I wrapped my arms around her waist, drawing her closer. The grey dust from the destroyed garden clung to her shoulders, mingling with the dark, sticky smears of blood. The gore presseddirectly against me, but neither of us pulled away to clean the mess.
Beneath that blood, deep behind the sealed plates of my ribs, a heavy, wet muscle beat a stubborn rhythm.
It was an entirely foreign sensation. Every solid thud sent a wave of steadying warmth through the etched pathways of my body. I’d have deemed it impossible for a living organ to connect to the pure death energy that fueled me, but somehow it worked. And there was only one way it could have happened.
I broke the kiss gently, pulling away just enough to look at her. “This heart,” I said, pressing my hand over my chest. “You’re the one. You gave it to me.”
Medea lifted her head. Her dark eyes met mine, and she gave a small, exhausted nod.
Of course she had. My father was a forgemaster. He could shape Stygian iron with unmatched precision, but he could not command tissue. The Moirae spun threads for the woven citizens of Asphodelia, but I had been a threadless construct. They could not touch me, could not weave me into their Loom. Not until a mortal anchor was already seated inside the housing, at least.
Medea possessed the gifts to bridge that impossible gap. My mate could take a human organ, strip away its decay, and transmute it to survive inside a bronze shell. But only if she was free of her past.
I brushed my thumb across her delicate jaw, wondering how so much strength could fit in such a tiny frame. “Jason held a binding over you. He controlled your magic. How did you get past his leash?”
Medea didn’t flinch. She kept her gaze perfectly steady. “I broke the vessel holding the spell.”
“How?”
“The spell was anchored in my womb,” she explained, her voice flat and matter-of-fact. “So I turned my death-touch inward. I destroyed the flesh holding the tether. I made myself barren. Once the anchor was gone, his control shattered. Then I took his heart.”
A sharp ache erupted through me, and I rested my broad palm gently over her stomach. The torn silk of her robes felt stiff with dried blood, but the skin beneath it was warm and unbroken.
“You hurt yourself,” I whispered, hating the violence she had been forced to inflict on herself. “You sacrificed a piece of your own flesh to give me this.”
I should have done better. I should have been able to protect her.
Medea covered the back of my hand with her small fingers. She squeezed hard, forcing me to look up into her eyes. “It wasn’t a sacrifice, Aion.”
“You crushed your own insides—”
“Listen to me.” She shifted her weight, pressing her chest flush against mine. “You are made of living bronze. We live in Asphodelia, and nothing is ever born here. We weren't going to have children anyway.”
The blunt, practical truth of her words hung in the quiet air of the hall. She wasn’t mourning a lost potential. She was stating a biological fact.
“I didn’t lose a future,” Medea continued, her voice softening as her fingers traced the harsh line of my jaw. “I chose the only future I actually wanted. I chose you.”
I stared down at the fierce light in her eyes. She had carved out pieces of her own body and traded them for my life. The sheer weight of her devotion threatened to crack me open.
I slid my palm from her stomach to cradle her jaw. “You went back to him alone, didn’t you?”
“I had to,” she whispered, leaning against me. “He built me to be a weapon. He wanted me to rot everything I touched.”
“You were never a weapon to me.”
“I know,” she replied. “But… I still… I need you to remind me.”
I didn’t hesitate. I hooked my fingers into the torn collar of her robes. The ruined silk gave way effortlessly, parting down the middle. I pushed the fabric off her shoulders, dragging it down her arms and over her hips. It pooled on the cold stone, leaving her bare before me. She was the most beautiful, terrifying thing I had ever seen.
A fierce, aching need pooled low inside me. The living bronze of my loins shifted, thickening and hardening with desperate urgency.
I’d felt it before, back in the sphinx’s den. But it had been different then. I’d been uncertain, new to this, a part of me still unsure of our true path. Now, I knew the truth. This woman owned the heart beating in my chest, and always would. I’d happily worship the altar of her body.
Medea’s breath caught. Her gaze dropped to the metal straining between us. She reached out, her small fingers grazing my thigh.
“You are so warm,” she whispered, tracing the heated bronze.
“Because of you,” I answered.
