Page 145 of The Immortal’s Mark

I haven’t left.

“You stayed,” he says.

“I stayed.” My voice comes out rough with sleep. “Get used to it.”

His mouth does the almost-thing. Almost a smile. “That sounded like a threat.”

“It was a promise. Threats have more knives involved.”

“Noted.”

He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is small, domestic, so achingly normal that my throat goes tight. I’ve never had normal. I didn’t know I wanted it.

I want it.

Dumpling stretches between us, yawns enormously, and resettles with his head on my hip. Claiming me. I’ve been claimed by a cat and an emperor and I’m not even mad about it.

“Same time tonight?” Ren asks.

“Same time.”

It’s a ritual now. Ours. The staying, the waking, the finding each other in the dark.

The bells ring again, louder. Somewhere in the palace, ministers are gathering. Court is waking. The Dragon Emperor will be expected to appear, to perform, to wear the empire on his shoulders for another day.

But not yet.

For a few more minutes, it’s just us. Jasmine light and tangled sheets and an orange cat who refuses to be moved.

I let myself believe I can keep this. Just for now. Just for this morning.

Liu’s warning echoes somewhere in the back of my skull—when He comes—but the Hungering King hasn’t come. Two weeks of nothing. Maybe he’s waiting. Maybe he’s watching. Maybe the blade is already falling and I just can’t see it yet.

I push the thought away. Not now.

Ren’s hand finds mine again. Solid. Warm. Here.

I stay anyway.

Chapter 644: In which our heroine stops counting deaths and starts counting mornings.

I write it in my head while he dresses. Sentimental garbage. The kind of chapter title that would have made me gag a year ago, when I was still pretending I didn’t want anything I couldn’t walk away from.

I want this.

I’m keeping it.

The bells ring a third time. He’s almost ready—crimson robes, gold thread, the weight of the empire settling back onto his shoulders as he transforms from the man in my bed to the Dragon Emperor the world expects.

He looks at me before he goes.

“Same time,” he says again. Not a question.

“Same time.”

Something in his eyes softens. Just for a moment. Just for me.

Then he’s gone, and I’m alone in his bed with a cat and the smell of sandalwood and the terrifying, wonderful knowledge that I’m going to be here again tonight.

And tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

This is either the best thing that’s ever happened to me or it’s going to destroy us both.

Probably both.

I stay anyway.

I’m learning how.