She deserves gentleness. Patience. A love that doesn’t come wrapped in shadows and old grief.
I can’t give her any of those things. All I have is this consuming want, this desperate need that’s been building since the moment I saw her in the shadow-territories. All I have is longing and a curse that won’t let me forget what I lost.
The knock at my door comes just past midnight.
I knowit’s her before I open it.
My shadows recognize her fire—reach for it even through the solid wood of the door. When I pull it open, she’s standing there in nothing but a thin shift, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her feet bare against the cold stone.
Her mismatched eyes find mine. There’s something fragile in her expression—vulnerability she’s been hiding for weeks, finally allowed to surface.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could I.”
“I know I should go back to my room.” She wraps her arms around herself. “This is probably a terrible idea. But I’m tired,Zyphon. Tired of questions. Tired of being careful. Tired of lying alone in the dark, feeling empty, when you’re so close.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. Every instinct screams at me to pull her inside, to close the door behind her, to finally take what I’ve wanted for so long.
But she doesn’t understand what it would mean to let me touch her.
“You should go.” The words scrape against my throat. “This isn’t—you don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Then tell me.”
“I’ve spent three centuries wanting you.” I force myself to hold her gaze, to let her see the hunger I’ve been hiding. “Hundreds of years of remembering what it felt like to hold you. To touch you. To have you look at me the way you’re looking at me right now. If you come inside, I won’t be able to be gentle. I won’t be able to hold back.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t retreat. Just lifts her chin and meets my gaze with something fierce burning in her eyes.
“I don’t want gentle.” Her voice is steady. “I want to feel something other than hatred and confusion and grief. I want to feel alive. I want—“ Her breath catches. “I want you. Even if I don’t understand it. Even if it’s too soon or too fast or too complicated. I want you.”
The last thread of my control snaps.
I pullher into my chambers and kick the door shut behind us.
She comes willingly, her hands finding my chest, her fire flaring to meet my shadows. The moment our skin touches, something shifts in the air—a resonance, a recognition. Hershadow-flame and my darkness reaching for each other, finally allowed to connect.
“Last chance.” I cup her face in my hands, tilting it up so she can see the darkness swirling in my eyes. “Tell me to stop and I will. I’ll walk you back to your room and we’ll pretend this never happened.”
“I don’t want to pretend.” Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. “I want this. I want you.”
I kiss her.
Not gently. Not carefully. All of my longing pours into it—all the nights I spent aching for her, all the mornings I woke reaching for someone who wasn’t there. She gasps against my mouth, and I swallow the sound, my tongue sliding against hers, tasting her, claiming her.
Her arms wrap around my neck. Her body presses against mine, soft curves molding to hard angles. I can feel her heart racing, her pulse pounding where my hands grip her waist. She kisses me back with equal desperation, her teeth catching my lower lip, her nails scraping against the nape of my neck.
I walk her backward until her shoulders hit the wall. Pin her there with my body, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding down to grip her hip. She moans into my mouth—a sound that goes straight to my cock—and rolls her hips against mine.
“Zyphon.” My name comes out breathless, broken. “Please.”
I drag my mouth from hers, trailing kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat. Her pulse flutters beneath my lips. I lick across it, then suck hard enough to leave a mark. She cries out, her head falling back against the wall, her fingers tangling in my hair.
“I’ve thought about this,” I murmur against her skin. “About you. About what I’d do if I ever got you alone again.”
“What did you think about?” Her voice is ragged.
“This.” I bite the junction of her neck and shoulder, and she shudders. “Tasting every inch of you. Making you scream my name. Watching you come apart in my arms.”
