Her lips part. She hesitates. Then she nods.
“I—I think I do. And I know that sounds fast, or foolish, or?—”
I cannot let her diminish this.
I grip her chin gently, firmly, forcing her to look at me.
“No,” I say, voice rough. “Never that. Never foolish. Never small.”
I soften my hold, my thumb brushing her cheek.
“You are my viyella.”
Her breath shudders—and then her eyes fill.
The sight of her tears sends something sharp and panicked through my chest.
“Why do you cry?” I ask immediately, dread clawing up my spine. “Did I hurt you? Did I take too much?”
She shakes her head quickly.
“No—no, it’s not that.” Her voice trembles. “What if you get tired of me? What if one day you decide this was a mistake and take me back?—”
“Back?” The word is incomprehensible.
“There is no back,” I say fiercely. “There is only forward—with you.”
“But what if you fall in love?” she whispers.
I cup her face fully now, both hands steady despite the quake inside me, pressing my forehead to hers so she can feel the truth in my breath, in my heart.
“Don’t you understand yet?” I murmur.
“I already have.”
The words are terrifying.
And undeniable.
This is more than I asked for.
More than I planned.
More than I ever believed I was allowed to have.
And yet—she is here.
She chose me.
She loves me.
And for the first time in all my centuries of fire and solitude, I do not feel cursed.
I feel claimed.
Chapter 18
Delia
