“I love you.” The words come easier now. Truer. “All of you. Even the annoying parts.”
“Especially the annoying parts.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
He laughs—bright and free, the sound filling the chamber. I feel it echo through the claiming mark, feel his joy bleeding into mine until I’m laughing too, tangled together in his massive bed while the sunset paints the mountains gold.
Valdris’s brand is gone. In its place—Rurik’s dragon, flying forever over my heart.
I’m free.
I’m claimed.
I’m home.
RURIK
Later, after we’ve dressed and eaten and proven that the claiming makes everything better—including arguments about who hogged the blankets—we emerge into the fortress.
Selene finds us first.
She’s waiting in the corridor outside my chambers, arms crossed, a knowing smile playing at her lips. Her gaze drops to where Aisling’s hand is laced with mine, then rises to study both our faces.
“Finally.” She moves forward, pulling Aisling into a hug before either of us can speak. “About time.”
“It’s been three hours,” Aisling protests. “You couldn’t have waited that long for us to?—“
“I’ve been waiting since the first night you woke up screaming and Rurik refused to leave your door.” Selene pulls back, grinning. “The whole fortress has been taking bets on how long you’d hold out.”
“Of course, they have.” Aisling shoots me a look. “Your family is insufferable.”
“Our family,” I correct. “You’re stuck with them now too.”
Something soft flickers across her face. “Our family.”
Selene’s gaze catches on Aisling’s wrist—the one she’s holding out unconsciously, fingers spread as if still marveling at its emptiness.
“The brand.” Selene’s voice goes sharp. “It’s gone.”
“The claiming burned it out.” Aisling turns her wrist in the light, showing the smooth, unmarked skin. “Rurik’s fire replaced hers. There’s nothing left of Valdris on me.”
“Show me.” Selene’s demand is soft. Urgent.
Aisling hesitates, then pulls the collar of her shirt aside. The claiming mark gleams in the torchlight. Beautiful and fierce and unmistakably permanent.
“That’s...” Selene traces the edge of the mark with one finger, wonder in her expression. “That’s his dragon. Exactly. Down to the scar on the wing.”
“Scar?” Aisling twists, trying to see. “What scar?”
“Here.” I touch the spot on the mark that corresponds to an old wound on my dragon form—a tear in my wing membrane from a battle decades ago. “The claiming mark shows who I am. All of me. Including the damage.”
“I like the damage.” Aisling covers my hand with hers. “It means you survived.”
Something cracks in my chest. Heals in the same breath.
Selene’s expression shifts—relief and wonder and fierce satisfaction. She looks between us, then throws her arms around both of us, pulling us into an awkward three-person embrace.
“Good,” she says against my shoulder. “Good. That bitch doesn’t get to keep any piece of you.”
