When he finally sheathed himself inside her, they both groaned at the sensation. He held still for a long moment, savoring the feeling of completion, the perfect fit of their bodies joined together.
Then he began to move.
It was slow at first, gentle, tender. Each stroke a declaration. Each kiss a promise. But need built between them, hot and urgent, and soon gentleness gave way to something more primal.
He drove into her harder, faster, chasing the release that coiled tighter with every thrust. She met him stroke for stroke, her nails raking down his back, her cries rising to meet his growls.
Mine,his beast roared.My mate. My heart. Mine.
They shattered together, pleasure exploding through them in waves that seemed to go on forever. He collapsed against her, breathing hard, his knot locking them together.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Neither spoke. The world had narrowed to just the two of them, tangled together in the sunlight, their hearts still racing from shared ecstasy.
Then, slowly, reluctantly, awareness returned.
He finally raised his head, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. She smiled up at him, lazy and satisfied, her grey eyes soft with love.
“We should dress,” she murmured when his knot subsided, but she made no move to untangle herself from him.
“Yes,” he agreed, equally reluctant to move.
But they couldn’t stay like this forever. Her people were coming. Their stolen time was ending.
He rose first, retrieving her scattered clothing and bringing it back to where she lay. Then, carefully, tenderly, he began to dress her. Her shirt first, eased over her head and smoothed down her torso. Her trousers, pulled up her legs one at a time, fastened at her waist with fingers that lingered longer than strictly necessary.
She watched him, her expression soft. “I can dress myself, you know.”
“I know.” He pressed a kiss to her clothed shoulder, then reached for her boots. “Let me.”
She didn’t protest again.
When she was fully dressed, he turned to his own clothing, pulling on his tunic and trousers with quick, efficient movements. She sat up, running her fingers through her tangled hair, and fastening it into a quick braid. After a brief hesitation, she reached into her pocket for the necklace she’d been wearing when she crashed and fastened it around her neck. Her mother’s necklace.
“For courage,” she said softly. “How do I look?”
“Beautiful.”Always.No matter what she wore or how disheveled her appearance. “Like the female who crashed into my mountain and changed everything.”
She laughed softly, reaching for his hand. “I think you were the one who changed everything. I just?—”
She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze fixing on something over his shoulder. Her grip on his hand tightened.
“Rykan.”
He turned, following her line of sight.
There, cutting through the pale blue sky like a dark blade—a sleek, angular vessel, its hull gleaming. It moved fast, far faster than any bird, banking in a wide arc as it zeroed in on their position.
Her people had arrived.
The vessel grew larger as it approached, and the sound of its engines grew louder, a low thrum that vibrated in his chest. He could see markings on its hull, symbols he didn’t recognize but assumed were insignia of some kind.
She rose to her feet, her hand still clasped in his. Her shoulders squared, her chin lifting. The transformation was subtle but unmistakable—the capable survivor he’d trained giving way to something else. Something more polished.
The Duvain heiress, preparing to reclaim her world.
But when she looked at him, her eyes were still the same. Still warm. Still his.
“Ready?” she asked, and he squeezed her hand. “Ready.”
