Page 54

A dark laugh rumbled against her skin. “Good.”

He carried her through the loft without breaking contact—kisses like accusations, hands mapping her spine as if memorizing fault lines. Moonlight caught the silver streaks in her hair, casting fractured light across his face when he laid her down. For a heartbeat, he hovered above her, storm-grey eyes unguarded. Raw. Her fingers twitched toward his jaw.

He caught her wrist, pressed it into the mattress. “Look at me.”

“Iam.”

“No.” His thumb brushed her lower lip. “Look.”

Magic flared, golden threads spiraling from her fingertips, indigo sparks leaping from his. The bond between them hummed, a chord struck deep in her bones. She gasped as the connection snapped taut, every nerve alight. His control frayed first. A shudder tore through Jace as he sank into Lyra, slow and deliberate, his forehead dropping to hers. The contact was electric, a searing connection that fused them. His storm-grey eyes, usually so guarded, were wide open, revealing the tempest within.

"Lyra—" Her name escaped his lips, fracturing in his throat, a testament to the tumultuous emotions he could no longer contain.

She arched beneath him, her nails scoring him, threatening to break skin. "More," she demanded, her voice a sultry whisper that wrapped around him like a spell.

He gave it, each thrust a testament to his restraint, precise and relentless, as if he were carving a vow into her flesh. Her magic, a chaotic storm of wild, untamed energy, surged to meet his—a counterpoint of primal certainty that resonated with the ancient power of his wolf.

The room around them blurred, becoming a backdrop to the elemental force of their union. Candles flared to life of their own accord, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls, while books tumbled from shelves, their pages rustling like the leaves of an enchanted forest. But neither Jace nor Lyra noticed these manifestations of their combined powers. Not when her breath hitched in her throat, not when his hips stuttered with the effort of holding back, not when the world narrowed to the singular, all-consuming point where they fused together in a maelstrom of passion and power.

In that moment, the bond between them hummed with a resonance that transcended the physical realm. It was as if the very fabric of their beings had intertwined, weaving a tapestry of desire and need that neither time nor tide could put asunder. The air was thick with the scent of pine and campfire, mingling with the sweet aroma of Lyra's enchanted rings.

“Jace, I’m?—”

“I know.” His hand slid beneath her, angling deeper. “Let go.”

She shattered. He followed, a ragged groan muffled against her neck as their magic erupted—a supernova of gold and violet light that left scorch marks on the ceiling.

Panting, he collapsed beside her, fingers still tangled in her curls. “Your coven ever teach you to control that?”

She traced the bite mark on his shoulder. “Control’s overrated.”

A snort. “Chaos witch.”

“Control freak alpha.”

Silence stretched, their breathing syncing. Jace’s thumb brushed the pulse point at her wrist—once, twice—before he rolled upright.

Lyra snagged his arm. “Running again?”

He stilled. Turned. The look he gave her could’ve leveled cities. “Not this time. I'm just getting started."

When Lyra woke the next morning, sunlight painted lazy lines across her sheets, and the space beside her was empty.

She sat up fast, heart already dropping.

“Relax,” Milo said from his perch on the windowsill, licking a paw. “He left early. Not mad. Not sulking. Just… had business.”

She blinked, curls a halo around her face. “He didn’t seem upset?”

“Not even a little.”

Her chest tightened. “He said anything before he left?”

“Something about not waking you. Said you looked peaceful.” Milo paused. “Smelled like peace, too.”

She bit her lip, hope flickering to life.

Maybe he hadn’t run this time. Maybe hemeant it.