She reaches between her legs, and I watch her fingers work her clit while I pound into her. The sight nearly undoes me—her body arched in pleasure, her fire blazing, her moans filling the room.
When she comes this time, it’s with a scream that echoes off the walls. Her body clamps down on mine, pulsing and squeezing, and the sensation drags me over the edge with her. I bury myself to the hilt and let go, spilling inside her while our combined powers explode around us in a storm of shadow and flame.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing and the fading glow of magic against my walls.
She doesn’t leave.
I half expected her to—to gather her shift, to mumble something about this being a mistake, to retreat to her own chambers and the safety of distance. But instead, she curls against my side, her head on my chest, her breath warm against my skin.
My arm wraps around her without conscious direction. My shadows follow, curling around us both, creating a cocoon of darkness that feels less like a cage and more like a shelter. Her fire responds, a gentle warmth that seeps into my bones and eases aches I’ve carried for so long, I’d forgotten they existed.
“I should probably say something meaningful.” Her voice is drowsy, satisfied. “But my brain isn’t working properly right now.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“Good. Because I’m fairly certain I’ve forgotten how words work.” She tilts her head up to look at me, and there’s something soft in her expression that makes my chest ache. “Is it always like that? The fire and the shadows?”
“I don’t know.” The honest answer. “It’s never happened before. Not with anyone else.”
“There were others?”
“A few. Over the centuries. Nothing that lasted. Nothing that mattered.” I brush a strand of hair from her face, marveling at the simple pleasure of being allowed to touch her. “They weren’t you.”
“No.” She settles back against my chest, her fire quieting to a gentle warmth. “I suppose they weren’t.”
Silence falls, comfortable and warm. Her breathing slows. Her body relaxes against mine, the tension she carries bleeding away moment by moment.
“Zyphon?”
“Mmm?”
“I don’t want to go back to my room tonight.”
“Then don’t.” I press a kiss to her hair. “Stay.”
Her eyes drift closed. Her breathing deepens. And slowly, gradually, she falls asleep in my arms.
I don’t sleep.
Instead, I watch her. The way the moonlight plays across her features. The way her lips part slightly with each breath. The way her fire flickers beneath her skin, even in sleep, a constant reminder of the power she carries.
She’s beautiful. She’s always been beautiful—death hasn’t changed that. But there’s something different about seeing her here, in my bed, her body warm and trusting against mine. Something that makes the shadows inside me settle in ways they haven’t in centuries.
This isn’t claiming. Neither of us is ready for that permanence—the bond that would tie us for eternity, the marks that would appear on our skin. That’s a conversation for another time, when she’s had a chance to remember who she was and decide who she wants to become.
But this is something. A beginning. A crack in the walls we’ve both been building.
For the first time since her resurrection, she’s sleeping without nightmares. I can tell by the peace in her expression, thesteady rhythm of her breathing. No thrashing. No screaming. No shadow-flame erupting uncontrolled.
Just rest. True, deep, peaceful rest.
The hours pass. The moon travels across the sky. And I hold her, watching her breathe, afraid to close my eyes.
Because I’ve wanted things before. Happiness. Peace. Her. And every time, the wanting has been followed by loss. By grief. By centuries of darkness and the knowledge that I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t good enough to keep what I loved.
If I close my eyes now, she might vanish. This moment might vanish. And I’ll wake to find myself alone again, reaching for someone who isn’t there.
So I don’t close my eyes.
