“You were a child.” His words were soft, absolute. “An innocent. What happened to your mother had nothing to do with you. Nothing at all.”
And just like that, something inside her cracked. The tears came—hot, relentless—each one sloughing away a lifetime of guilt, of nights spent replaying a cursed glance, of etching ‘you ruined me’ into her very foundation. It fell away, all of it, and revealed the truth for what it always was: a weight placed on an innocent child.
Alexander drew her closer as if her pain pulled him in like a tide. For the first time, she didn’t steel herself for the sharpness that usually followed comfort. She let out a long, shuddering breath, and let herself be held.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything. But she could feel the rhythm of him—how his heartbeat had slowed forher, how his silence was deliberate. Her lashes fluttered. She tilted her head slightly, angling her face toward him.
Alexander.
He was already watching her. He wasn’t even looking at her birthmark. What she saw in his eyes wasn’t pity or obligation—it was something else entirely. An ache. A yearning for closeness that mirrored her own.
Under his gaze, her breathing paused, a hitch in her chest as the space between them narrowed. She didn’t lean closer, but she didn’t pull away either.
Then, his hand came to cradle the side of her face.
No one had ever touched her with such gentleness. She blinked, once. Twice. Her mouth parted, the air between them turning thinner. When he leaned down, it was gradual, careful like a man approaching a sacred thing. His lips brushed hers, barely a breath. A whisper of contact.
And still, she trembled. It was her first kiss, her firstanything.
She didn’t know how to do this, had no idea if she was supposed to move or tilt or part her lips more. But when he lingered, she leaned in, uncertain but wanting. Her lips pressed softly against his, breath unsteady as her insides unfurled like a flame coaxed from damp kindling.
He tasted of dusk and spruce and things she’d never allowed herself to want.
The kiss deepened—fuller, anchoring. His hands settled against her back, drawing her in without force. Her own rose tentatively, fingers curling into the fabric at his chest, keeping this moment from slipping into something she didn’t yet understand.
But her body did.
She felt it first as a stir deep in her core, a low simmer that blossomed into warmth. A flush beneath the skin. Her scentshifted. The clean, herbal notes deepened, sweetened, becoming unmistakably hers in a new, intoxicating way.
His muscles locked. His mouth stilled on hers. When she opened her eyes, his pale eyes had darkened again, fixed on her with a fierce, consuming focus that should have terrified her, but didn’t. He didn’t move away. He held her, thumb brushing her cheek as if he could calm the heat rising through her skin.
Her breath trembled. “Something’s happening,” she whispered. “I think . . .”
“I know,” he said, voice rough. His forehead rested against hers. “Iknow.”
Her scent was rising fast now, curling around them. She tried to speak again, but her lips tingled, her limbs heavy. The ache was spreading—slow, singeing the edges of her nerves, pooling low in her belly. She clutched his shirt harder, burying her face against his chest again as the first pulse of true Heat rolled through her.
Her spine bowed as her head tipped back, her eyes opening to the wooden beams above them. While she arched, he drooped, a low, tortured groan slipping past his lips. She felt his nose rub against her throat as he inhaled deeply. A ragged groan escaped him, as though the smell of her gave him ecstasy. His nose brushed along the slender line of her neck, and her body shuddered in response. Her scent was no longer simply rising—it broke open, velvet-rich and golden, curling into the air between them like smoke from a sacred fire. Sweet and spiced, heady with longing.
She whimpered, her thighs rubbing together, but the friction offered nothing to soothe the mounting need. Skin prickling, mouth parting. Everything felt too much, yet not enough.
“It hurts—” she quavered.
“It’s starting,” Alexander rasped. “Your first full flare.”
She felt him trying to stay still, to be calm. His jaw tensed beside her cheek, his hands trembling even as he held her with control. His muscles drew tight beneath her fingertips. Her fingers slid up his chest and curled around his collar before slipping under, clutching his shoulders.
“Please,” she breathed, the word a raw sound pulled from the heart of her need. “Please . . .”
Her legs had tangled with the sheets, and now one of his hands gripped behind her knee, lifting it gently as he shifted her onto her back and followed, bracing himself above her. The air between them burned.
He kissed her again. More languid this time. Deeper, his tongue seeking hers.
Her fingers clawed at his back as she returned the kiss. Her hips lifted instinctively, seeking friction, contact, anything to ease the yearning blossoming low and molten at her core. A soft cry slipped from her lips when his thigh settled between hers, solid and strong. It pressed against her, the contact jolting her. She clung to him, her body arching as another wave of heat flared hotter, thoughts scattering like dry petals in a storm.
Alexander’s mouth hovered near her throat. “You’re burning,” he murmured, voice low and frayed. “Let’s get you to the Nest.”
She barely understood the words, just the gravel of his voice, the warmth of his breath, the deep pull between them. But she nodded and felt his arms shift.
