His mana burned into hers like a roaring flame—molding, melding, beckoning.
She turned enough to give away her hiding place.
He stood in the adjoining hall, his shadow dancing as it always did. Beneath his booted feet, his mirror shade mimicked every move. Yet, not. As though the shadow knew the heart his body was rejecting. Within his waist-length onyx hair—tied back in a war tie—the shadows swirled like inky rivulets of dragon blood.
The Surface sun had kissed his supple skin, brightening its pallor to a bronze-like hue. Earthen. Bold.
So much like the hand he reached out to her as he murmured, “Starlight. There you are.”
Taller than the fiercest of Reskala, he was big. So very big. Like the bars of his cage had tightened far too much over centuries of bondage. His eyes were as blue as primal mana. Visceral. Fierce.
She still could not breathe.
For he’d come.
He’dcalled her.
And it meant that he hadn’t forgotten.
Not completely.
She nearly surged to her feet. Nearly ran to him.
But the walls had eyes and the stone had ears and the Void was impartial and—
“I didn’t see you at the Reckoning,” he said. “I was worried.”
“I did not come,” she answered, her voice raspy from disuse.
“And so I’ve come to you,” he said, as though years hadn’t separated them.
“I’m reading,” Auryn said.
“So busy that you couldn’t greet me?”
The crows feet at the corners of his eyes lengthened, and her heart snagged. Those eyes were the Veilweave itself, and Auryn was a thread winding deeper and deeper into the tapestry of him.
She reached out and let him pull her to her feet. Even through his armored glove, his touch was overwhelming. More than contact. More than the press of flesh and mana. Each time his skin brushed against her own, his fire spiraled into her. When their eyes met, that flaming burn settled deep within her belly. Until her legs trembled and a bird clawed at the inside of her lungs.
He is still looking at me.
He still sees me.
No, I cannot touch him. I must not. The walls have eyes. Always watching.
But…
Auryn reached up and stroked the waves of his black hair. “It’s longer,” she observed. Still soft. Slippery, like moistened silk.
He returned the favor, removing one glove, running his hand through her silver tresses as her heart pounded in her chest.
“And yours hasn’t changed. Still like falling starlight,” he mused.
Auryn took as silent a breath as she could manage.
The same hand moved downwards, cupping one of her cheeks. His gaze swelled with nostalgic longing. “You haven’t aged, Auryn. You are as lovely as the day you stepped out of the ice into my arms.”
“You remember?” she whispered. “The ice…”
