And I move with him.
The fight isbrutal and brief.
Kharvek tears through the hunters with terrifying efficiency. I work from behind, disrupting what I can—pinching bloodvessels, throwing off balance, creating openings he exploits without hesitation. We move in concert, anticipating each other’s needs, covering each other’s weaknesses.
The resonance makes us devastating.
When the last hunter falls, Kharvek stands in the center of the carnage, blood dripping from his hands. I cross to him without hesitation. Wrap my arms around his waist from behind. Press my forehead to his spine.
“It’s done.” My voice is muffled against his back. “You did it.”
His hands cover mine where they rest on his stomach. “We did it.”
He turns in my arms. Looks down at me with eyes that hold none of the killing fury from moments before. Just exhaustion. Relief. Want.
“Imara.”
“I know.” I rise on my toes. Kiss the corner of his mouth. “I know.”
He pulls me closer. Buries his face in my hair. We stand there in the aftermath, surrounded by bodies and blood, holding each other like the world might end if we let go.
“More will come.” His voice is rough. “She knows where we are now.”
“I know.”
“We need to move. Plan. Figure out how to?—”
He goes still. Waiting.
“I don’t want to fight it.” The words come easier than I expected. “Whatever we’re becoming—whatever this thing between us grows into—I want it. I want you. Not because the Matron designed us to be compatible. Because I choose you.”
His breath catches. Something breaks open in his expression—walls I didn’t even know were there crumbling to dust.
“Imara—”
“You don’t have to decide now. I just wanted you to know. Whatever comes next—the Matron, the Sanctum, all of it—I’m choosing you. I’m choosing us.”
He stares at me. The midday light catches the blood on his skin, makes his scars gleam.
Then he kisses me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
We retreatinto the farmstead as the light shifts toward afternoon.
There’s planning to do. Strategies to discuss. A clan to destroy. But first, we need rest. Need each other.
Kharvek settles against the wall and pulls me into his lap. I go willingly, straddling his thighs, my arms around his neck. We’re both filthy—blood and dirt and sweat—but I don’t care. I just want to be close to him.
“You’re sure?” His hands rest on my hips. Gentle despite their strength. “About choosing this? The resonance will only grow stronger. We’ll never be able to hide from each other.”
“I’ve spent ten years hiding.” I trace the scar that bisects his eyebrow. “I’m tired of it. With you… I don’t have to pretend. I don’t want to pretend.”
“Neither do I.” He turns his head, presses a kiss to my palm. “I didn’t know it was possible to want something this much. I do now.”
The confession makes my heart stutter—he says it like it’s obvious, like wanting me is the most natural thing he’s ever done.
“Kharvek—”
“You don’t have to say it back.” He pulls me closer. Rests his forehead against mine. “But you should hear it. You’re mine. And I’m yours. That’s not going to change.”
