He had been saying Mate.
My breath caught.
He hadn't been crying just because I was hurt. He had been crying because he had just recognized me – and I was bleeding, and broken, and unreachable in a bed he wasn't allowed to climb into. The most terrible and most ecstatic moment of his life had collided in one room. And then King had pulled him outside a week later, and Dagon had walked away with his soul still tethered to mine, feeling destroyed by it, and I had spent the next eight years trying to figure out what I had done wrong.
Fuck.
My eyes burned.
Dagon had been beside himself with worry, even more than usual. Even though I kept assuring him I was okay. He never left my side. There'd been something in his eyes, not just fear, butjoy. He never left me, he was never going to leave me if it wasn't for King.
I may not know what mates mean exactly, but some parts of me feels the connection. To know Dagon spent all those years away from me, in pain and struggling alone… I hated it.
I launched myself into Dagon's arms, burying my head in his neck. I felt the prickle of tears and tried to blink them back.
“You’re not angry?” he asked.
I pulled away sharply, “Why the fuck would I be angry?”
“Because I didn’t tell you. Because I stayed away. Mates aren't supposed to do that, but I did. Because I’m fucking selfish, and I'll never let you go again. Because-”
I kissed him, silencing the spiral.
I licked his lower lip, tasted him. When his tongue tangled with mine, I took control of the kiss. More often than not, Dagon was in control. Now, I had to show him I wouldn’t allow him to blame himself.
The kiss consumed me, like always.
His hands moved over my chest, my neck. It felt like they were caressing my soul. Our teeth clashed, and I bit his lower lip, eliciting a growl from him before I slowed the kiss to a tender exploration.
When I was satisfied that he was thoroughly kissed, for now, I pulled back and cupped his face.
“Do not dare blame yourself. King should have never said what he did. It was hard for both of us. Probably worse for you. So stop blaming yourself. I’ll remind you every single day for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes. I love you. And what matters is that we’re together now.”
“I love you,” he whispered.
The reverence and intensity of how he spoke those words wrapped around every ragged part of me, soothing the pain that still cut me deep.
I curled beside him on the couch, and once he relaxed again, I asked, “Tell me more. What does it mean… being your mate?”
My heart fluttered when I asked this question. Maybe because I was trying my best not to get excited with meanings from fantasy books I’d read. My brain was running rampant in a good way.
“What are you thinking about?" he asked, amused. "You've got that dreamy look.”
“Books.”
“You’re thinking about books?” Dagon tried to hide his amusements. Unsuccessfully. I shoved him, and he raised his hands in surrender.
“Well, you can’t tell a bookworm they’re your mate and expect their soul not to melt and their mind not to run wild from all they know about mates.”
“Oh, this is gonna be so good.”
“What?”
“Tell me what you know about mates.”
I narrowed my eyes, “I knowbookthings! Not real life mates things. You’re the expert here.” I raised one finger, “Only once.”
“Only once what?”
