“Are you okay?” he asks, swaying.
“You’re hurt.”
“Are you okay?” he asks again, firmly.
I nod, butI’m okayisn’t what I want or even need to say. My mind keeps circling the power it took him to pull in those shadows and how he looked when they erupted out of him.
Before I can stop myself, the words come out. “That was… You’re beautiful.”
Not the shadows. Not the power.Him. The man who just fought a monster for me. The man who's standing here bleeding and asking if I'm okay.
Him.
But no man wants to be called beautiful. He’ll probably laugh, turn away. Shake his head.
But that isn’t what he does.
Eryx crosses to me with calm, deliberate steps, and stops when we’re only a hairbreadth apart.
Even now he looms over me, his shadow slicing across my face.
“Say it again,” he commands quietly.
I look up at him—he’s badly wounded. I reach up to touch him, to offer some comfort, but he takes my hand in his to stop me.
“Say it.”
I swallow a lump in my throat and squeak out, “You’re beautiful.”
Before I even know what’s happening, his lips are on mine, claiming me, commanding me to kiss him back.
And I do.
His hands cradle my face, and he steps closer, our chests touching. My back aches from where the creature clawed me, and I know Eryx must be in agony. Blood covers his entire chest—too much blood. It's still flowing from the claw marks, dripping at his feet.
But he still kisses me deeper, harder, sliding his tongue into my mouth and moaning as he tastes me.
My back screams in protest where the claws raked me. The pain should stop this—should make me pull away. But adrenaline floods my system, dulling everything except him.
His mouth. His hands. The way he's kissing me like I'm oxygen and he's drowning.
And I match his fire, his yearning, everything.
Our magic stirs—gold brushing against shadow, tentative. Not the overwhelming surge from before. Just…aware.
Waiting. Like it knows this is only the beginning.
The kiss is rough, passionate, claiming.
Within seconds I’m drunk off Eryx Nightshade.
When he finally breaks away, he rests his forehead on mine, both of us breathing hard. He touches my face. His fingers tremble.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs, like he’s not only trying to convince me but also convince himself.
“So are you,” I whisper.
He pulls back to look at me, and something in his expression softens, opens.
