Then she looks away again.
"Do I—" Her voice is quiet, barely audible. "Do I know you?"
I know she's lying. She knows she knows me, just like I'd know it's her with my eyes closed and my hearing muffled. I don't need anything but the burning in my chest to tell me it's her.
I step closer, crowding into her space, and she inhales sharply. The scent of her washes over me—something clean andwarm, like fresh bread and meadowmint—and the bond in my chestroars.
"You don't know me?" I lean in, my voice dropping low. Close enough that I can see the freckles dusting her cheekbones, the way her lips part slightly as she breathes. "You expect me to believe that?"
Her hands are shaking. I can see the way the brush trembles in her grip.
"Please." The word is barely a whisper. "You have to?—"
"I have to what?" I reach up, catching her chin gently between my fingers, tilting her face toward mine. Her skin is so soft. Warm. Real. "Pretend I don't feel this? Pretend you don't?"
Her eyes are shining now, something broken and desperate flickering in their depths.
"You shouldn't be here," she breathes.
"Too bad."
"Lorenth—" Her eyes search mine, and I see that want. I know she's been thinking about me, too. I expect her to tell me to leave, but instead, I see that resolve crumble.
And then she's kissing me.
It's not tentative this time. Not hesitant. It's fierce and hungry anddesperate, her free hand fisting in the front of my shirt as she pulls me down to her. The brush clatters to the ground, forgotten, and I catch her waist with both hands, dragging her closer until there's no space left between us.
The bond in my chestignites.
It's like a missing piece finally slotting into place, like every jagged edge inside me suddenly smooths out and locks tight. The pain that's been clawing at my ribs for two weeks vanishes, replaced by something so overwhelming I can't even name it.
Rightness. Completion.Home.
She gasps against my mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair, and I deepen the kiss—tasting her, claiming her, making sure she understands that this is real. That we're real.
That she'smine.
Her back hits the stable wall and I press into her, one hand sliding up to cup her face while the other stays locked around her waist. She makes a soft sound—half whimper, half moan—and I swallow it, pouring everything I've felt for the past two weeks into this one moment.
Relief. Rage. Need. Possession.
All of it.
She kisses me back like she's drowning and I'm air.
And then?—
"Senna!"
The shout rips through the air like a blade, and she wrenches away from me so fast I almost don't process it. Her eyes are wide, panicked, and she stumbles back against the wall as heavy footsteps crunch across the gravel.
I turn, every muscle in my body going tight, and a man rounds the corner of the stable.
Human. Average height. Thinning sandy hair and pale eyes that lock onto Senna with something cold and possessive that makes my wings flare instinctively.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" The man's voice is harsh, his face twisted with anger, and he crosses the distance between us in quick strides.
I step in front of Senna without thinking, blocking his path, and his eyes flick to me for the first time. He takes in my wings, my height, the way I'm standing between him and her, and his expression darkens.
