When they were both fully naked except for the two Lawful Stabs attached to Hope’s leg, they sat on the rocky edge of the Mending Waters, their desire glazing the focus of their eyes as they drank each other in. When Ciaran jumped in, his whole body lit up, a thin coat of glittering water covering up to the middle of his muscled abdomen.
He surrounded her waist with his firm arms, embracing her closer as her legs surrounded his torso, and then he lifted her and brought her body into the water.
The feeling of the liquid against her body was unnatural, too perfect, too rejuvenating, too powerful not to be magic. The feeling of the man she clung to as he pressed her closer to him was indescribable.
It was the first time their bodies finally met fully, and the heat, the friction, the desperate pressing of skin against skin exploded. Ciaran groaned into her hair, low and rough, and she arched, rocking against him, every inch of her screaming to feel him, to take him, to betakenby him. His hands roamed her body, fingers tracing the curves, the planes, every hidden hollow, memorizing, claiming, promising never to let go.
The world had narrowed to the burning needs of their bodies.
Her nails dug into the planes of his back, her body pressing impossibly close. Desire roared through her, desperate and wild.His hands roamed her curves, memorizing, grounding her as she surrendered to him completely. Every shiver, every gasp, every whispered plea wove them tighter, skin and shadow, spark and sweat. Her core ached so much with need she thought she could die.
She felt his hardness between their bodies, pressing against her opening and her clit. Her hand seemed to be shaped to hold it, to caress it, to wield him.
Hope clung to him, pulling him closer, hips pressing, thighs wrapping, lips on neck, shoulders; every shiver, every tremor she could give, she gave.
“Ciaran. My Ciaran,” she whispered, trembling. Every word anchored them, fused their desire with trust, every syllable igniting centuries-old magic and destiny intertwined bodies. “I’ve never—never felt like this,” she breathed, shaking, tears of longing stinging her eyes. “I want you… I want you entirely. Please, Ciaran.”
And he answered—not with words, but with the fierce, desperate thrust of his body into hers.
She cried out, and the world narrowed to the friction of his long hardness inside her, the slick heat of her desire. Every movement, every roll, every shiver was raw, unrestrained, carnal, exquisite in its intensity.
He groaned, voice low. “My Hope. Every century, every hour, every minute, I’ve waited for this.”
Stars reflected in the surrounding water, red moonlight catching the spray from their movements, their bodies trembling, each pulse and shudder a drumbeat to the primal rhythm they had both been starving for.
His thrusts became insistent, deep, consuming. She cried out, arching, pressing closer and clinging onto his back as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. Every inch of her ached to be claimed, to be filled, to be completely his.
His shadowed hands clenched her hips, his fingertips settling in her flesh because that’s where they belonged. Every motion was a promise made centuries ago but only now being fulfilled. The surrounding air shimmered with sparks and darkness, the night itself leaning closer to watch, to hold them, to witness the surrender and hunger of two beings bound by fate, magic, and longing.
Ciaran’s lips moved against her shoulder, neck, collarbone, biting, tasting, claiming,owning. Her nails raked down his spine, her body trembling with want. Shadows twisted around her, coaxing her into him, while red sparks danced in flickering trails across her arms and chest, a fated dance of magic only they could understand.
Her moans mingled with his low growls as the water rippled with their bodies. “Ciaran… I’m yours… all of me…” Her voice broke, pleading, trusting. She clung to him, every nerve on edge.
When the climax hit, it was an explosion of every suppressed want, every heartbeat, every spark and shadow coiling together into a storm that left them trembling, wet, spent, utterly raw. Hope clung to him, sobbing, her body shaking, every nerve alive, while Ciaran groaned low, burying his face in her hair, holding her like she was the last thing in the world worth protecting.
For a moment, the world felt infinite, a perfect union of desire, magic, and love.
And then—silence.
Except it wasn’t quiet.
The world shifted. Ciaran’s eyes widened in shock, his chest tightening.
“Llunal shade me. No.No,” he begged, panic flashing. His hands flew over them both, trying to recreate the safety that had vanished. “Hope, my shadows—”
Hope grabbed his metallic arm, searching his eyes. “Ciaran, what is it?”
“I failed in my most important job: protecting you,” he choked, voice ragged. “Without my shadows, we are—youare—exposed.”
Then she felt it. She had grown so accustomed to his shadows being around, playfully and distractedly lingering with her body, that she forgot there wasn’t a shadow wielded that wasn’t intentional. And apparently, all along, his shadows had been her protection.
He removed his length from her, and he dressed them both in full-shadow outfits similar to the fully black courtrade outfits. Still in the water, she Gave herself all the belts and daggers she had left by the edge of the Mending Waters. The Black and Red Lawful Stabs had never abandoned her body, they had remained close to her Core blood from their sheaths on two tight belts on her lower leg.
“Exposed to whom?” she asked, fearing the answer.
His shadows were in place a whisper later, but by then, Hope could hear the flapping sound of wings approaching in the no-longer-silent sky. The sangins were hungry.
“The Cardinal Queen and her beasts,” he said.
