Grace glides across the basement to the credenza and pulls open the drawer, fetches the satchel, and pulls the brushes first, then the tin.
“Stand near the light,” she commands, face solemn.
Stripping my shirt, I pad over to the torch and turn to face my wife.
Grace runs the handle of the brush down my sternum before meeting my eyes.
“Are you ready, Captain?” she says, her smile reaching in and consoling my nerves around what’s ahead of us tonight.
I nod, eyes gleaming, and my voice comes out low and certain: “Yes.”
Grace dips the tip of the brush in the tin held in her palm and touches it to my skin, drawing the brush tip up my arm, the staining paint trailing in a thin blue line along my muscle.
“Listen to me, Captain Kade,” she demands, and I lose myself in her eyes. “Your mind is as strong as the physical body you’ve honed.” She drags the brush across my clavicle. “You’ve mastered both, and you will lead us into our future tonight. You will become the man this world needs.”
The brush travels down my chest and over my heart.
“You are brave. You are worthy.”
She dips the brush into the tin, scooping paint before dragging the tip up my neck, over my jaw, and up my cheek, her smile cracking through her fervor. “You will herald the era of the Hunter.”
Every bristle of the brush is fire to my skin, and my magic twirls, listening to Grace and responding with the same fervor.
“Be sharp, be fearless, be the warrior you werebornto be.” Grace crosses the brush over my chest. “May your blades carry you to victory.”
Her eyes pin to mine, and I capture her green gaze like I’m starving for the adoration in it.
“Forever may we reign,Captain Kade.”
I swallow, my voice hoarse. “Forever may we reign,” I promise.
Grace sets the brush in the tin while I draw my fingertips up her arm, bumps crawling in my wake.
“Your turn,” I whisper.
Adorning a Hunter is one thing, but adorning an Heir—not many get that honor, and I’m the only one in this generation who will. I’ve looked forward to this day our entire relationship, and I’ve thought about every word I would say.
Grace turns away so I can work the laces loose on her bodice. I tug the fabric over her head and then her shirt, and myeyes consume her, bare before me. My fingers trail her spine, the curve of her plunging me into primal worship as I run my hand along her waist, gripping her hip to spin her gently.
“Are you ready, Grace Hull?”
Sparkling eyes meet mine. “Yes,” she says, conviction reverberating in the silence of the basement.
I take the tin and brush from her and dip the bristles. My forefinger lifts her chin, and I grin as I press the brush against her temple and draw the first line across her brow.
“You are the Heir,” I begin. “You carry the blood of our ancestors in your veins and ruthless warrior strength in your heart.”
I draw the brush down Grace’s throat. “You are the soul of the Hunters, the beat of our rhythm, the breath in our chest.”
The paint leaves a line of blue down the center of her sternum, and I stroke across her ribs.
“You possess the strongest magic, the fiercest voice, and the will of us all. We will follow you into any battle and defend you on any cliff. Our swords will be the first to fall for your victory.”
I paint around her joyful, tear-filled eyes.
“I honor you now, Grace Hull, Heir of the Hunters, with the paint of our people and the love in my soul. Forever may you reign.”
Her mouth parts, and she grabs the paint tin and tosses it to the side before slamming her body into mine and kissing me with a fire I’m privileged to try to handle. I savor the feel of her lips and the press of her against me, needing her more than ever.
