“Nothing,” I murmur. “I just—” But the words vanish.
A heavy silence stretches between us. His sapphire eyes search mine as if he can see every war raging inside me. The firelight dances over his face, glinting off his skin, and I can’t think—or don’t want to.
I meet his lips before my courage wanes.
The world narrows to heat and breath and heartbeat. He answers me with desperate tenderness, pulling me closer until the thrum of my pulse synchronizes with his. His lips taste like fire and winter rain, and when he breaks away too soon, I would have fallen if his hands weren’t holding me steady.
He stares down at me. Unspoken promises hover between us. His jaw flexes, and I reach up, brushing my thumb along his cheek. His eyes flutter closed as he leans into my touch, exhaling shakily.
I trace him as though I’m memorizing him by touch alone—the curve of his jaw, the heat of his throat, the rough edge of his stubble. He’s beautiful, inside and out. And if dawn means death, then I want tonight to mean life. I want to remember him.
My fingers trail down his collarbone, slipping beneath the openVof his tunic. He inhales sharply as I press a featherlight kiss over his heart. Then another. And another.
“Selene—”
He says my name like a warning and a prayer all at once. His gaze burns with something wild, something that makes my knees go weak.
I rise to my full height and push the shirt from his shoulders. It slides down his arms, revealing sun-warmed skin and muscle carved from strength and survival. My fingers trace the ridges of his shoulders, down the length of his arms. He watches me like a man caught between reverence and ruin.
His knuckles graze my jaw, lifting my gaze to his.
“I know I lack experience in this, and probably won’t compare to women like Seraphina or Elena, but I—”
“Selene.” He cuts me off, firm but not unkind. His hand closes around my wrist, halting my spiral. “What are you talking about?”
I swallow. “They said—”
He exhales slowly, like someone setting down a weight he never should have carried. “I have not slept with Seraphina. Or Elena. Or anyone else.” He pauses. “Not for nearly a hundred years.”
My breath catches.
Then he exhales again, heavier this time, as if bracing himself. “But there were years—centuries—when anger and loneliness consumed me.”
My heart tightens.
“I took what the dragon brought,” he continues, his voice low, stripped bare of pretense. “I told myself it didn’t matter. I pretended I didn’t care, because it was easier than facing the truth—that every time they failed, every time they didn’t survive, it broke something in me.”
His jaw tightens.
“I used the curse as an excuse. I let myself become someone I hated because it hurt less than hoping.” He looks away. “I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could have spared them.”
Then his gaze returns to mine—raw, unguarded.
“The same way I’ve tried to spare you.”
“What changed?” I whisper.
“You asked me once if I’d ever been in love.” His voice softens. “Her name was Talia. She was the first bride to survive. She gave me hope. And I loved her.” His throat works. “But she died. And part of me died with her.”
Silence stretches between us.
“Because of her,” he continues, “I chose to be different. To help the brides. It took centuries—but I tried.”
His gaze drifts, and I see lifetimes of grief reflected in those sapphire eyes.
“Well then,” I say gently, forcing a teasing edge into my voice, “are you sure you even remember how, old man?”
His attention snaps back to me—fierce, intent, full of desire. Exactly the reaction I wanted.
