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Bekn was dead. The buyer was gone. The fear should’ve been over, but people had still died for it. The arena was still in his head. The noise. The heat. Theo on his knees beside Bekn’s body.

Daven rested his forehead against his. “I claimed you in front of all of them tonight.”

Ryneth’s fingers curled in Daven’s shirt. “And I claimed you back.”

Daven’s mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed dark on him. “You did. And you stood there wearing my mark in front of the whole city.” His hand tightened once at the back of Ryneth’s neck. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Ryneth looked at him.

Daven was still dressed in black, collar open now, blond hair out of place from the long night. He still looked too beautiful. Too dangerous. Exactly like the kind of man people feared on sight.

Instead, Ryneth only felt his stomach drop. His palm burned where their hands had touched. That pull low in his chest that had never once let him go.

“You make everything feel different,” he said quietly.

Something changed in Daven’s face, making him softer and darker at once. “Baby⁠—”

Ryneth kissed him before he could say anything else.

Daven kissed him back with a rough sound, one hand tightening at the back of Ryneth’s neck, the other closing at his waist and pulling him in until there was no space left between them. The bond opened warm under his skin, and Ryneth let himself sink into it. Into him.

When Daven drew back, he rested his brow against Ryneth’s.

Ryneth stayed there, breathing hard, hands fisted lightly in Daven’s shirt.

Daven brushed his thumb over his cheek. “Come inside.”

Ryneth laughed softly and stole one more kiss.

Then Daven took his hand and led him back inside.

EPILOGUE

The kitchen smelled of garlic and warm oil.

Ryneth stood at Daven’s side at the marble island, pulling thyme leaves free while Daven worked at the stove. Daven had his sleeves rolled up, one hand on the pan while the other stirred something that hissed softly in the heat. Steam drifted toward the tall windows above the city.

“Not all of it,” Daven said, glancing at Ryneth’s hand.

Ryneth looked down at the thyme. “Why not? The stem’s good.”

Daven snorted.

“What? It is.”

“Says the one who grew up eating whatever didn’t kill him.”

Ryneth dropped another sprig onto the cutting board. “So? I survived, didn’t I?”

Daven scoffed. “You’re rich now. You don’t have to eat the stem.”

Ryneth looked at him flatly. “I’m not rich. You’re rich.”

Daven’s mouth twitched. “You live here.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“No?” Daven reached over, took the thyme from his fingers, and pressed his mouth to Ryneth’s. It wasn’t more than a brief brush of lips, but it still pulled that low, familiar heat through him he’d gotten addicted to. Then he stripped the leaves off the stem and dropped them into the pan.