady on top of him. He sits up, towering even though he’s sitting and I’m on his lap. My hairfalls forward, brushing his jaw. His eyes flicker closed like the contact means something to him.
Heavy. Dangerous. Real.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I whisper, searching his face.
“I don’t promise lightly.” His thumbs stroke over my hips, reverent. “But I will swear to this — you are mine.”
There’s no threat in it. Just certainty. Like he’s stating the color of the sky.
“And what if I said I’m not ready for forever?” I ask.
His lips twitch in a near-smile. “Then I will wait. But I won’t let go.”
Something inside me cracks. A door I didn’t know was still locked swings open.
I lean in and brush my lips against his. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
“You love it.”
“Maybe,” I whisper. “Just… don’t break me, okay?”
His arms wrap around me — tightening, caging, protecting — all at once. “I would rather die.”
The words land in my chest with the weight of a vow.
And maybe I should be afraid. Maybe I should run.
But I don’t.
I settle against him, letting my cheek rest over his hearts. Letting his arms tighten around me. Letting his breath warm the top of my head.
Right now, I’m his.
And somehow that feels more right than anything ever has.
Later,when I’m pulling on my boots, still sore between my legs and along my thighs, the door shifts behind me. Vokar stepsback into the room, and I can feel his gaze on me like a physical touch.
I glance over my shoulder. “What?”
“You already got what you wanted, warlord,” I tease, tugging my hair into a braid.
