Not asks.Demands.
His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to memorize the way I say it. Like he’s trying to believe it’s real.
“I love you,” I repeat, reaching up to trace the sharp line of his jaw, admiring his otherworldly, perfect features.
He stills, and his wings shudder. That same shudder I felt the first time I touched the base of them—the place where even he can’t hide his vulnerability.
“Again,” he breathes, and it sounds like a prayer.
“I love you, Aerix Nightborne,” I say, dizzy with the truth of it.
His forehead presses against mine, and then his lips are claiming mine with devastating intensity, like he’s falling apart and I’m the only thing keeping him whole.
“I have loved you,” he says, low and strained, “since the night in the bunker.”
My heart stutters, and I remember that first night—how terrified I was, desperate to maintain some illusion of control.
“When you made that ridiculous pillow barrier,” he continues, a ghost of a smile touching his lips, “and demanded I stay on my side.”
His wings curl forward again, shutting out the rest of the world until there’s only him and me and this confession hanging in the air between us.
“I knew from the moment I saw you that you’d be mine.” His fingers thread through my hair, pulling me close, taking my breath away. “Not just my captive. Not just my pet. Butminein every way that matters.”
I should be frightened by this admission—that he wanted me and planned for me from the beginning.
Instead, I feel freed by it.
“Go to the bed,” he commands, and my breath catches as he strolls to his dresser with predatory grace, opens a drawer, and pulls something out.
A dagger.
The one I tried to kill him with the first night in the bunker.
