Page 187 of The Blood Rites

I let out a sigh. “I just—”

Needed a moment alone. But I can’t say that.

He raises an eyebrow at my hesitance.

“Anything interesting out there?” he asks, saving me the awkwardness.

I shake my head. “Atheron cornered me,” I say. “He told me I should kill you first.”

Kael huffs. “He’s not wrong.”

He goes back to wrestling his boot. I can see his hands are shaking, just a little.

“Are you afraid?” I ask.

He snorts but doesn't answer.

The light in the room shifts. I can feel the heat of him pressing into the space between us. He feels like an anchor—not a comfort, but a certainty.

I force myself to say it. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You’re allowed to be afraid.”

He freezes, then lets out a laugh. It’s brittle and breakable. “Fine. I’m scared,” he says. “Happy?”

“Not really,” I say, my own voice trembling. “But I’m glad you said it.”

He turns to face me, and I can see how tired he is. Not just in his body, but in his eyes. They are striking, still, but too old for his face.

“I lost Nyxen,” he says, voice flat. “He was the only person who ever stood between me and my father. Ever.”

He takes a slow breath. “Vaelis never said much. He owed me nothing more than his duty, but he was always there.”

He squeezes his eyes tight for a second. “I told myself I was prepared to lose them. That it wouldn't hurt. But it does.”

He looks at his hands, pale and trembling. “I can imagine a world without them.”

He looks at me, and the stare is so intense it hurts.

“I can’t imagine it without you.”

My breath catches. The memory of what I promised surfaces, hot and shaming.

If we survive, you can have me.

He sees the shift in my face, and his own softens into something more careful.

“It might be our last chance,” he says, voice smaller than before. “I don’t want to die having never—”

He doesn't finish.

I nod. Just once. Then we move at the same time.

He cups the back of my head, fingers sinking into my hair, and draws me in. His mouth is tentative, like he expects me to disappear. I kiss back, slow and exploring, the pressure of his lips sending heat down my spine. He tastes like smoke and heat and something dangerously alive.

He breaks away, searching my face. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I say, and it is one of the few truths I have spoken in this place.

He pulls me into his lap, hands tracing up my sides. Not greedy—just confirming that I’m real, that I’m here. I shudder at the touch.