And Void, I wanted to take her. To bite the ribbon off with my teeth and press her down, bend her lithe body against the table and worship her with my mouth until her breath came in gasps. Until she begged for me to mark her, stretch her, fill her. Until her body trembled and the starlight in her voice fractured into bliss.
Not to own. Not to keep.
But to be mine. My altar. My shore. My peace.
Because I have lived a thousand years without ever being touched like this. Not skin to skin. Not breath to breath. But soul to soul.
The innocence in her eyes is my undoing. For she doesn’t understand what she is. What she does to me. And so I will not touch her. Not yet. Because if Itake her before she knows… before she chooses me with eyes wide open—then I have not claimed her. I’ve only stolen something sacred.
And I would rather burn for eternity than harm the one thing that ever made me feel whole.
I was bred for desecration. Destruction.
But not her. I will not break her.
I would rather break myself.
I think I may already be…
My heart pounds in my ears.
I read it again. And again. Until the words blur. Raw. Sacred. Intimate in a way that steals the air from my lungs.
I close my eyes. Picture the moment when I stood between his knees, ribbon trembling in my fingers, his gaze searing through me. The heat of him. The weight of his wanting.
I gave him that ribbon to ease the ever-present loneliness in the only face I can consistently remember. To remind him of his true name and its purpose. To show him that his duty and his will are separate things, and that keeping one does not erase the other.
But what I stepped into was altogether different.
Again, the memory consumes me. The heat. The want. The yearning.
I wrap my arms around my body. Imagine his scarred hands sliding up my sides, pinning me in place. His mouth lowering to my ear. His voice a velvet rumble saying—
Beg for me, starlight.
My head falls back, and I gasp a desperate breath. My knees give way. I crumple to the floor, breathless, trembling. The page drifts down beside me—so very loud in its stillness, the elegant script looping my undoing into the parchment’s weave.
With shaking hands, I catch it. Clutch it.
Read it again.
And again.
Trying to understand. Trying to make sense of it all. My skin throbs. My breasts ache where coarse fabric brushes, each movement unbearable.
Auryn, beg for me.
I bite my knuckle to keep from crying out. A tide swells in my belly—relentless, rising—until it threatens to break me apart. The way he looked at me only nights ago, his gaze tracing my face as though trying to memorize every line. The way his hand always moves toward me without thought. How he sets food before me without comment. How he tucks warmth into my space and then draws back, as if to keep from scaring me away.
As though looking at a woman, and not at a relic of the ages. He sees me. Has seen me for longer than I’ve known how to look.
My fingers shake as I fold the page with utmost care, tucking it into my satchel—nestled beside the old comb he’d bought me from a traveling merchant, and the little metal cup from Brackenrood. Mundane things. Small. Insignificant. Yet mine.
My entire body pulses with each heartbeat, breath shuddering as though I might suffocate if I don’t step outside for fresh air. This instant.
I dress, hands clumsy on buttons and ties, braid slipping through my fingers.
On the bedside table, I spot a strip of cloth, once black and gold, now worn gray with age. His hair tie. Still breathless, I tie off my braid with it.
