“You force the old language into the room,” he said. “Before Serast can complete the corrupted sequence.”
“Will that save me?”
“I do not know.”
“Will silence save me?”
“No.”
“Then I will speak.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he crossed the distance between them and took her face in both hands.
His kiss was not frantic this time.
It was deep, controlled, and shaking with everything he was trying not to say. Blood still marked both their palms beneath the bandages. The old chapel stood around them. The facing stones waited beneath their feet.
Sabine gripped his wrists and kissed him back.
The mark warmed.
Not violently.
Not with the chamber’s hunger.
With something steadier.
Lucien felt it. She knew by the way his breath caught against her mouth.
He pulled back only enough to speak.
“Do you feel that?”
“Yes.”
“It is different here.”
“Yes.”
His thumb brushed her cheek.
“The corrupted rite forces response. This place asks.”
Sabine looked at the two stones.
“Then ask.”
He went still.
Not because he did not understand.
Because he did.
“Sabine.”
“Ask me.”
