I thought it might fade when the Vale’s magic died. Thought the resonance was a product of the power we channeled, temporary and conditional.
I was wrong.
This is ours. This bond we built in nights of hard-won intimacy, in moments of shared survival, in the quiet aftermath of violence. The clan didn’t give it to us. The Matron didn’t design it. We created it ourselves.
And it’s permanent.
I reach out. Brush a strand of hair from Imara’s face. She stirs, makes a small sound, but doesn’t wake.
Ours. This life, this house, this woman sleeping beside me—it all belongs to us now. Not the clan. Not the Matron. Us.
The certainty is absolute. Unshakeable.
I settle back against the pillows. Close my eyes. Let her presence wash over me—that constant warmth, that steady reassurance that I’m not alone anymore, that I never have to be alone again.
Sleep comes slowly. Peacefully.
For a monster designed to destroy, I’ve found an unexpected talent for building. A home. A family. A life.
I’m not sure what I am anymore. Not the clan’s weapon. Not a monster without purpose.
But I know what I have.
And that’s enough.
“You’re thinking too loud.”
Her voice pulls me from the edge of sleep. Murmured. Drowsy. She hasn’t opened her eyes.
“How do you know I’m thinking?”
“Because I can feel it.” She shifts closer, her back pressing against my chest. “You get this… intensity. Even in your sleep. It wakes me up.”
I wrap my arm around her waist. Pull her tight against me. Press my lips to the curve of her neck.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” She finds my hand. Intertwines our fingers. “What are you thinking about?”
“You.”
A soft laugh escapes her. I feel her smile even though I can’t see it.
“Good answer.”
“It’s the truth.” I kiss her neck again. Her shoulder. The shell of her ear. “I’m always thinking about you.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“The best kind.”
She turns in my arms. Faces me in the darkness. Her eyes are half-open, still heavy with sleep, but the warmth in them is unmistakable.
“I love you.” The words come simply. Without drama. A statement of fact.
“I know.” My lips brush her hair. “You tell me every day, in a hundred small ways.”
“Still.” Her hand comes up. Traces the line of my jaw. “I love you, Kharvek. Every brutal, violent, impossible inch of you.”
