A truth.
When I finally come back to myself, the water has stilled.
Steam curls lazily around us.
My fire has withdrawn, leaving only warmth behind.
No scorch marks. No ash.
Just us.
I lift my head from the crook of her neck, my lips brushing her skin reverently before I kiss her mouth—soft now, swollen, unmistakably kissed—by me.
She looks undone.
Beautiful.
Well fucked.
She looks like mine.
I gather her into my arms and carry her toward the bed, but she shifts slightly, fingers tightening at my shoulder.
“This isn’t the bargain we made,” she whispers.
The words hit me harder than any blade.
I stop.
Completely still.
My heart slams against my ribs as something cold and unfamiliar coils through me—fear.
Have I misread her?
Have I taken more than she meant to give?
Will she push me away now?
And gods—if she does—will there be anything left of me afterward?
“You said you needed me to help you save your world,” she continues, voice unsteady, “but you didn’t tell me belonging to you would be like this.”
My breath stutters.
“Like what?” I ask quietly.
She lifts her gaze to mine, dark eyes shining.
“You didn’t say I’d fall in love with you, Thorne.”
For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe.
My pulse pounds in my ears, every instinct screaming danger—not from her, but from the enormity of what she’s offering.
I lower down to the midnight silk covers atop our bed.
“Are you saying,” I ask carefully, “that you love me, Shula?”
