“We can’t promise each other forever. We don’t know what’s coming,” I whisper, when I can speak again.
He laughs softly as he tucks my head under his chin. “Then we adapt,” he says. “Like everything else that survives on Xytheos.”
“What if my friends can’t adapt?” I say against his skin.
His chest rises and falls as he considers. “I am certain none of them are as stubborn and difficult as you are.”
I lift my head enough to glare at him. “You’re saying I’m the worst one? You’re supposed to be comforting me.”
His hand slides down my back. “I’m saying the other males might have an easier time civilizing their brides.”
I bare my teeth and nip at his arm.
He huffs. “You are not the worst. You are certainly the most impossible. But I enjoy your spirit. I do not expect you to stop fighting for your friends. Only to keep yourself out of danger.”
“I don’t put myself in danger. It just finds me,” I say.
He’s quiet a moment. “I will teach you where to hide.”
“You don’t hide,” I say grumpily.
“There are times when even a warlord hides, Elena.” His mouth curves. “Do not tell anyone.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“No,” he growls, rolling me beneath him again. “Nothing is safe with you.”
“Good.” I hook my leg around his hip. “You were getting complacent.”
CHAPTER 35
CHOICES
ELENA – RYTHAR’S FORTRESS IN THE GREEN REACH
We sleepin the mating chamber.
I lie still and watch the lighting shift around me. It responds to my awareness. It never used to. The light traces gentle waves across the smoothed stone walls. I feel the heat of Rythar’s body like an entire continent of male, curled around my back, one arm anchored over my hip, the other thrown wide.
My wounds are gone. The mating chamber pool erased every bruise, every cut, every ache. I could almost pretend the last couple of days didn’t happen, if not for the pulse of the mate bond humming under my skin, a call in my chest that refuses to quiet.
I’m safe, but only for the moment. Nowhere on Xytheos is safe unless Rythar is within arm’s reach.
He’s asleep, but hardly defenseless. Even at rest, his hand is a clamp across my belly, his breath warm and steady in my hair. When I shift, he tightens his grip. Possessive. A living manacle, if ever there was one.
I used to ask myself if I should be angry. If I should rail against the inevitability of it. I don’t ask anymore. I wondered once whether he would see what I’ve become as a complicationor a threat. He sees me as both. And still he wants me. Still he protects me.
The bride mark the Concord Stone set into my finger glows, even now, a line of light under the surface, a reminder that I am claimed. A reminder that I embraced Rythar as my mate.
I turn onto my back, careful not to wake him, and think of the other women from New Terra, the ones I haven’t seen since the claiming.
I want to reach out to them. The connection is there, and sometimes I can feel it, but it’s not safe to use it.
The longer I lie here, the less clear it gets. The mate bond is stronger now, being so close to Rythar’s body. I want him again. I can’t think past it.
I plant both hands on the mattress and roll sideways, careful, my bare feet landing on soft fur beside the bed.
Rythar stirs. For a second, I freeze, waiting for the familiar iron clamp of his arm, the low growl, the warning—do not run.
