He released her shoulder, lapping at the wound he’d made. The bite was deep—his lion had made sure of that—and the blood was still flowing, but already he could feel her magic responding. Celestial power mending the damaged flesh, sealing his mark into her skin.
“Hux.” Her voice was raw, barely there. “I can feel you.”
“I know.” He gathered her against him, still inside her, unwilling to separate. “I feel you too.”
She laughed—a warm, overwhelmed sound. Tears were streaming down her face, but she was smiling. “It worked. The bond—it actually worked.”
“Weak.” His nose brushed hers, breath mingling. “Fragile. Not like what the others describe.”
“Butthere.” Her hand found his chest, pressed flat over his heart. “Present. Real.”
“Real,” he agreed.
They lay tangled in the starlight, the skylight framing the heavens above them. He could feel her presence now—a soft pulse at the edge of his awareness, like a candle flame in a dark room. Small. Flickering. Butthere.
Against all odds. Against a curse generations old.
After a time, she reached for the small chart kit on the bedside table—that old reflex, the automatic reach for starlight whenever something significant moved through her life. But when she unrolled the silk pouch and pressed her fingertips to the celestial map she carried everywhere, her breath caught.
“What do you see?” he asked quietly.
She was quiet for a long moment. When she finally looked up, her expression was something he had no name for—not grief, not wonder exactly, but some territory between them.
“Something I’ve never seen before.” Her fingers curled over the chart. “Not death. Not fate. Something chosen.” She lookedat him then, and the raw openness on her face undid him entirely. “It’s us. It’s actually us.”
THIRTY-SIX
HUX
They lay in a tangle of sweat-damp sheets, Lunaria’s head pillowed on his chest, his hand drawing lazy circles on her back.
The bite on her shoulder had stopped bleeding. Already, he could see the mark taking shape—the distinctive impression of lion’s canines, raised and red against her brown skin. It would scar. Become permanent. A visible declaration of what they were to each other.
He ran his fingertip over the mark, feather-light, and felt her shiver.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.” She turned her head to press a kiss to his chest. “Worth it.”
Marked. Claimed. Ours forever.
“It’s really there,” she murmured, her voice drowsy. “The bond. I can feel where you are even with my eyes closed.”
“Same.” He drew her against him, marveling at the sensation. After a lifetime of emptiness, the awareness was almost overwhelming. “It’s not strong. Not like what Theo describes with Avine, or what Wyatt has with Narla. But...”
“But it’s ours.” She tilted her head to look at him, and the love in her eyes made his chest ache. “We made it ourselves. Chose it ourselves. The curse said we couldn’t have this, and we took it anyway.”
“We did.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You did. You came to Haven Shores expecting to leave, and instead you stayed and broke a century-old curse through sheer stubbornness.”
“I had help.” Her fingers mapped the faded scars on his chest. “A certain insufferable mayor who made me want to stop running.”
“I don’t make jokes at funerals.” A pause. “I makeobservations. There’s a difference.”
He laughed—a real laugh, the kind he’d forgotten he was capable of until she walked into his life. She joined him, and for a moment they were just two people who’d found each other against impossible odds, laughing in the dark.
Then her expression sobered.
“Soon,” she said. “The stars are almost aligned. We’ll find out if all of this was enough.”
