The Vow of Elysium
Not rank. Not kings. Not death itself.
Her hair fell soft against the curve of her neck, her lavender robe clinging to her shoulders, breath trembling as though she’d run through more than corridors to reach him.
Amerei stood on the threshold, stormlight haloing her, and for a heartbeat the world seemed to wait with her.
Then Viktor reached out, drew her inside—close—and pressed the door shut.
“What are you doing here, love?” he asked, the last word roughened to tenderness.
She didn’t answer—only lifted her hand to his chest, fingers slipping beneath linen until her palm settled over his skin.
“It’s true,” she whispered, tracing the places his burns had been. “You healed yourself.”
He huffed out something like disbelief.
“Somehow,” he said, shaking his head. “Dask, I don’t even know how.”
She only looked at him, fingers light against his skin, her palm warm against his chest. His pulse betrayed him first, thundering against her touch.
Something unspoken gathered in her eyes—dark, intent—and the air between them shifted.
His breath stuttered.
Her lashes lowered, voice quiet.
“You’re healed.”
“I—”
He meant to nod, to thank her, to say something soldierly, but the words failed when her gaze met his. There was nothing steady in it. Nothing careful.
Before he could think, before he could breathe, she caught his hands and pressed them to the knot at her waist.
Her gaze burned into his.
“I want this,” she whispered.
His pulse hammered.
He stared, undone by her boldness, by the storm raging in her eyes.
Dask, she was here. Asking him. Damn near telling him to make the move.
His fingers fumbled—
then pulled.
The sash fell loose.
Her robe slipped from her shoulders, pooling on the floor to reveal the thin shift beneath, sheer enough to steal his breath. The swell of her breasts pressed against the linen, every curveetched by candlelight. The spark of her navel ring. The lines of her hips.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide. She let him see her.
Stars help him—he could hardly breathe.
Her fingers clawed at his shirt, pulling it up until he wrenched it over his head and tossed it aside.
