I grip his arms, my nails digging into his skin, my body arching beneath him.
“Thane . . . ” this time when I say his name it is a gasp, a plea, a prayer.
The pleasure starts to rise, sharp and insistent, curling deep in my core. I can feel it coming, tightening inside me, coiling like a spring ready to snap. But it’s not just that.
My magics rise too. The familiar pull of fire, air, water, and earth stirs beneath my skin, responding to something deeper, something beyond my control.
“Gods—” My voice breaks, breathless, shaking. “I’m close.”
Thane’s grip tightens. His rhythm remains steady—never faltering, never rushing.
“I know. Wait for me, Amara darling,” he breathes, rough and full of need.
The words ripple through me. A command. A supplication. A promise.
I try. Gods, I try.
But the pleasure is building, rising, cresting, an unstoppable force.
Thane drives deeper, his pace still slow but devastating, pushing me right to the edge. I can feel it breaking inside me, my body trembling, magics crackling beneath my skin.
And then, we fall together.
Pleasure explodes through me—blinding. Shattering. Consuming. Every part of me ignites—and my magics erupts.
All four elements swirl around us, fire licking through the air, water rippling over the sheets, wind twisting around our bodies, the ground beneath the bed vibrating with raw energy. It’s wild and untamed, a mirror of us, of this, of everything we are in this moment. A breathless caress of power, wrapping around us, binding us in a way I don’t understand.
Thane groans against my throat, his body shuddering—like whatever just passed between us stripped him bare. His arms still bracing above me, holding his weight, as if afraid of crushing me.
Slowly, the magics fades, dissolving into the quiet warmth between us—leaving only the steady rhythm of our breathing. Thane’s forehead rests against mine, his body still half-draped over me—solid, steady, safe. His fingers ghost over my skin, slow and unhurried, tracing idle patterns along my waist, still caught in the aftershocks of his release.
Then, his voice comes low, concern laced through. “Are you . . . are you okay?”
I laugh softly, breathless, sated, my body still tingling with the aftermath of pleasure and magics.
“Thane,” I murmur, “I’mveryokay.”
He exhales, the tension in his muscles finally easing. He gently withdraws from me but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he just stays there—his skin warm against mine, his breath beginning to steady. His fingers brush along my hip, slow and absent.
And again, I feel it. That lingering sense that he’s holding something back—in the way he touches me. In the way he watches me, that slight frown on his lips, like there’s more he wants to say but won’t.
Outside, morning spills through the window, painting the walls in soft gold. I close my eyes, pressing closer into him, into the solid warmth of his body.
And even in this moment of peace, the weight of yesterday presses gently at the edges of my thoughts. Lyra’s voice. Valen’s. What they said about him—how deeply he feels for me. That this is more than the Spiritborn. That I’m more than a prophecy to him.
The guilt clenches my heart. How he must have worried. How scared he must have been. Not for what I represent—but forme.And then, quietly, I speak.
“I won’t fly alone.”
His arms wrap around me tighter, his body pressing me closer and kisses my head. Soft. Unspoken. A promise without words.
We don’t say anything else. Because for a moment, there are no arguments to be had, no battles to fight. For a moment, there’s only this.
Sleep comes easily after. Maybe it’s the lingering pleasure, maybe it’s exhaustion finally winning out, maybe it’s just him—the way his presence wraps around me like a shield I didn’t know I needed.
I drift in and out, caught somewhere between wakefulnessand rest, my body too heavy, too sated to fight it. The steady warmth of his body beside me, the slow, even rhythm of his breathing, the way his fingers—even in sleep—remain against my skin.
When I wake again, it’s slow. The room is still, hushed, wrapped in the kind of quiet that only exists at dawn. The air is warm, thick with the last traces of night. A faint, early light creeps through the window, turning the edges of the world soft and blurred.
