“Hey.” I reach for him. “You still in there?”
“Just me.” He doesn’t hesitate—just pulls me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me like he needs to feel me breathing. I press my face into his shoulder, inhale his scent beneath the blood and sap. Pine and earth and something darker. The smell I woke up to this morning. The smell I’m starting to think of as home.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs against my hair.
“Adrenaline crash.” I don’t pull away. Don’t want to. “Give me a minute.”
His hand slides up my back, finds the nape of my neck, cradles my head against him. The gesture is tender in a way that would have surprised me a few days ago. Now it just feels right. Natural. Like we’ve been doing this for years instead of hours.
When I finally lift my head, he examines my wounds with gentle touches—fingers tracing the edges of cuts, pressing carefully around bruises. The same hands that tore men apart minutes ago are impossibly gentle on my skin.
“These are bad.”
“Nothing that won’t scar over.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
He almost smiles. “The King is quiet now. Sulking, I think. It didn’t get what it wanted.”
“What did it want?”
“Me. Completely. The power I let it channel was supposed to be a door—a way in that would become a way of staying forever.” His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “But you gave me a different tether. Every time it tried to pull me under, I could feel you holding me up.”
“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said about me being a supernatural lifeline.”
“I mean it.” His expression turns serious. “What you did back there—using our bond to ground the binding when the weapon was tearing it apart—the old records described it as theoretical. Something that would only work if the anchor was already part of the forest’s awareness.”
“And I bled on the ground four times.”
“Briargrave drank it. And it liked the taste.” His voice is soft. “You’re not just grounding me anymore. The forest knows you now. Accepts you.”
I should be disturbed by that. A sentient murder forest developing a taste for my blood seems like a problem. But I’m too tired to care. Too relieved that we’re both alive. Too focused on the warmth of his hand on my face, the steadiness of his breath against my skin.
“So I’m forest-approved now?”
“You’re forest-bonded.” His voice drops. “The same way I am. Not as deep—not yet—but the roots are there. Growing.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I don’t know.” He pulls back, meets my eyes. “But I know this: the King tried to take me, and you pulled me back. The weapon tried to break me, and you kept me whole. Whatever’s happening between us, it’s stronger than anything the Consortium could build.”
“Damn right it is.”
I pull him down and kiss him.
It’s not the desperate, violent kiss from before. Not the hunger of fleeting moments. This is slower. Deeper. The kiss of two people who know each other’s bodies now, who’ve already crossed every line worth crossing. His mouth moves against mine with familiar heat, and my body responds instinctively—pressing closer, hands sliding up his chest to curl around his neck.
When we break apart, I don’t go far. Stay pressed against him, his arm around my waist, my head tilted back to look at him. The setting sun filters through the gaps in the canopy, touching the ruined battlefield with colors that seem almost peaceful. Touching us with warmth we probably don’t deserve.
“We should move.” His thumb traces circles on my hip, the touch casual and possessive at once. “The Heartgrove is still undefended. The King is still waiting.”
“What about the binding? Is it stable?”
“For now. But the weapon did damage. The bond between me and Briargrave is weaker than it was.” He looks at me. “I’m going to need your anchor for a while longer.”
“You’re stuck with me anyway. Might as well make it official.”
