“But this… this is the moment you choose it.”
She studies me carefully.
“What does claiming it mean?”
The cave feels smaller suddenly.
“It means accepting the bond in every sense it was created for.”
“You mean becoming your mate.”
“You already are.”
“Not fully.”
I hold her gaze steadily.
“Not fully.”
Silence stretches again. The bond pulses faintly between us, warm and waiting. Elowen rises slowly to her feet. Ash still clings to the strands of her hair, and exhaustion shadows the edges of her eyes, yet something else burns beneath that weariness now. Resolve.
“So if I claim it,” she says carefully, “the power will answer my will instead of my fear.”
“Yes.”
“And the fire will listen.”
“Eventually. We still have some training to do.”
She considers that. Then she crosses the small space between us. Before I fully understand what she intends, her hands close around the front of my shirt and she pulls me down toward her.
The kiss that follows is not hesitant. It is deliberate. A choice. She is choosing me.
For a moment I freeze in surprise before the reality of what she is offering settles through the bond like a spark touching dry tinder.
“Elowen—” I begin.
She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze.
“I’m not letting you destroy yourself,” she says quietly.
Her hand slides along my jaw.
“I choose this. You.”
The bond ignites. Not the eruption that destroyed Briarthorn. This heat is different. Infernal flame dances softly along the cave walls, curling through the air like golden ribbons of light that respond to the quiet rhythm of her breathing.
She draws me down beside her onto the blanket of moss covering the stone floor, her fingers threading through my hair as though she has already decided exactly what she wants.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs.
“I am reassessing several assumptions.”
“About?”
“You.”
A faint smile touches her lips.
