Page 89 of Roaring Spell

The lights grow closer. My vision grows dimmer.

But I hold on.

For her.

For us.

For the everything I promised and intend to deliver, no matter what it costs.

NINETEEN

SAKURA

Later—much later—we’re in his cabin.

The healers came and went hours ago. Torin is exhausted, drained, covered in bruises and small cuts from his journey through the Overgrowth. But he’s alive. Whole. His bear’s resilience is already working to mend the damage.

Valesh is in custody, along with the surviving members of her cell. The Warding Line is damaged but holding. The town is safe.

And I’m sitting on the edge of Torin’s bed, watching him watch me, both of us aware that we’re finally alone.

“We should probably talk about what happened.” My voice comes out shy. Almost hesitant. Which is ridiculous—I claimed this man on a battlefield. I bit him. I told him I love him while his blood was still wet on my hands.

But this feels different. The battle is over. The adrenaline has faded. What comes next isn’t survival—it’s choice.

“What’s there to talk about?” Torin sits up slowly, wincing slightly at muscles that protest the movement. “You saved my life. Claimed me. Bit me.” A pause. “Did I mention the biting?”

“You’ve mentioned it several times.”

“It was memorable.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “You marked me, Sakura. Made me yours. I’m not complaining, but—do you know what that means? For witches and shifters?”

“Grandmother Peach said it would strengthen the Warding Line.”

“It will.” He pulls me closer, and I let him—slide across the bed until I’m pressed against his side, his arm around my shoulders. “But that’s not what I’m asking. For bears—for shifters—the claiming mark is permanent. It means you’re my mate. My partner. My person, for as long as we both live.”

“I know.”

“You knew before you bit me?”

“I knew when you threw yourself at a magical weapon to save me.” I trace my fingers over his chest—bare because the healers stripped what was left of his shirt to treat him, because I haven’t been able to stop touching him since we got back. “I knew when you wrote poetry about my storms. When you brought me coffee every morning. When you held me through that first episode and your only concern was whether I was safe.”

I meet his gaze.

“I knew, Torin. I was just scared to admit it.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m still scared.” I smile despite the fear. “But I’m done running. I’m done waiting for you to realize I’m too much and leave. I’m choosing you. Not because of instinct or fate or magical mate pulls. Because you showed up every day. Because you saw my chaos and called it beautiful. Because you never once made me feel like a problem to solve.”

He kisses me.

It starts gentle—soft lips, tender pressure, a question and an answer all at once. But the tenderness doesn’t last. Can’t last, not when we’ve been building toward this for weeks, not when the claiming mark on his shoulder is still fresh and the mate pull is finally singing satisfaction instead of longing.

His tongue traces my lower lip. I open for him, and the kiss deepens, turns hungry, turns into a heat that pools low in my belly.

“Sakura.” He breathes my name against my mouth. “We don’t have to—if you need time⁠—”

“I’ve had time.” I fist my hands in his hair and pull him closer. “I’ve had weeks of time. Of wanting you and being scared and almost-moments that never went anywhere.” I nip at his lower lip, gratified by the rough sound he makes. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”