“And you... you want that? With me?”
His hand came up to cup her face, his palm warm and rough against her cheek. His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone, gentle as a whisper.
“I have wanted that since the moment I saw you,” he said quietly. “When you stood on that balcony and looked down at me with those curious eyes, I felt something shift inside me. My beast knew before I did. He recognized you immediately.”
“Recognized me as what?”
“As ours.”
The word sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the cold. She leaned into his touch, her eyes searching his face.
“I don’t understand everything about your world,” she said. “About mates and bonds and all of it. But I know how I feel when I’m with you. I know that the thought of being apart from you makes something inside me ache. I know that when you look at me like this, I feel like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be.”
His eyes closed briefly, as if her words had caused him pain. When they opened again, there was a hunger in them—barely restrained, burning just beneath the surface.
“Liora.” His voice was rough. “If we do this... if I claim you properly... there’s no going back. My mark will be on you forever. Other Vultor will know you belong to me. They’ll know that hurting you means death.”
“Good.”
The word came out fierce and sure, surprising them both. Liora felt her cheeks flush, but she didn’t look away.
“I want to belong to you,” she said. “I want everyone to know. I spent twenty-one years belonging to no one, having no one. And now I have you, and I don’t want there to be any question about it. I want your mark. I want your bond. I want you.”
The sound he made was almost a growl.
Then his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding, and she forgot how to breathe.
This kiss was different from the others they’d shared. Deeper. More urgent. His hands tangled in her wet hair, tilting her headback to give him better access, and she gasped against his lips as his tongue swept into her mouth.
He tasted like salt and smoke and something uniquely him—something wild and fierce that made her whole body hum with want.
She clutched at his shoulders, pulling him closer, trying to get more of him even as her lungs screamed for air. When he finally broke the kiss, they were both panting, foreheads pressed together, sharing breath.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped. “Tell me now, while I still can.”
“Don’t stop.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Please, Baylin. Don’t ever stop.”
He groaned—a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest—and kissed her again.
This time, when his hands moved to the fastenings of her dress, she didn’t hesitate. The salt-damp fabric peeled away from her skin, leaving her bare in the firelight, and she felt no shame. Only anticipation. Only want.
He pulled back to look at her, his eyes tracing every curve and hollow of her body with an intensity that made her skin flush. The firelight painted her in shades of gold and shadow, and she watched his face as he drank in the sight of her.
“Beautiful,” he breathed. “So beautiful it hurts.”
She reached for him, tugging at the hem of his shirt, and he helped her pull it over his head. The scars she’d traced during their first time together stood out in sharp relief against his bronze skin—testament to a life of violence and survival. She ranher fingers over them, learning their shapes again, committing them to memory.
“I love your scars,” she said softly. “They tell your story. They show how strong you are, how much you’ve survived.”
His breath hitched. “Liora...”
“I want some of my own.” She met his eyes steadily. “I want my story to be written on my skin, too. Starting with your mark.”
Something dark and possessive flared in his gaze. He pushed her gently back onto the sand, covering her body with his, and she felt the evidence of his desire pressing against her hip.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, his voice strained.
“Then show me.”
