His thumbs kept circling, wider and wider, claiming more and more territory with each pass.
“Your runes,” she breathed. “You promised to tell me about them.”
His hands stilled.
A slow smile touched his mouth.
“I did. But you’ll need a closer look to understand.”
One arm slid to her lower back, drawing her forward until her hips pressed against his thighs. His body radiated more warmth than the fluxhearth, and she couldn’t help but lean in.
“Careful. Some of them still burn from the fight,” he warned.
Then he went still, letting her explore, his breath shallow but steady. Beneath her palms, muscles shifted—solid, alive—yet he didn’t guide her, surrendering himself into her hands.
She traced his left shoulder first. Branded into the skin was a rune she hadn’t seen.
“Hjarta,” he murmured. “It keeps the cold from me.”
“That’s why you burn at night,” she whispered with a small smile.
Her thumb lingered, brushing raised skin. The mark glowed beneath her touch. She moved to his right arm, where dark runes braided from elbow to shoulder.
“Minor,” he said. “Strength. Weapon control. Mana containment. Nothing like those on my spine.”
She wanted to see those too but kept silent. Instead, her gaze caught the faint etching above the bridge of his nose—dark blue, like the shadow of his irises.
“This one—”
“Kenaz,” he supplied. “Night vision. Lets me see what others can’t.”
She touched it, smoothing the furrow in his brow. Her fingers wandered lower. Across his chest. He hitched a breath when she brushed his sternum. Just left of center, near his heart—an intricate sigil in the shape of a circle with barbs pointing outward like rays of the sun.
“Ansuz,” he breathed. “Pain suppression. Enough to keep me standing when I should fall.”
You keep him strong—she thought, pressing her lips to it.Thank you.
He inhaled sharply but didn’t move.
“Does it still hurt?” she whispered.
His eyes caught hers. “Sometimes. The rune dulls it. But pain is part of what I am.”
The words sank into her; stones dropped in still water. Her touch drifted lower, along his ribs. He tensed.
“Perthro,” he said. “It shows me what I can’t see. Shifts in combat. Unseen threats.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“I know,” she murmured. “But still—it’s beautiful.”
He shifted, and for a heartbeat she glimpsed the vast rune scrawled across his shoulder blade, curling down his back like a beast at rest.
“Krâthar,” he named it. “Strength enough to tear walls down.”
She swallowed, tracing the edge she could reach. Heat pulsed beneath her hands.
