Auryn stepped between his knees without breaking eye contact.
“I never said a mark,” she frowned. “Just a gift.”
“My question stands,” he insisted, slipping a hand to her waist.
She shivered, couldn’t help remembering the waves of pleasure the Bond had let her experience along with him.
“My statement is unchanged,” she countered. “You aremine. Runes, body,” her fingers stroked along the strong line of his jaw, “bad temper, godlike wrath and all…”
A low sound rumbled from him, part amusement, part warning. His palms feathered downwards then gripped her tight, bracing her hips, holding her close. “Careful, little one. You call a storm with words like that.”
“I’m not afraid of storms,” she murmured, smiling.
He tilted his head, gaze dropping to her mouth. “No. You’re the one who stands in the center of them.”
His thumb traced her hip bone in those tiny circles she’d grown to yearn for.
“Very well. I’ll send a missive—becauseyouask it. Not for her sake.”
“For her,” Auryn corrected.
His smile deepened, the kind that bared a hint of teeth. “Foryou. Always for you.”
Kailorien rose without another word, crossing to a tall, narrow case leaning against the wall. The lacquered black finish caught the light, its metal fittings dull with age. A smaller package with intricate wrapping lay on top of it.
“This is for you,” he said, lifting both items into his hands and turning back toward her.
Auryn’s brows arched. “What is it? This looks too big to be a trinket or bauble.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Do you not like my gifts?”
She smiled, mischief lighting her eyes as she glanced towards another wall where a display case stood proud, gleaming with rows of little things—figurines, glass orbs, statuettes, and mysterious magical contraptions.
“If I did not, would I take such good care of them?”
That earned her the slow curl of his mouth, the one that made her pulse stutter. “Then you will take better care of this than anything I have ever given you.”
He set the case on the table, undid the clasps, and let the lid fall open. Inside, nestled in deep midnight velvet, was a bow like no other—sleek, elegant, the curve of its limbs etched with runes that caught the light like frost.
Kailorien turned the case so the velvet caught the lamplight, the long, curved form of the bow gleaming against it. The wood wasn’t anything she recognized—pale in some places, dark as ink in others, the grain likeflowing water frozen mid-current. Faint runes shimmered beneath the surface, as if part of the wood’s veins.
Her breath caught. “This doesn’t look like the bow the Council decreed for me to use in the Rite.”
“Leave the Council tome,” he said, without a flicker of hesitation. “This is yours now. I commissioned it before their scheming began, but now…” His gaze found hers, unwavering. “Now I know my instinct was leading me to this moment.”
She reached for it, fingertips brushing along the limbs. The surface was warm, the magic inside it humming in her bones.
“It’s made of Roanwood, a tree that only grows beyond the reach of the Shields. Very sensitive to magic but can only be shaped during certain star alignments,” Kailorien continued. “The tree will not bend for lesser hours, and the grain won’t hold. When it does, the wood is especially receptive to magic, glyphing, rune work. Anything you pour into it will stay.”
Her hands closed around it, feeling the bowstring’s taut promise, the perfect balance in the grip.
“It’s…alive,” she whispered.
“It will be,” he said, “in your hands. I drafted the schematic myself—lighter draw weight, suited to your build.”
Auryn tested the draw. It was smooth, the tension singing straight up her arms into her shoulders. No shudder, no give. And the magic beneath the runes?
The Resh’Agar’s.
