A low sound rumbles from him as he trails hot kisses down my throat, his tongue dragging along the center of my chest. His hands slide under my robe, grip tightening on the back of my thigh before climbing higher, palms claiming my ass, spreading me open to straddle him wider. His cock strains against leather, nudging my heat, cruel in its restraint.
I drag my hand down the curve of my neck, over my chest, tugging the fabric aside to bare my breast. His mouth is there instantly, lips closing around my nipple, tongue flicking, circling, teasing until I gasp. My fingers keep moving, lower, lower, sliding between my thighs before finding his lap. I rub him through the leather and he groans against my skin, breath hot, sending a violent shiver through me.
I fumble at his leathers, desperate, shaking with need, and the moment my hand closes around the perfect, smooth length of him, slickness pools between my legs. His gaze lifts to mine, ravenous, worshipful. As if I am sunrise and sunset and every night he’s ever wished for.
His mouth breaks from my breast, parted in awe as I sink down on him. The first stretch steals both our breath. He shudders, a sharp gasp punched from him as I begin to move, slow at first, savoring every inch, sliding from the swollen head down to the exquisite base, riding him with purpose.
At first he lets me set the rhythm, hands firm on my ass, holding me steady but not controlling the pace.
“Gods, Amara,” he groans into my chest, voice wrecked. “Don’t fucking stop.”
I don’t. I can’t. I move faster, grinding, circling, chasing the heat blooming hot and desperate inside me.
Then his grip changes. Tightens.
He snarls softly, fingers digging into my ass as he thrusts up, hard and deep, stealing the breath right from my lungs. I bite my lip to keep quiet, but when he drives into me again, deep, brutal, perfect, I can’t hold back.
I slap a hand over my mouth but he won’t have it. He pulls it away, twists my arm behind me, pinning it there as he fucks up into me, relentless, hungry, each thrust a command.
My breath breaks. My body shakes. The heat becomes unbearable, sweet, scorching, splitting me apart.
I cry out as I come, trembling around him, and he catches my mouth with his, tongue claiming mine as he follows, thrusts stuttering, voice rough and undone against my lips as he spills inside me, the two of us breaking together.
We lie together on the floor for hours, resting in each other’s arms, dozing in and out of sleep. It takes all my strength to stand up. To kiss him goodbye, but I know I must see Mirael and Keeper Erania one final time. Reluctantly, he lets me go, though his fingers linger against mine before he reminds me that we will meet again at dusk.
Solena and Orios do not emerge from their cottage. Ronin spends the day with the blacksmith, the steady clang of hammer striking steel ringing through the village, while Reon and Zyphoro spar in the forest. Their laughter drifts faintly on the wind, and for a moment, I remember Daed and Zyphoro doing the same the last time we stood together in the Grove. The memory warms me, until it brings with it another ache. Ashen.
Guilt tugs at me like thorns beneath my skin. In the chaos of all that has happened, I have not given his spirit the mourning it deserves. I miss him. The way he’d climb along my shoulder, get tangled in my hair, his deep purrs vibrating through my bones and the way he’d transform into the beast he truly was: fierce, beautiful, loyal beyond measure. I can still feel the phantom brush of his smoky mane between my fingers.
I never thought I could love a Fae prince, and I never thought I could love a creature born of the void. Yet I love them both. I wish Ashen were here now, that I could ride into battle with him one last time. But that fate was never meant for us.
“Will the Souls aid you?” Keeper Erania asks as we sit in the field. Mirael perches on a nearby rock, staring absently into the distance.
“I cannot ask that of them,” I say. “Besides, they are needed here. They are the heart of this forest.”
“So are you, Amara,” Mirael murmurs, finally meeting my gaze.
“Someone else must carry that mantle while I’m gone,” I tell her gently. “It needs to be you, Mirael.”
She shakes her head, her dark hair flowing like ink in the wind. “I am not you. I don’t have your power.”
“You have something greater,” I say. “You’ve kept our people alive by your will alone.”
Her jaw trembles. “I couldn’t keep our sisters alive. Lira and Saren are gone because of me.”
I reach for her hand. “They are not gone, sister.” I place one hand over my heart. “They are here.” Then I press my palm to the earth. “And here. They walk with us always.”
Where my fingers touch the soil, tiny buds unfurl, stretching toward the light, soft green and trembling with life.
“I know little of the void,” Keeper Erania says quietly. “But it is a place where nothing grows. If your power is rooted in life, Jewel, how will you wield it in a realm of death?”
I watch the vines coil around my fingers, winding up my arms like veins of living light, flowering even as they fade beneath my sleeve.
“Life will always find a way to endure,” I whisper. “Even in the heart of darkness.”
The sun drifts lazily across the sky, its light spilling through the canopy in flickering ribbons that dance across my skin. Birds sing soft, lilting songs through the trees, and I close my eyes, breathing it all in. The Grove. My home. Where it all began and where, perhaps, it will all end. I am grateful that I came back. That I’ve felt the sun on my face one last time, the soil cool between my toes.
Keeper Erania leans on her staff and rises to her feet, her joints creaking like old branches.“Come, Jewel,” she says, her voice warm but heavy. “Let us share food and words before you go. The Tenders wish to bid you farewell.”
