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For a while, there’s only breath.
His body covers mine, heavy in a way that should feel trapping and instead feels like the one thing holding me to earth.
He doesn’t bite, I notice.
Later, when the worst of the shaking has passed and he has pulled me against him with his back to the headboard, the city burning silver and gold beyond the glass, the bond remains open between us.
No words at first. Only sensation, his exhaustion and my soreness. His anger banked under fear and mine curled around hurt. The pull between us is brighter than either of us knows what to do with.
Then his voice enters my mind. Selphine used you.
I stare at his hand where it rests over my stomach. That was almost generous.
Do not become sentimental. I said used, not absolved.
I let out a weak laugh. ‘There he is.’
His fingers spread over my skin. You did not know the full shape of what you carried.
The admission costs him. I feel it. A jagged piece of pride dragged out by force.
No, I answer silently.
But you knew enough to hide her from me.
Yes.
And enough to send her your blood.
Misguided in hindsight, but yes.
His hand tightens. And for one second, I think the fury will return. But it doesn’t.
Why?
His question is quieter than I expect. But my answer isn’t. Because even now I need to tread carefully.
Because I was scared. I didn’t understand why my body wanted your blood and yours wanted mine, and I needed someone to tell me I wasn’t turning into a weapon in your bed.
He’s silent for a long time. Then, I would have listened.
My heart flips once, doesn’t fully right itself when I turn my head on his shoulder and look at him. ‘Would you?’
His face doesn’t change, but the bond flickers with something that feels painfully close to shame.
I want to say yes, he admits. But I do not know if I would have done so quickly enough.
My heart flips again.
Honesty from Valentin Moretti is a dangerous, glittering thing. Because while he cannot lie, he can withhold, evade or turn silence into a fortress. So when he chooses to answer, it feels deliberate, rare enough to admire. Sharp and intimate enough to bleed on.
I close my eyes.
In the quiet after sex, after fear and blood, the decision settles inside me with strange calm.
I’m going to tell him. I’m not entirely sure how but I know it won’t be through clever little fragments or even waiting for Rowan to make it safe.
Selphine stole my choice and called it protection. Valentin punished my silence and called it justice. Everyone has been dragging my name around like a weapon, a cure, a trap, a key.
