“Say it anyway.”
“It stabilizes.”
I swallow.
Then I lift my hand and press it flat against his chest.
The bond ignites. Not like before. This time it blooms like the first flowers of spring.
Heat spreads outward in a controlled wave, not sharp or breaking, but deep and steady. It moves through my chest into my ribs, down my spine, and back again, like something aligning instead of colliding. Beneath my palm, he feels solid in a way he didn’t before—real, anchored, present.
Rhazek goes still.
“You feel that,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
His voice is rougher now.
“Better?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I slide my hand slowly across his chest, feeling the subtle vibration beneath the surface. Infernal markings rise where I touch, glowing faintly under my fingers, tracing the shape of something ancient and deliberate.
His breath shifts.
That catches my attention.
“You don’t need to breathe,” I say.
“I do not.”
“But you are.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His gaze locks onto mine. “Because of you.”
That should make me step back.
It doesn’t. Instead, I move closer.
Close enough that our bodies align, that the warmth between us stops being separate and becomes shared. The tether hums stronger, not straining now, but deepening, like a chord struck cleanly.
“You’re clearer,” I say softly.
“So are you.”
His hand lifts, hesitates for the barest moment near my face, then settles against my jaw. The touch is careful, deliberate, like he’s learning the exact pressure required not to break something fragile.
I lean into it without thought or clear purpose, just instinct.
“Little Flame…” he murmurs, his bronze sklin warm and surprisingly soft against my cheek. I turn my mouth into his grasp, kissing his palm and tasting his sweat. It’s like slightly charred ginger, but far from unpleasant.
My hands are on his chest now, feeling the contours of demonic muscle. I can feel the power beneath my fingers, ancient and wild. Yet I believe…no, I know that he won’t turn that power against me.
