I'm suddenly at eye level with him.
His amber veins pulse with soft gold light.
"I spent eight hundred years alone," he says quietly. "Eight hundred years convinced that isolation was strength. That I did not need anyone. That I was better off without the vulnerability of attachment."
His hands tighten on my waist.
"And then you walked into my life. And you tore down every wall I ever built. You made me feel warm. You made me feelalive.And now that I have you, I am going to spend every single day ensuring you never regret choosing me."
My breath catches.
"That's—"
"Overwhelming. I know. But I do not care."
He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine.
"Let me take care of you," he whispers. "Please."
I close my eyes.
Take a breath.
And surrender.
"Okay," I say. "But I'm drawing the line at a third refrigerator."
His chest rumbles.
Not a laugh.
A purr.
"Agreed."
We eat breakfast on the sofa.
Well.
I eat breakfast.
Cyprian watches me eat breakfast like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
"You're staring," I say around a mouthful of toast.
"I am observing."
"It's creepy."
"It is attentive."
I take a sip of orange juice.
It tastes like victory.
Like financial stability.
Like a future where I never have to choose between groceries and rent.
