I gasp into him, the sound swallowed by his mouth, and that’s when I realize my hands are clenched in his chest, fisting fabric like I might fall if I let go.
My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs.
My skin feels too tight.
Too awake. Too alive.
The kiss doesn’t soften—but it deepens, becomes something else.
Not hunger alone.
Recognition.
And the scary part? Somewhere beneath the fear.
Beneath the fury.
Beneath every rational thought screaming that this is wrong—something inside me answers back.
Not with words.
With fire.
Chapter 3
Thorne
Ashfell, Nightfall
The night sky above the Broken Plains is black, bruised purple clouds drifting slow across a star-dappled expanse that never quite feels gentle.
I inhale deeply.
The air smells of smoke and iron and old fire—home.
It settles my pulse, steadies the restless heat beneath my skin.
The Plains have always spoken to me in flame and ash, reminding me who I am when the world presses too close.
I should never have kissed her.
Delia is still inside my chambers.
After our… encounter, I left her in the hands of Masha—the woman who raised me when this castle was too large and too dark, when my power came faster than my control.
She knows how to tend fire without fear.
How to calm a storm without smothering it.
Masha will take good care of my intended.
“Get her bathed and dressed for the ceremony,” I ordered.
Masha had stared at me like I’d finally lost what little sense I possessed.
“What ceremony? You cannot mean you truly intend this—this binding you spoke of?” Delia asked.
“Oh, I mean it, Shula,” I replied, and I have to admit I was intrigued at how she demanded answers.
