“I don’t want to,” I reply.
The bond flares warm and bright as I lean down, kissing along his jaw, his throat, my lips lingering over the steady pulse there.His hands tighten just a fraction, a soft sound leaving him that makes my wolf purr.
This isn’t frantic.It’s reclamation.Every touch saysI’m here.Every kiss answersI see you.
I slide down on his cock with a soft moan, being filled so perfectly that it steals my breath.He holds my hips as I rock slowly above him, never moving too hard to be mindful of his injury.Pleasure rocks through both of us, the bond amplifying every sensation.
When we come together, it’s slow and deep, built on trust and presence rather than urgency.I brace my hands on his shoulders, moving with him, the rhythm grounding me in my body in a way I haven’t felt in years.
He says my name like it matters.Like it’s enough.And I shatter quietly, the world narrowing to sensation and connection, the bond wrapping around us both like a promise made solid.When I collapse against him afterward, trembling and spent, he holds me without restraint, one arm warm and secure around my back.
We lie there for a long time, rain and firelight and breath.
“I was wrong,” I say eventually.
“About what?”
“Thinking I had to be alone to survive.”
His hand strokes slowly up and down my spine.“You survived anyway.”
“Yes,” I agree.“But this is ...better.”
He hums softly, a sound of agreement.
Outside, the rain begins to ease.The storm passes the way storms always do, leaving the world changed, cleaner somehow, quieter.The hunters are still out there.The danger isn’t gone.The dead will speak to me again someday.
But here, in this moment, I’m not afraid.I’m chosen.And for the first time since my banishment, I believe that might be enough.
Chapter Twelve
Grayson
Morning breaks slow and pale, the storm spent, the world rinsed clean but not softened.The compound wakes the way it always does after blood has been spilled—quietly, deliberately, and with a collective understanding that survival doesn’t end when the danger does.
Trinity sleeps curled into my side, her breath warm against my chest, her fingers slack where they rest over my ribs as if guarding the place that was torn open.The bond hums low and steady, no longer tight with fear or guilt.Just ...present.
