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Talia looked up at me. “So that’s it?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You sound very calm.”
“I am not calm.”
She looked down.
My ŭre was bright enough to illuminate the edges of her fingers.
“Right.”
A laugh escaped me. Not the small exhale she had mocked before. A real one.
Talia stared.
“What?”
“I’ve never heard you do that.”
“That is incorrect.”
“No. I’ve heard the tiny Veyr laugh. That was different.”
“There are categories?”
“Absolutely.”
“That seems unnecessary.”
She kissed me, and the world narrowed to the taste of her, the soft press of her mouth erasing every thought but this.
My hands came to her waist, pulling her against me as if I could fuse our bodies together through will alone. Her fingers twisted into my hair, not gentle—a claiming. The low hum of my ŭre answered, a current of silver light flaring beneath my skin where we touched.
There was no space left for missions or lies between us, only the raw truth of her breath against mine and the certainty that had finally settled in my bones.
When she broke away, her eyes were dark and knowing. “You’re thinking too much.”
“I am attempting not to reopen my side.”
“That’s new.”
“The medical staff were persuasive.”
“Threats?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She kissed me again.
The rest unfolded without urgency.
She stood, her fingers working the fastenings of her vest. The fabric parted, and she let it fall to the floor. I watched the deliberate motion of her hands as she removed the rest, standing bare before me in the silver-lit dimness.
When only her undergarments remained, she began to tear at the final layer, but I reached out and caught her wrist, pulling her back toward the bed. She came willingly, settling astride my lap as I leaned forward to press my mouth to the soft skin of her stomach, then lower, tracing the curve of her hip with my lips. My hands slid up her sides as I kissed each breast slowly, tasting honey and warmth and the faint hum of my own ŭre answering hers.
