“I will.” I pull his face down to mine. “I won’t.”
He kisses me again. Slow. Thorough. His mouth traces a path from my lips to my jaw, my throat, the hollow between my collarbones. His tusks graze my skin—a light scrape, sensation without pain. I arch into him. Let my hands explore the landscape of his back, the ridges of old scars, the places where muscle meets bone.
This is different from the catacombs. That was fire and desperation, claiming each other because we might not live to see morning. This is something else. Something slower. Something sacred.
His mouth finds my breast. I gasp. My fingers dig into his shoulders. He takes his time—tasting, teasing, learning every response. When his hand slides between my thighs, I’m already wet for him.
“Rathok—”
“I know.” His fingers stroke. Explore. Find the places that make me writhe beneath him. “I have you.”
The pleasure builds. Wave after wave, cresting and falling, each peak higher than the last. I cry out when I shatter—hisname torn from my throat, my nails raking his back. He holds me through it. Watches my face with something like reverence.
“Again,” I manage, when I can speak. “I want you inside me.”
He positions himself. Waits. Meets my eyes.
“I love you.” The words come rough. Unpolished. “I don’t know how to stop.”
“Then don’t.”
He enters me in one slow, devastating stroke.
I cry out. Wrap my legs around him. Pull him deeper. He groans—a sound that seems torn from somewhere primal, somewhere beyond words. His hips move against mine. Slow at first. Building.
The mark glows. Not burning—glowing. Soft white light that pulses in time with our rhythm. I press my marked hand to his chest, over his heart. Feel it racing beneath my palm.
He kisses me. Deep and claiming. His pace increases. The pleasure builds again—different this time, deeper, starting in my core and radiating outward. I meet his thrusts. Match his rhythm. Let myself fall into the sensation of him.
“Look at me.” His voice is ragged. “Ivalys—look at me.”
I open my eyes. Find his gaze holding mine. See everything there—the need, the fear, the desperate, vulnerable love he’s spent a lifetime burying.
“I see you,” I whisper. “All of you.”
He shatters. Takes me with him.
The climax crashes through us both—his roar mixing with my scream, his body shuddering above me, mine arching to meet him. The sigil blazes. For one endless moment, I feel everything he feels—the love, the fear, the bone-deep certainty that he’s finally found something worth keeping.
And I feel my own heart crack open. Feel the walls I’ve built crumbling. Feel years of loneliness rushing out of me, replaced by something warm and terrifying and desperately good.
This is what I’ve been missing. This is what Mom’s death stole from me—not just her, but the capacity to feel safe. To trust. To let someone hold me without waiting for them to let go.
When the light fades, we’re tangled in the sheets. His body half on me, half beside me. His face buried in my hair, his breath hot against my throat. My hand still pressed to his heart.
I’m crying. I don’t know when I started. The tears slip down my temples, into my hair, and I can’t seem to stop them.
“Ivalys?” His voice is rough with concern. He lifts his head. Sees the tears. His thumb brushes them away, gentle in a way that makes me cry harder. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” I manage a laugh that’s more sob than humor. “No, you didn’t hurt me. You—” I don’t have words. How do I explain that I’m crying because I’m happy? Because for the first time since my mother held me, I feel like I might actually be okay?
“I haven’t felt safe since my mother died,” I whisper. “Haven’t let myself feel safe. Because safe meant risking loss. And loss meant losing everything again.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just pulls me closer. Wraps his arms around me and holds on—solid and warm and unbearably gentle.
“But with you—” My voice cracks. “With you, I feel like I did when she was alive. Like someone’s got me. Like I don’t have to carry everything alone.”
His arms tighten. His lips press against my hair. “You don’t,” he says quietly. “Not anymore. I’ve got you, Ivalys. For as long as you’ll have me.”
