He slams his mouth to mine with a desperation that steals my breath, one hand gripping the back of my neck, the other banded around my waist, pulling me up against him as if he would graft me into his bones.
I gasp, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss, tongue stroking into my mouth with a hunger that makes my knees weak.
The stone at my back is cool and solid. His body is hot and unyielding. The contrast is dizzying.
I fist my hands in the front of his tunic, clinging like he’s the only stable thing in a world that keeps shifting under my feet.
Which, I guess, he is.
The earth hums louder, like it’s pleased.
When he finally tears his mouth from mine, we’re both breathing like we just sprinted the length of the Marches.
His forehead rests against mine again, our noses almost touching.
His wings curl in, sheltering us in a little cocoon of black feather and stone.
“First,” he says hoarsely, “I am going to replace every stabilizing ward around that settlement and ensure no other slope can betray us.”
“Good,” I manage, lips tingling. “Sounds very responsible of you.”
“Then,” he continues, eyes burning into mine, “I am taking you back to The Barrow. And I am not letting you out of our bed until I have recovered from the sight of you nearly falling into a fissure.”
Heat slams through me so hard I have to bite back a whimper.
“That’s a lot of bed rest, Lord of Earth,” I say, trying for lightness, failing.
His mouth curves against mine in the ghost of a smile.
“For once,” he murmurs, brushing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth, “I am willing to be indulgent.”
I roll my eyes, but my heart is doing backflips because inside my head, or maybe it’s my heart, I hear what he’s not saying aloud.
Mate.
Viyella.
Mine.
All of this started as a crisis, a bargain, a desperate attempt to stop the world from literally tearing itself apart.
But pressed here between stone and Demon, his heartbeat thundering against my palm and the ground quiet at last beneath my feet, I have a thought.
Maybe this isn’t just about me saving Nightfall.
Maybe this is about me saving Dagan, and him saving me too.
Chapter 11
Dagan
The Rooted Marches, Nightfall
We arrive at the last village—Stone’s Edge.
It smells of smoke. The remnants of crops gone bad. Burned before the taint could spread.
It is old smoke, settled into stone and thatch and bone.
