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Thea struggled to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. She nodded. ‘Always.’

And then he sheathed himself inside her.

Thea gave herself over to the force of him, seeing stars in her vision as she clenched around him. She cried out as he moved inside her, one powerful thrust after another, each one moreintoxicating than the last. She let go, climbing higher and higher as her love for Wilder drugged her.

He moaned against her neck and she almost climaxed then and there. He reached between them and stroked her clit, nearly reducing her to a million pieces.

She looked down, past the contours of his muscled stomach, past the V of sinew that pointed to where they were joined with those hot, powerful thrusts. Every stroke rendered her mind useless. There was no thinking here, only the feel of him, the feel of them, together.

Over and over he sank into her, both of them trembling at the very precipice of desire, an energy forming around them that sang out to Thea’s heart. She felt it, felthim, in the fabric of her soul.

Her eyes locked with his, that dark silver smoulder like a brand.

‘Come for me,’ he commanded, circling her clit as he fucked her hard and deep.

Thea gave a half-sob as her body did as he demanded. She screamed his name as she came, her whole body shattering with the force of him, her climax unravelling at a blinding speed, wave after wave – a feeling so intense she wasn’t sure she’d ever come back down to reality.

Wilder tensed, his breath hitching as he dragged out the last spirals of her orgasm before he cried out. Her Warsword shuddered against her, spilling himself inside her with a ragged gasp.

They were both shaking, clinging to one another as though they might be swept away.

Thea waited for the current coursing through her to ebb, to leave her feeling sated and dazed. But whatever hummed in her veins didn’t leave her.

Wilder’s sharp intake of breath forced her eyes open.

Thea nearly choked. For at her fingertips danced little bolts of lightning.

Power crackled through her, and that dormant beast within her awoke from its slumber. She stared at her magic.

Wilder’s deep voice rumbled against her, warm and full of pride. ‘There you are, Princess.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

THEA

There she was, storm magic coursing through the very essence of her. That kernel of power that had been missing for so long was there, blooming to life, begging to be unleashed upon the world.

Thea hardly dared to breathe as she watched the sparks of brilliant white dance across her skin, as much a part of her as the heart hammering in her chest. With her magic now surging in her blood, she realised just how big the gaping hole had been. Just how broken a part of her had been.

Wilder had been right: grief had pulled her apart.

And she’d fought to pull herself back together.

Now, she could feel the power at her fingertips, the ability to conjure and control lightning and thunder. She could feel the call of the storms beyond the Singing Hare, far away in the distance. For a moment, Thea lost herself in the song of storms, both within and without. Gods, she had missed it.

As the lightning sang in her veins, hope blossomed. Hope for the war to come. The rebel forces had wanted another storm wielder, hadn’t they? Now, she had that very power ather fingertips. Now, she had something beyond her blades and stubbornness to aid in the fight against the darkness.

And the Great Rite? She had her edge back, and she would take what was hers. Who was going to stop her now?

As the thoughts barrelled through her one by one, she looked up in shock at the man who watched her, the man who had seen her through it all.

They were still touching.

How was her lightning not hurting him? How was it possible that his hands still skimmed across her heated skin? That there was nothing but adoration and admiration etched on that handsome face of his?

‘Do you regret it?’ she asked quietly. ‘Not asking the Furies for immortality?’

‘Not once, not until I met you…’ Wilder said. ‘But then I wonder how my path may have differed, and if things had happened another way, whether we would have met at all. That is something I would regret more than missing a thousand endless lifetimes.’