“A name, I mean. If it makes you uncomfortable?—”
“It’s not that.” I shake my head. “It’s just, this is a big deal. What if you don’t like it?”
His lips tilt into a small smile. “I guarantee I will. Anything from you would be a treasure.”
My heartbeat begins to race. He’s trusting me with such an important decision. He believes in me and I don’t want to let him down.
I study him—the massive wings that saved me, the strength that protected me, the warm golden light glowing within his eyes, and then I remember it. He reminds me of Astrid’s Sun card. Radiant. Righteous. But more than that, he’s offering me a new beginning and the more time I spend with him I find myself wanting to take it.
“Sol,” I finally say. “Like the sun. That’s what you are, what you represent to me.”
Something profound passes over his face—wonder, gratitude, possession, devotion all swirl within his eyes, and it sends a chill down my spine.
"Sol," he repeats, and hearing my name for him from his mouth makes me feel like I’ve branded him. And that thought sends a dangerous wave of satisfaction through me.
He sits taller, as if he’s physically trying to draw the name into his body. "No one has ever given me anything, much less something so precious," he says in a rough voice. "And you have given me something that belongs only to me."
"It's yours," I whisper. "Only yours." And if I’m not careful, I will be too.
7
Sienna
I’ve never felt so comfortable, so connected to another person in my entire life.
I thought it might fade once we left the bedroom, that the change in setting might lessen it, but it’s only grown.
Sol moves just slightly ahead of me down the hallway, and I can't help but watch him. The way his muscles shift beneath his gray skin with each step, powerful and precise. How he walks so carefully, as if he's constantly aware of his size and strength, moderating every movement so he doesn't accidentally break something or someone.
His tail and wings are tucked against his back, but I can see them move subtly with his breathing, the membranes catching the soft light. And his height—God, he's so tall that even walking behind him, I have to tilt my head back to see his face properly.
He’s mesmerizing.
It's more than the mate bond he described, more than a supernatural compulsion. It's in the way he looks at me, like I'm someone that's irreplaceable, the person he's waited lifetimes to find. In how he listens when I speak, how he gives me his complete attention as if my words are sacred to him.
And frankly, I’m not any better. I'm enchanted, enthralled, captivated by him. So much so, that even if this were a spell that I could break, I wouldn't want to.
Sol glances over his shoulder, catching me staring, and something warm flickers in his amber eyes. "Are you alright?"
My cheeks heat at being caught. "Yeah, of course.”
A smile curves his lips, transforming his entire face. Then, without warning, he turns and scoops me into his arms.
I squeak, instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders. "What are you doing? Put me down, Sol! I'm too heavy!" Sitting on his lap was one thing, carrying me is another. No one has ever been able to pick me up, much less carry me around.
His expression shifts to one of offense, something flashing in his eyes. "No." The word is firm, absolute. "You are not too heavy. You are perfect exactly as you are, and I could carry you across this entire city without growing tired. You, Sienna, are the most exquisité thing in this universe. Do not insult yourself by thinking negatively about yourself or repeating the lies of people who were never worthy of you."
The intensity and assurance in his voice makes me speechless. He's not just disagreeing with me—he's angry on my behalf, furious at everyone who ever made me feel like I was too much.
"Okay," I whisper, my heart beating a little harder.
He adjusts his hold, cradling me against his broad chest with a gentleness that contrasts his obvious strength. This close, I can smell him—earth and stone and something wild, like wind before a storm. It's intoxicating, primal, and I have to resist the urge to bury my face in his neck and just breathe him in.
Everything about him is attractive. Seductive. The hard planes of his body beneath my hands, the veins in his muscular arms. The way his jaw tenses when he looks at me, the way his eyes glow amber when he’s feeling a strong emotion, how his long black hair tickles my skin. It's like he was made specifically for me, designed to fit and fill all my jagged edges and broken pieces.
Mine, something possessive whispers in the back of my mind. He's mine.
The thought should probably concern me, but it fills me with fierce joy. Because if he’s mine, if he wants to be mine, then does it really matter how long we've known each other, how fast this is all happening, or what the future holds?
