“No,” he answers. Quiet. Honest. “I never took anyone else flying.”
Something inside me settles at that. It shouldn’t matter. But it does. That witch took so much from both of us — but she didn’t take this.
I look up at him. Right into those stormy eyes. So full of questions. Of unspoken promises.
His hand lifts, thumb brushing over my cheek, gentle as a breeze. “Are you okay?” he murmurs.
No. Not even close.
I can’t answer him. The words won’t come.
I feel the walls closing in, I feel time running out for us.
And it hurts that he’s not the bad guy I thought he was.
It hurts that he’s not the monster I spent six months screaming at in my head. Not the cold, heartless villain I blamed for every sleepless night, every aching breath.
It hurts that he’s actually a good man who fell victim to evil.
And I wish — gods, the dark part of me wishes he were the cruel bastard I thought him to be. Because then… losing him wouldn’t hurt.
But he’s not. He’s clumsy. Hopeful. Quietly fierce. Loving. Paranoid as hell. And he’s mine.
And I’m ready to fight for him. Neris, too.
So I rise on my toes and kiss him. Just a brush of lips. A silent plea. A selfish want. I need to feel him. Need to hold this moment, for however long it lasts.
He stills. His breath catches. But he doesn’t pull away. He lets me linger. And then he’s there, answering.
His arms wrap around me and pull me close. His mouth moves over mine, deeper now — the fire in his blood pouring into mine, igniting something that steals the air from my lungs.
And then — sparks.
Everywhere.
My skin burns with them, my chest snaps tight, and I gasp into his mouth as something inside me stitches itself back together.
The bond. Alive. Again.
He exhales, the sound laced with relief, and I feel the curve of his smile against my lips.
Neris sighs in my head, rolling onto her back, tongue lolling, tail wagging like she’s floating on clouds.
“Welcome back,” he whispers, fingers threading gently through my hair. He kisses me again. Slower. Like he has all the time in the world. Like we’re not running out of it.
I pull back, just enough to breathe. “The Priestess said I might have to kill you.”
He blinks. His brows draw together. “Well.” He exhales. “That’s one hell of a way to kill the mood, isn’t it?”
A small laugh escapes me — sharp and bitter — and I drop my forehead against his chest.
“She said that bruise… it might be a weak point. That if you’re struck there, you might not heal.”
His arms tighten around me. “Then I won’t let anything touch it,” he murmurs. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
But we both know careful may not be enough.
It’s only two weeks later that we get the news: Alpha Parrin of the Mirenwulf Pack is dead.
