And claim her.
His heart suddenly pounding, he started toward the river without waiting for Pav’s answer. He was so fucking ready to make Bel his for real, for good, for eternity. Nothing had ever been fake about them—not how angry she made him, not how much he wanted her, not how proud he was of everything she was and could be.
He skidded down the muddy embankment and splashed into the water. As he started wading across again, he looked over his shoulder. The trees had suffered, their bark blackened on the side facing the river and their leaves nonexistent. It was the same on the other side of the clearing beyond Bellanca. Her blast had been the strongest magic he’d ever seen in his life except for a god bolt from Zeus himself. The Shard of Olympus was no toy, and Bel was already formidable without it. Together, they were a force to rival gods, and Zeus had given it to her on purpose.
The river deepened, and walking turned arduous as the water reached his chest. In the middle, he dunked down, letting the current wash grit and soot off him. Reemerging, he slicked his hair back and finished slogging toward the opposite bank. Bel watched him, her eyes hot and her gaze heavy. Standing more than halfway up the devastated meadow, she didn’t move from the epicenter of her battle. She stood as still as a statue, and suddenly he wondered why. Was she injured?
Worry thumped inside him. Moving faster, he clambered up the riverbank and jogged toward her, darkness falling with every step he took. Glowing embers and patches of burning grass lit his way, and Bel didn’t say a word, waiting for him.
The closer he got, the better he saw her. She was the only light he needed. Hair bright with magic, eyes still on fire, blood-streaked and beautiful. A godsdamned Fury. He loved her.
Finally in front of her, he stopped, breathing hard, and looked her over for injuries. Not seeing anything major, he reached out and gripped her head, his hands close to shaking. Her hair heated his river-cold fingers. “Bel?”
“I’m okay.” She smiled, pressing her hands over his. “I got rid of them.”
His groan of relief mixed with a strained chuckle at her easy understatement. “You sure did.” He lowered his head and kissed her. “You’re amazing.” He kissed her again. “My wife.”
Her jewel-bright gaze flicked up. “Make it real.” She dropped her hands to his chest, drying his tunic. “Claim me.”
Heat shot through him, and a raw, desperate groan rose in his throat. “It’s already real, but I’ll make it realer.” Pulling her against him, he kissed her almost savagely. He needed his mouth on hers and her heartbeat echoing through his body. She kissed him back just as fiercely, her lips and hands and moans as urgent and hungry as his were. Arousal coursed through him, spreading tingling warmth. The amulet glowed between them, cold and a shocking contrast to the heat radiating off her. But the longer they stayed locked together, the more it stopped icing his chest, as if it recognized him as hers. Because he was. And he had been for so long that he regretted each day he’d spent pretending he wasn’t utterly obsessed with this woman.
His hands still deep in her hair, he rasped, “I’m going to sink into your fire-hot body and claim you.”
Her lips parted, her eyes heating. She tipped her head back, and her hips pressed into his. “Right now.”
It wasn’t a question. “Right now.” He pressed back, his arousal more than confirmation.
Her eyes flicked to the side. “There are about thirty people watching us. I know it’s darker now, but…”
A rough laugh rumbled out of him. “Let’s move into the woods—unless you object to your wedding bed being this close to a battleground strewn with the ash of your enemies?”
“My wedding bed being next to a battleground strewn with the ash of my enemies actually sounds disturbingly appropriate,” she murmured, her eyes meeting his.
Sobering, he gently wiped a smudge of grime from her forehead. “There’ll be no turning back.” He searched her luminous gaze for signs of hesitation, of doubt. “We’re already linked. We’ll befused, Bellanca.”
Her hands moved to his shoulders then slid down his arms, heating his skin all the way to his fingers. She held on. “I hope so. In this life, and in the next.”
Goose bumps swept over him. His heart pounded ferociously, shortening his breath. “In life? In death?”
“Don’t doubt me, Carver. I choose you. I choose us.”
He groaned, raw adoration spilling from his chest. Then he bent and swept her into his arms. “We’re not at home, but I can at least do this right.”
She smiled as he started up the hill. “Carry me over the threshold?”
He nodded ahead of them. “Those dead trees will do.”
Bel looped her arms around his neck and settled into his arms, all of her still softly luminous and her fiery warmth drying his clothes. The amulet glowed with a paler light than she did—an icy blue rather than a burning orange. The combinationmade her even more stunning, magic brightening her from inside and out.
“I didn’t ask…” She frowned. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head. “Are you?” He should’ve asked earlier, but he hadn’t seen anything obvious.
“Cuts and aches. Nothing’s broken.”
“Are you drained?”
“Some magic fatigue,” she admitted. “Nothing food and rest won’t fix.”
