Until I was exposed to him, remade in the shape of his desire.
He slid inside of me, filling me to the brink of pain, to the brink of defeat. A cry tore from my throat, my body overwhelmed, quivering beneath the size of him. He moved slowly at first, but the growl in his chest warned me it wouldn’t last.
The grip tightened in my hair, yanking me upright until my back pressed hard against his chest. One hand clamped my jaw, tilting it back, the other slipped between my thighs, stroking in time with each deep, punishing thrust.
I felt the swell of him, the tremble in his chest as he cursed low against my neck, the words searing into my skin. “You don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispered. “I’d burn kingdoms for this. For you. Do you understand?”
Before I could speak, his mouth demanded mine. Messy. Consuming. A kiss that stole breath and gave it back as fire.
But it wasn’t just him I felt, it was more. The energy rising with him. Smoke wound tighter and darker, punching through his veins about to break.
It licked along my skin, his power dragging over every nerve, claiming me as surely as his hands did. He was coming undone, and gods, I felt it. It was a thrum through the bond, a flame down my spine, the way it rushed outward in waves.
His grip tightened near my throat, just enough to make me gasp.
“That sound,” he praised, “don’t you dare stop making it.”
Then he thrust deeper, final, and I ruptured at the same moment he did. My body clenched around him as a force crackled like lightning against my skin. He roared behind me, hips locked to mine, power bleeding loose, carrying us both under.
It rushed through me, into me, filling every hollow, every aching inch until there was nothing left of me that wasn’t blazing. It was raw, devasting and fucking divine.
I folded into the pillows, spent and glowing, while he hovered over me, eyes glowing ember-deep. A purr smoothed through his chest as he nudged my knees wider.
“Spread for me,” he murmured. “Let me see the mess I made of you.”
It wasn’t like me to yield; I should have bristled at being told. Instead, something older unwound in my soul and I offered myself willingly. Because it wasn’t just obedience, it felt like memory.
Security wrapped around me as I lay bound into Ronan’s chest, my head resting over the steady beat of his heart. The sheets clung against our skin, the room still thick with the taste of us.
The edges of my fingers coasted just beneath his collarbone, tracing the scars. Ten, fifty, hundreds etched into his body like runes. Some were raised ridges, some half-moons. Others were straight punctures where blades had once kissed too close, ending dangerously close to his heart.
His skin was a battlefield, and I traced it like scripture.
From somewhere unseen, a melody drifted slowly through the room, heartache woven into every note. Wordless, but desperate with longing. It clung to the walls, a hymn of sorrow and desire tangled as one.
“Why do you keep them all?” My voice was hushed, nearly lost to the song. There were so many. Too many.
His hand ran down the curve of my neck, across my freckled shoulder. A touch that made my spine shiver. His sigh released solemnly against my ear before he said, “Like you, I keep reminders.”
I pressed a kiss to his chest, letting the beat of his heart sink into me. “What are they reminders of?”
“Of everything I’ve fought for.” His fingers stilled on my skin. “And everything I’ve lost along the way.” My chin tilted, catching the shadows pulling at his face, watching reason flicker and fold in his eyes. “But also,” he added, rougher now, “of everything I’ve achieved. Everything I’ve forced into existence, despite every attempt to cut me down.”
My brow arched as I tried for humor. “Please, who in their right mind would try and take you down?”
He didn’t look at me. “My father. Most of these scars are punishments. When I disappointed him, he would cut me, slice until the bucket at his feet was filled with my blood.” His jaw worked, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Sometimes my magic healed fast. Other times…I’d lie half dead on the floor, waiting to replenish enough to crawl upright again.”
“Why?” The word cracked. “Why would he do that to you?”
“I don’t know.” He turned, covering my hand with his own, dragging it to the scar nearest his heart. His voice was steady now. “But I will never be like him. Not to you. Not to anyone.”
Ronan D’Vyre. A man bred solely for war. A weapon forged before he ever had the chance to choose who he might become.
The scars weren’t just validation of enemies conquered. They were reflections of something deeper. Who he had been, who he might have been, if he hadn’t been molded into something perilous from the moment he drew breath.
I pushed myself off his chest, hair curtaining my breasts as I sat taller. My fingers found the scar carved across my cheek, the one Wells had given me. The skin was thick beneath my touch, but I felt nothing as I traced its curved edges.
“This,” I admitted, “this is my favorite reminder. Not just to me, but to Wells. That he bested me. That he could hurt me if he ever wanted to.” My head tilted, quiet refusal binding me. “It’s evidence that beneath the Viper’s mask, I’m still just me. The dreamer who wants to belong somewhere. The one who wants to fix a broken world.”
