"The Vaktaire mating bond is sacred. It's not just physical—it's spiritual. Emotional. When two Vaktaire complete the bond, their hearts synchronize and beat forevermore as one."
His thumb traced circles on my palm. "It's permanent. Unbreakable. When you choose a mate, you're choosing them for life. For eternity."
"And you want that," I said. Not a question. A statement.
"Yes." The word was absolute. "I want that with you, Merrilee. I want to wake up every morning knowing you're mine. I want to feel your heartbeat in my chest. I want to spend the rest of my life protecting you and being worthy of you."
My throat tightened until I couldn't swallow. "You're already worthy."
"No." His voice was rough. "Not yet. Not until I've ended the man who hurt you. Not until I've made sure you're safe."
"Ahrick—"
"Let me do this." His hands framed my face. "Let me finish what I came here to do. And then—then I'll come for you. I promise."
The tears were flowing freely now. "What if you don't survive?"
"I will." The certainty in his voice was absolute. "I have too much to live for now."
He kissed me then—slow and deep and full of everything we couldn't say. His hands moved over my body with reverent care, like he was memorizing every curve, every line, every place that made me gasp.
I kissed him back with desperate intensity, my hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer. I needed this. Needed him. Needed to feel alive and whole and connected before he sent me away into the darkness.
"Merrilee," he breathed against my lips. "I need—"
"Yes." The word came out fierce. "Yes, Ahrick. Please."
His hands trembled as they moved to the fastenings of my dress. The ridiculous, revealing thing they'd put me in for the arena. He worked slowly, carefully, like he was unwrapping something precious.
When the fabric fell away, he just looked at me. His eyes traced every line, every curve, like he was committing me to memory.
"You're beautiful," he said quietly.
I reached for him, my hands finding the fastenings of his vest. "So are you."
He made a sound—low and broken and desperate—and then his mouth was on mine again, his hands everywhere, touching and claiming and worshipping.
We moved together slowly. Carefully. Not with the frantic urgency of before, but with the deliberate intention of two people who knew this might be their last time together.
Every touch was a promise. Every kiss was a vow. Every whispered word was a prayer.
When he finally moved over me, when he finally pressed inside with agonizing slowness, I felt it—that thread of connection we'd been building since the moment we met.
We moved together, slow and deep, building toward something that felt bigger than both of us. His heartbeat thundered against mine, and I swore I felt our hearts trying to synchronize, trying to find the same rhythm.
When the pleasure finally crested, it crashed over us both at the same moment—a wave of sensation so intense it whited out everything else.
And in that moment, I felt him. Really felt him. His emotions, his thoughts, his absolute certainty that I was his and he was mine.
Mate.
We lay there afterward, tangled together, neither of us willing to move. His hand stroked through my hair, and I traced patterns on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath my palm.
"I don't want to let you go," he said quietly.
"Then don't." My voice was small. Broken.
"I have to." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "But I will come for you. I swear it, Merrilee. On my life, on my honor, on everything I am—I will come for you."
