He looks at me, looks into me, and the mate bond pulls so tight I almost gasp. “You can hate me for all of it. I would not blame you. What if the Stone should never have matched you to me?”
I swallow. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I chose you. And I could never hate you.”
His hand comes down on the ground between us. “I want you here. I want you to be safe. I want you to bear my children, and live in peace. But I know you are not built for this. That you are wild. Not engineered.”
My throat is tight. My eyes burn, but I refuse to cry.
His voice goes quiet. “And even though I am built to rule, I no longer know how to want anything but you.” He lifts his head. The gold of his eyes is steady, but the red ring glows. “I love you, Elena. I do not have a warlord’s word for it. Only the human one. It will have to do.”
I reach out and take his hand, examining the scars across the knuckles, the fine green veins from the jungle’s power.
Rythar watches me with an intensity that nearly unmoors me, but I’m not afraid. I’m not even uncertain.
I reach for his face with my free hand. His eyes close as my fingers graze the scar on his chin, then the older one at the corner of his jaw.
“You think I’ll break,” I say, “but I’m already broken. And so are you. But I build new things out of broken pieces all the time.” I trace the line of the scar, then drop my hand to his chest, wherehis pulse hammers against my palm. “You think I don’t want the same things? You think I don’t want you?” I ask.
Rythar’s eyes are wide.
“I love you,” I tell him. I reach up and pull his head down until my lips almost brush his. “Not just for now. Forever. I want to build something here. With you. A future. Children. A life that isn’t just surviving.”
He blinks, taking in the words.
I press on. “We are alike. Both remade. And I will fight with you.”
Rythar cups my face and runs his thumbs under my cheekbones. “I would give you anything,” he says, voice ragged.
I shake my head. “I don’t want anything but this. You. Us.”
He draws in a long, broken breath. “You do not have to say these things.”
I look at him solemnly. “I mean them.”
He bows his head, as if my words weigh more than the world above us. "I fear you will regret it," he says. Underneath his words, in a place he can no longer hide from me, there is a fierce hope.
I touch my lips to his gently. “Try me.”
His restraint snaps.
He pulls me against him, his mouth crushing mine. His tongue forces its way between my teeth. I bite down until he grunts. His hands roam, finding the line of my spine, the curve of my ass, the back of my neck.
I arch into him, hips grinding against the ridges of his armor. The smell of him fills my head, my lungs, my every thought.
He tears at my shirt, splitting it at the collar, exposing my chest to the warm air of the chamber. His hands cup my breasts, thumbs circling the nipples as they ache for more. I fumble at his armor, desperate to feel his skin, and he rips the chestplate off.
Our chests press together, sweat mixing, heat doubling.
He pushes me back, flat against the warm floor, and pins my arms above my head. His mouth moves down my neck, biting, sucking, leaving marks that will last for days. The mate bond roars with every contact.
He pauses at my collarbone, tongue flicking against the pulse there. His eyes meet mine, and they’re charged with the power of the jungle. They’re glowing red, wide, and inhuman.
“We’re in my heart now. This may be more than before. Too much of the jungle for a human. Say the word and I stop,” he says, breath hot on my skin.
I growl back at him. “I’d rather die.”
He grins, white teeth on display. He bites down, just above my breast, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to make me gasp. His other hand slides between my thighs, finds me already wet and wanting. Rythar teases, just once, then drives two thick fingers inside, curling them up in a way that sends pleasure through me. My back arches, chasing the sensation.
He tears the rest of my clothes away, then kneels, lowering his head between my legs. He swirls his tongue at the top of my slit, then down, as I gasp. His tongue is hot and slick and relentless, licking and sucking until I’m shaking, until my voice cracks and I’m begging.
