Page 286 of Burn of the Everflame

I could have laughed again, thinking of the thousand times I let my fingers linger on his when taking something from his hands or leaned a little closer so our bare arms would brush. Even when we fought, I never protested his help to dismount a horse or gryvern, knowing—and needing—the way his hands always found my skin. The urge to touch him had plagued me every waking hour on the island and since. I knew exactly how he felt.

But Luther didn’t know that . . . not yet.

I set a kiss on the scar that perfectly framed his mark. Almost as if a goddess had designed it herself.

I smiled as his fingers slipped from my neck into my hair. The mating bond was screaming at me to rip off every shred of his clothing and join my body with his. I knew he was fighting the same pull, but he was trying so hard, being so gentle, to give me time and space.

With significant effort, I forced myself to pull away, and something feral flashed in Luther’s eyes. His grip tightened for a moment before he stiffly let me go. Our arms fell to our sides, and we stared at each other, my face smooth with calm, his tightly wound with concern.

“You don’t have to do it in return,” he insisted. “I told you that you were enough, and I meant it.”

I shrugged his coat off my shoulders, letting it fall to the ground, and fished in my hair for the pins holding it in place.

“I mean it,” he said sternly. “I don’t mind being a stranded mate. It’s not so terrible.”

I snorted. “It’s awful.”

His lips pressed tight, like he didn’t disagree. I combed my fingers through my unbound curls, then brushed them over my shoulder, letting hints of my mark shine through the sheer bodice.

Luther didn’t see it, his eyes too busy searching my face for any hint of distress. “You should take your time. Be sure of your decision.”

“Can’t rush into it,” I agreed. I shimmied my shoulders to draw his gaze lower.

My mate, oblivious, nodded vigorously. “Only when—if you’re ready.”

My mark burned, impatient to be discovered, and I couldn’t help my smile. Luther had watched me trap myself in a betrothal I didn’t really want, and he was determined to make sure I didn’t do it again. He had always been my protector, even when my greatest enemy was myself, as it so often had been. Many times, I’d wished I could show him how much he meant to me.

At long last, I finally could.

I focused all my thoughts on him—my Prince, my heart, my Luther, my mate. I let my feelings for him burst through me, filling every cobwebbed corner of my soul. I let it sear away my fears and ignite me with his fire, mending my wounds and gilding my scars. I let it shine as bright as the full moon beaming down on us from her midnight perch, until the glow within me burst from my mark and painted us in its golden light.

Luther’s mark shimmered in answer, and even without looking down to see it, he knew. In his heart, and in mine—two halves forever fused, beating in duet—he knew.

His eyes grew wide. “I’m . . .”

“My mate,” I said, nodding. Laughing. Crying. Grinning. “And I am yours.”

Finally, his gaze lowered, and as he took it in, a single tear rolled down his cheek. “You’re mine,” he whispered. Not a claiming—a stunned realization. I’d given him every reason to doubt it, but the glittering swirls on my skin were irrefutable proof.

“On the island, the Ignios King stabbed me in the chest,” I explained. “I knew I was going to die. What I wanted most, even more than surviving, was to give myself to you in a way no bastard Crown could ever take away.” I took his hand and set it over my mark, shivering at the desire that rose at his touch. “I didn’t know how I survived until today. You saved me, Luther. You told me that I would never fight alone, and you kept your promise, because you have been in my heart every day, for every battle. And you always will be.”

I took advantage of his daze to steal a kiss, and the taste of my lips restored him. His arms curled around me with a tenderness that made my heart ache, like cupping a precious jewel to hold it in the light and marvel at its beauty. I could feel in the unusual softness of his grasp that, for once, and maybe only for tonight, he no longer feared all the ways he might lose me. The gods could claim our lives, but eternity was ours.

Luther grabbed something from the pocket of his fallen jacket, then rose and swept me up into his arms. He carried me to the door, and this time, I didn’t stop him as we crossed the threshold of our house, our home.

“My mate,” he breathed against my lips. He strode toward the hearth, the light in his eyes rivaling the fire’s glow. “My mate.”

“Forever,” I promised. I marveled at how that word no longer scared me. The thought of binding my life to another person used to fill me with dread. Luther had made it my greatest comfort, my refuge against the coming storm.

He laid me down on something soft. The room had been lightly furnished with blankets, a pile of firewood, and a stoppered jug of wine. “I told the foreman I planned for us to spend the evening here,” Luther said. “It appears he brought us gifts.”

I could feel the humble contentment it brought him to see the mortals embrace our union. I’d worried they might consider my choice of Luther over Henri to be a betrayal. No doubt Luther had feared the same. But unlike the Descended, who used marriage as a tool to gain money or prestige or power, mortals married only for love. They, above all, understood that what the heart wanted could not be denied.

I raked my fingers through his beard, smiling at the low, primal noise it drew from him and shivering at how it rumbled through my blood. His mouth moved to my throat. “I need this off,” he demanded, tugging at the delicate neckline of my dress. “I need to see your mark.”

“The fastenings are very complicated,” I teased. “Took Eleanor all morning to get me in the dress. Getting me out could take⁠—”

I gasped as Luther’s palm splayed between my breasts and glowed with a pale blue light. Smoke sizzled from the fabric as it burned away, curling black at the edges. My back arched at the sudden caress of air against my nipples, and Luther’s pupils blew wide with ravenous black.