His breath shudders. "You don't understand what you're asking."
"Then explain it to me."
"I can't—" He stops. "When I'm near you, everything becomes harder to control. The magic responds to you. To your voice, your heartbeat, the sound of your breathing. Every frequency you create pulls at something inside me. If I stop maintaining control?—"
"What happens?" I ask.
"I don't know." The admission costs him. "I have never allowed myself to stop."
I slide my hand up to cup his face. His skin is cool beneath my palm. "Maybe it's time to find out."
"Rose—"
I move on instinct, locking lips with him.
For a moment he remains perfectly still.
His arms come around me with sudden fierce intensity, pulling me against him as though I might disappear if he doesn't hold on. The kiss deepens, turns desperate.
His magic surges—I feel it in the air around us, a low resonant hum that vibrates through my bones. The silver rings in his hair chime wildly. The cooling bells on the workbench begin ringing in response, a cascade of tones that shouldn't be possible without being struck.
He pulls back, breathing hard. "I told you?—"
"I don't care." I pull him back in. "Stop holding back."
"If I hurt you—" his words falter.
"You won't."
"You can't know that,” he
"Yes I can." I bring him down to me again, lips brushing his. I kiss him again, softer this time. "Trust yourself, Khaivor. I do."
The last of his restraint shatters.
He kisses me like a man drowning. His hands move to my waist, sliding beneath my work shirt, fingers splaying against bare skin. The touch sends heat flooding through me, pooling beneath my stomach. I gasp against his mouth and the sound appears to undo something fundamental in him.
His magic reacts violently.
Every bell in the forge rings simultaneously—a massive harmonic that rattles the windows and sends tools clattering to the floor. I can feel it against my skin, in my lungs, thrumming through my pulse like a second heartbeat.
He tries to pull away again but I don't let him.
"Don't stop," I breathe against his mouth.
"I can't control?—"
"I don't want you to control it."
He makes a sound low in his throat—half surrender, half desperation. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me harder against him. His heart racing, his breathing ragged.
The magic swells higher, filling the forge with resonance so thick it feels almost tangible.
I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing beneath my palms. His skin is cool through the fabric but warming rapidly wherever I touch. I find the fastenings of his coat, work them open. He helps, shrugging out of the heavy layers with surprising urgency.
"Rose—" My name breaks on his lips.
"Don't think." I pull him toward the back corner where blankets are piled near the cooling racks—makeshift bedding for nights I've worked too late to walk home. "Just feel."
