Page 110 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

But it was so much more than that—

She felt the bond.

Not just the Claiming. Or the magick.

Them.

Soul to soul. Body to body. Two people who’d been alone their whole lives, had finally found someone who understood.

The surrounding air shimmered with heat that sparked and crackled, scorching the ceiling and the couch, even blackening some nearby library books on the shelves.

Zarek collapsed onto her, breathing hard, his weight pressing her into the couch. For a moment, neither of them moved to untangle limbs, not until their breathing returned to normal.

And then he lifted his head, brushed the hair from her face, and looked at her with something that might have been wonder.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

She smiled, sated, and never more alive than in this moment. “Just perfect.”

He tenderly kissed her nose and grinned. “Good. Now, hold on to me.”

“Why?”

“I’m taking you to bed.” His teal eyes gleamed. “My room or yours?”

She grinned, mischievously. “We can always do both. But I like your bath.”

“We can share.” His laugh was low as he pulled her close, and the world shifted.

One moment they were in the library—tangled, breathless, surrounded by the scent of sex and scorched wood. The next, the library stood empty.

But the walls were witnesses to the Claiming’s consummation.

The Accords had been broken.

And nothing in Paradox would ever be the same.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Zarek stood outside Angela’s door. He’d left her sleeping at dawn, all warm and soft, tangled in the sheets. Every instinct demanded he stay, to wrap himself around her and keep her close.

But he had work to do.

The library had to be dealt with. The scorched walls, his armor and remnants of their clothes were scattered across the floor as evidence of a crime.

He’d sent a message thread to Gellar before the house staff could gossip, claiming a magick malfunction during training.

But the real reason Zarek had left her bed wasn’t damage control. It was her medallion. Found half-buried in ash on the library floor, its delicate silver chain had melted, but the pendant gleamed in the dim light.

That’s when the heaviness pressed like a boulder across his shoulders. Not only had they broken the Accords, but he’d broken her chain as well. It wasn’t a good omen, considering what was happening today.

The silver amulet was tiny in his palm. The countless times he’d seen Angela fidget and clutch the medallion when she was anxious or trying to grapple with an impossible situation—and she’d had a few, making it clear that it mattered to her.

So, he’d banged on the silversmith’s door until someone answered, found a suitable chain, and taken it straight to the forge where the witches worked their craft. Since a small boy, they’d helped him learn the art of wards and staves that were etched into his armor, designed to contain his own power from burning everything he touched. He’d asked them to do the same for the chain because he wasn’t going to be the reason it broke again.

Now he just had to give it to her. The first gift he’d given anyone without making a fool of himself.

He knocked.