"Enough." I don't look back at Rytha, though I can feel the weight of her humiliation pressing against my shoulders like a physical thing.
Murmurs follow me as I stride toward the pavilion's entrance. Some voices carry amusement—warriors who've always found diplomatic niceties tedious. Others hold disapproval that cuts through the night like blade edges.
My heart pounds against my ribs, but not with shame. With clarity.
The grove welcomes me with shadows and moonlight filtering through ancient branches. My boots crunch against fallen leaves as I navigate between trees older than clan memory. Here, away from ceremonial fires and watching eyes, I can finally breathe.
She's already there when I emerge into the small clearing. Thalia sits on our fallen log, her dark hair loose around her shoulders for once instead of bound in its usual practical knot. Moonlight catches the gold in her eyes, making them shine like captured starlight.
"There you are?—"
I silence her with a kiss, pulling her forward by her waist and devouring her mouth like it's the only thing keeping me alive.
29
THALIA
His mouth crashes against mine with desperate hunger, all teeth and breath and barely contained wildness. I taste wine and something darker—fury, maybe, or the kind of reckless abandon that comes from burning bridges behind you. My hands fist in his ceremonial vest, pulling him closer even as my mind screams warnings about consequences neither of us can afford.
When we break apart, I'm gasping like I've been underwater too long.
"You shouldn't have done that." The words tumble out between ragged breaths. "She'll be furious now."
His hands frame my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones with reverent care that makes my chest ache. Those dark eyes search mine with an intensity that feels like being seen for the first time in my life.
"So you were there." His voice carries satisfaction and something else—relief, maybe. "Where were you hiding, my little goddess?"
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest, surprising us both. "Goddess? Me?" I shake my head, still breathless from his kiss. "How utterly ridiculous."
But he doesn't smile at my self-deprecation. Instead, his expression grows more serious, more certain.
"I was in the supply tent behind the pavilion," I admit, trying to ignore the way his thumb traces patterns against my skin. "Sorting through herb stores and trying to stay invisible. Rytha has been watching me like a hawk circles wounded prey. I didn't want to give her any reason to?—"
He silences me with another kiss, this one slower but no less consuming. His hands slide down to my waist, lifting me as easily as if I weigh nothing at all. The world tilts and spins, and then I'm being carried across the clearing to where moonlight filters through the canopy onto a patch of grass soft with fallen leaves.
He lays me down with surprising gentleness for hands that have wielded war hammers and split shields. The earth beneath my back smells of rich loam and decomposing leaves, of seasons turning and life cycling through its eternal dance.
"I couldn't stand her touch." His voice drops to a rough whisper as he settles beside me, one hand tangling in my loose hair. "Every moment at that table felt like drowning. Like wearing someone else's skin."
I reach up to trace the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness where his tusks have left their mark over years of speaking and breathing and being magnificently, impossibly himself.
"And this?" I whisper. "How does this feel?"
His eyes close at my touch, a shudder running through his massive frame.
"Like breathing again. Like coming home to a place I never knew existed." He opens his eyes, and the raw honesty theresteals what little breath I've managed to recover. "I only feel alive when I'm near you."
His mouth crashes against mine again, this time with a hunger that feels like falling. My hands claw at the thick leather of his vest, desperate to feel the heat of his skin beneath. The taste of him—wild herbs and iron and something uniquelyGalthan—fills my senses. A low, rumbling growl vibrates in his chest, resonating against my own.
“Need you,” he rasps, the words rough against my lips. His large hands move down my back, pressing me impossibly closer. “Now. Gods, Thalia,now.”
The urgency in his voice, the sheer, desperate need, ignites something reckless within me. A fire that pushes back against a lifetime of fear and submission. “Take me,” I gasp, the plea ripped from somewhere primal. The words feel dangerous, powerful. “Please, Galthan. Take what you need.”
He doesn’t hesitate. A powerful arm sweeps my legs out from under me. For a heart-stopping moment, I’m airborne, cradled against the solid wall of his chest. Then, with surprising control, he lowers me onto the thick moss carpet beneath the ancient oaks. Moonlight spills through the branches, silvering his dark green skin, glinting off the beads in his braids. His eyes, dark pools of shadow in the dim light, hold mine with an intensity that steals my breath. He spins me with a single, powerful movement, positioning me onto my hands and knees. The cool earth meets my palms, the scent of damp moss and crushed leaves filling my nose. Behind me, his movements are frantic, the sound of his belt unbuckling stark in the quiet grove. The air crackles with anticipation, thick with the scent of our shared desire.
His hands settle heavily on my hips, fingers digging in possessively. The blunt, hot head of his cock nudges against myentrance, slick with my own arousal. A choked sound escapes him.
“Fuck,” he groans, the word thick and strained.
