“You do,” he counters immediately. “Look at how you challenge me without fear. How you stand on Ember-veined stone without blistering. How the fire does not reject you.”
He steps fully into the light now, and it’s almost too much—muscle, heat, power, all wrapped in a man who looks at me like he’s already decided something irrevocable.
“You belong here, Shula,” he says. “You belong to me. Naked is just a perk.”
“I have a blanket on,” I whisper, suddenly painfully aware of how little separates us.
“Indeed, but why do you cover yourself?” he asks, voice low, intimate, infuriating. “You have already shown me your incredible body. And I assure you, I covet it greedily.”
My breath stutters, traitorous and fast.
“I should scream,” I snap, hating the heat pooling low in my belly. “I should run. I should slap you. Something must be wrong with me.”
“Perhaps,” he murmurs. “And perhaps you will. Perhaps I shall allow it.”
He leans in just enough that I can feel his breath against my ear.
“But not until after the binding ceremony.”
That does it.
I march toward him, blanket clutched tight, every instinct screaming that this is stupid—but I don’t stop.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, voice shaking with anger and something else I refuse to name.
Thorne looks down at me, towering, unrepentant—and entirely focused.
“No,” he agrees softly. “I do not get to decide.”
Then his gaze darkens, burning hotter, deeper—like something ancient has just taken notice of me.
“But the fire already has.”
Silence crashes between us, thick and volatile, stretched tight as a wire about to snap.
Then he moves.
Not rushed. Not hesitant.
Certain.
His hands come up to cradle my face—one at the back of my neck, the other cupping my cheek, his touch scorching without pain.
His thumbs brush my jaw, grounding and possessive all at once. I should pull back. I know that. I even try to tell my body to obey.
It doesn’t.
His eyes hold mine, molten and unflinching, searching my face as if giving me one last chance to flee.
I don’t.
He doesn’t seduce.
He claims.
His mouth crashes into mine, hot and demanding, the kiss fierce and consuming—like fire finding oxygen.
It sears straight through me, lighting every nerve, every doubt, every protest I meant to voice.
