“When can I fly the Ghost Talon next?” she asks.
I chuckle — dry, genuine, honest.
“Soon,” I promise.
And in that moment, as we walk forward — past judgment, past fury, past despair — I feel something rarer than triumph.
I feelhope.
Not fragile.
Not naive.
But forged in fire and forged by truth.
And it glimmers like stars in a new sky.
CHAPTER 35
AYLA
We return to our quarters under Tyrannus’s glittering sky with a quiet that feels like peace—not the absence of sound, but the presence of calm that settles into bone and breath.
The door slides closed behind us with a soft hiss, sealing out the last echoes of the tribunal, the harsh lights, the murmured judgments of thousands. Inside, the room is warm, scented with soft fabrics and the lingering sweetness of starroot tea still on the nightstand.
Kallus stands by the viewport, shoulders relaxed for the first time in ages, his silhouette framed by stars that pour light like blessings across his broad chest. His black skin glows faintly in the starlight, those stark white bone spurs catching the gleam, jagged and holy. His back is to me, but I feel the tension that’s melted from him — a released storm that has waited too long for a moment like this.
“I’m still not used to seeing you like this,” I say softly.
He turns slowly, eyes glowing red like embers held in reverent shadow. “At peace?”
I nod. “Unarmed.”
He lifts one clawed hand, palm open. “I’m only unarmed if you leave me.”
I close the distance. My fingers wrap around his, smaller and soft. “Then you never are.”
He draws me in. His arms engulf me in warmth and danger and reverence. My head tilts back, and his lips meet mine in a kiss that starts with memory but ends in promise. Our tongues find each other with knowing heat, no longer seeking, just savoring.
“I need to feel you,” I whisper.
His hands slide under my shirt. His claws trace lines down my spine, not hurting, just marking. He peels the fabric away slowly, kissing each inch of exposed skin. When he drops to his knees, I don’t stop him.
His claws hook into my waistband. He pulls my pants down with reverence. He kisses the inside of my thigh, then higher. His tongue flicks over my pussy, and I cry out.
“You taste like victory,” he growls, voice ragged. “Like mine.”
I grip his hair, riding his mouth. His tongue is relentless, curling inside me, flicking my clit with precision. His spurs—those faint ridges at the base of his tongue—stroke me until I’m shaking.
“Kallus—gods?—”
He lifts me up in his arms and lays me on the bed like I’m a prize. His cock is already hard, jutting from his hips, black and thick and ridged with spurs. I open my legs, desperate.
“Now,” I gasp.
He presses the tip to my entrance and holds. “Say it.”
“I want your cock. I want to feel all of you. I want you to fuck me until I forget the world.”
