The bark scrapes my palms. His teeth find my shoulder again, biting down harder this time. The bond at my wrist blazes gold and hot, and I feel him through it. Not just physical sensation. The emotion underneath. The desperation. The relief. The terrifying, consuming certainty that this is right.
That we’re right.
That whatever else is broken, this isn’t.
“Ash.” His rhythm falters. “I’m close. Fuck, I’m?—”
“Don’t stop.” I reach back, finding his hip, digging my nails in hard enough to draw blood. “Don’t you dare stop.”
He roars.
Not a groan. Not a moan. A roar that shakes the bark beneath my palms and sends something in the canopy scattering.
His hand slides around my front, finding my clit, pressing and circling ruthlessly.
“Come with me.” His voice cracks, barely human anymore. “Want to feel you break apart on my cock. Want the whole fucking forest to hear you scream my name.”
The words shove me over the edge.
I break apart, and this time the sound that tears out of me is feral. Raw. Something the forest recognizes because the trees shudder in response, the bioluminescent moss flaring bright around us.
He follows with another roar, his teeth sinking into my shoulder. Not gentle, not playful, actually biting. The pain-pleasure of it sends another wave crashing through me. His cock pulses inside me, filling me, claiming me, and I feel it through the bond. His pleasure, my pleasure, tangled together until I can’t tell whose is whose.
We come together like animals.
Like Wild Court.
Like we were always supposed to.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
His forehead drops to my spine. His breath heaves against my skin. His hands, still gripping my hips, tremble slightly.
“Ash.” My name is a whisper now. A prayer.
“I’m here.” I don’t know why I say it. Don’t know why those are the words that surface.
But his arms wrap around me, turning me, pulling me against his chest until I’m surrounded by heat and sweat and the thundering of his heart.
“You’re here,” he repeats. Like he’s confirming it. Like he still can’t quite believe it.
I press my face into his neck and breathe him in. Smoke and pine and something uniquely him. For just a moment, I let myself have this.
My hand drifts across his chest without intention. Mapping him. Learning him.
Then my fingers find the ridges.
Scars. Not old ones. Not faded silver lines from centuries of guardianship.
These are new. Raised and angry, radiating outward from his sternum like something was ripped from him. Like something that lived inside his ribs was torn out by force.
His whole body goes rigid.
“Ash—”
“The Cauldron.” I trace the edges of the scar tissue, feel him flinch. Not from pain but from being seen. “You let it slip yesterday. When you were talking about letting everything fall away.”
His jaw works. “I didn’t mean for you to?—”
