“Beautiful,”he whispered and took another deep breath.“And that scent. Violet, old parchment, flowing ink, and something else, too… Fear.”
His hand traced her cheek, thumb brushing her lip.
“What is it, little ember? Would you reject me after I’ve worked so diligently to meet you in the flesh?”
“Give him back,” she demanded, voice trembling.
He chuckled. That sound she so loved. But warped. Disfigured.
“You wound me. After we’ve been together every day, every hour for years, you still spurn me? You never answered again after that first time, but I remembered your voice, your magic. I sought it out at every turn, tried so hard to turn your gaze. This—”he swept a hand down his stolen body, cruel delight flickering across his smile,“—is only the natural escalation. Would you not agree?”
Her terror cut deeper, not for herself but for Kailorien. What if he couldn’t regain control? What if Vargrún had claimed him at last?
Her memories shattered into a kaleidoscope of colors and flashes. All the times she’d Woven his runes. All the times she’d told him how lonely she was when he was gone on Campaign. All the Council sessions in which he’d delayed his departure.
Forher.
Always forher.
I knew—I knew—that being so close to the Flaeme, to the heart of the Shields, weakened his resistance to the Master Rune. I knew, and still I let him delay. I let him put aside what he needed so I could keep him close.
I was selfish.
But I won’t allow him to pay the price.
I won’t.
There must be something I can do.
Something. Anything.
He is my Bonded! My Silari! Surely, if I call—
Realization struck. A blind hope.
Instinct took her.
She lunged forward, arms circling his neck, and pressed her lips to his.
Vargrún growled in his chest. His runes flared. She kissed him deeply, letting him grip her waist with familiar yet foreign hands. Let him lay her back against the mattress and taste the fear upon her tongue. She pulled back only to whisper. To beg.
“Kail… My Silari… I need your breath… give me your Weave…”
For a heartbeat, only silence answered as he claimed her lips again. His mouth moved against hers, hot, invasive—red eyes burning. Heat pooled in her belly, but she felt no shame in it. This washer Kailorien. His body. His hands. His skin. Vargrún was a disease, and she would burn him out.
“Breath,” she gasped. “Kail… Weave for me…”
Her hands caressed his runes, and she poured her magic into them. The crimson began to fade, replaced by white.
Then—a spark.
Ansuz flared to life on his chest. Azure breath surged, Weaving, and the kiss changed — desperate, trembling,his.
Overwhelming. Eclipsing everything.
Kailorien.
He pulled her in, melding his breath with hers in perfect rhythm. A skill mastered over years of love and devotion. A skill a beast like Vargrún could never hope to imitate. Their mana braided, weaving tight until the air itself thrummed.
