Dax’s control tightened around him.
He had wanted to hear those words.
That did not mean he could trust the moment without question.
“You are still in pain.”
“Yes.”
“Your body is still reacting to something neither of us understands.”
“Yes.”
“And you still want me.”
Veya held his gaze.
“Yes.”
The directness of the answer moved through him with enough force to strip away every easy joke he might have used as protection.
Dax leaned closer, slowly enough that she could stop him before their faces touched.
“Tell me what you want now.”
“You.”
“Not relief.”
“You.”
“Not someone close enough to make the pain quieter.”
Her fingers tightened around his wrist.
“You, Dax.”
He gave her every opportunity to retreat.
Veya closed the distance herself.
The kiss began more softly than the first, but there was nothing uncertain in it. Her mouth moved against his with chosen hunger rather than blind desperation, and Dax answered before restraint could disguise what he felt.
One hand slid into her damp hair while the other settled against the mattress beside her hip. He did not pin her or pull her beneath him, but the effort required to maintain that distance rapidly became its own form of pain.
Veya’s fingers moved from his wrist to his shoulders.
She drew him nearer.
Dax deepened the kiss, tasting the lingering trace of Rhen’s blood and hating that anything connected to his brother remained between them. Beneath it, however, was Veya herself: the sharpness of her anger, the stubbornness with which she demanded choice, and the warmth she had allowed him to see only in brief, reluctant flashes.
This belonged to them.
The tether had not created it.
Rhen had no place inside it.
Veya’s body arched toward him as another tremor passed through her. The movement broke through Dax’s focus and reminded him that pain still threaded through her desire.
