I kissed him.
Kissed him like he was air and I'd been drowning. Like he was the only solid thing in a world made of water and darkness. Like he was the truth I'd been running from my entire life, the warmth I'd convinced myself I didn't deserve, the grace I'd never thought to ask for.
He kissed me back just as desperately. Hands in my hair. Mouth opening under mine. Tasting like rain and hope and everything I'd spent eighteen years telling myself was impossible for men like me.
It wasn't the fierce, hungry kiss from before. This was different. Slower. Deeper. Tender in a way that terrified me more than violence ever had. Like we were learning each other from the beginning. Like everything that came before had been preparation for this moment right here, kneeling in wet grass while the world fell apart around us and we held each other through it anyway.
When we broke apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rested against mine.
“Stay with me,” he whispered.
“I am not going anywhere.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.” The words felt like vows. Like signing my name inblood. Like stepping off a cliff and trusting he'd catch me. “I promise I will stay. Will try. Will be human with you even when it terrifies me.”
“That's all I'm asking.”
The words felt like absolution.
Like finally, after eighteen years of carrying guilt alone, someone was telling me I was allowed to put it down. Not forget it. Not pretend it never happened. Just allowed to carry it with someone else instead of letting it crush me in the dark.
Like maybe choosing to live instead of just survive wasn't betraying Anya. Maybe it was honoring her. Maybe she'd want me to be happy instead of spending the rest of my life punishing myself for failing her.
Maybe grief could coexist with joy.
Maybe I could hold both.
We stayed there, kneeling in the grass, holding each other while rain washed everything clean except the things that needed to stay dirty.
And for the first time in eighteen years, the ghosts felt a little quieter.
Not gone. Never gone.
Just. Quieter.
Like maybe I could learn to live with them instead of being haunted.
Like maybe I deserved this.
21
OBSIDIAN FLAMES
SEBASTIAN
Istood under the stone arch where Viktor and I had first argued months ago, back when I'd thought he was just another bodyguard who'd try to cage me. Back when I'd been stupid enough to think I could keep him at arm's length.
Now his hand brushed mine as we walked, and the world didn't end.
That was the strange part. The terrifying part. We'd crossed every line, broken every rule, and nothing had collapsed. No lightning from heaven. No palace guards dragging us apart. Just this: sunlight and fountains and his fingers grazing my wrist like he couldn't help himself.
“Feels strange,” I said quietly, watching a pair of maids hurry past with linens, their eyes carefully averted from us. “Being allowed to want something and not apologize for it.”
Viktor's mouth curved. Barely. Just the ghost of a smile. “It will not last forever. But we'll take it while it does.”
The words should've felt ominous. Instead they felt true. Real in a way most promises weren't.
