Page 69

A hush stretches, thick with possibility. I shift on the log, bruised thighs protesting, but the tension that simmers in my veins demands more than distance. My horns ache, pulsing with a new sensitivity, as if they sense the closeness of his illusions. The hush is no longer weighed by dread but by an electric anticipation. My heart speeds up.We’re free—no vow overshadowing us, no prophecy demanding a blood price.Only us, battered but alive.

Slowly, I place my hand on his chest. His skin is warm, the molten lines beneath pulsing like embers. “You never got a real chance to just be,” I say quietly. “To breathe without the vow’s lash.”

He lowers his gaze, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “I’m still learning what that means. For so long, illusions were my shackles… or my weapon. Now, they’re just mine.”

I spread my fingers wider, feeling the steady drum of his heartbeat. “Show me,” I whisper, voice a bit shaky. “Show me illusions not meant for war. Something gentle.”

His eyes flicker in surprise, then soften. He inhales, illusions rippling out from his horns in a delicate swirl. No harsh edges or flaming swords—just swirling ribbons of shimmering color drifting on the breeze. My breath catches at the beauty, each ribbon an ephemeral arc that dances in the sunlight. I watch them, a lump in my throat.

“They’re lovely,” I murmur, lifting a hand to catch a drifting strand. My demon-runed fingers pass through intangible light, a mild warmth grazing my skin. The moment feels fragile, a celebration of new beginnings.

He watches me, magic reflecting in his crimson eyes. Slowly, I sense his tension shift, overshadowed by a quieter longing. He cups my cheek, claws lightly grazing the edge of my jaw. “You’re lovely,” he says, voice hushed. “You’ve always been, but now… you stand unbound. You took your fate in your own hands. That draws me more than illusions or prophecy ever could.”

A tremor of emotion quivers through me. I recall how we once collided in savage desperation. Now, the air hums with a different fire—one born of choice, respect, acceptance. My horns tingle, a subtle hum of demonic awareness. I lean closer, letting my eyes drift shut. The faint press of his lips against mine sparks a jolt of warmth. Gentle, not violent or frenzied. My chest tightens with relief and desire.

He rumbles a soft sound, illusions winding around us in glowing arcs. I taste the lingering hint of ash on his lips, memory of battles fought. Our bodies shift, turning to face each other fully on the log. He’s so large that I have to tilt my head up, horns brushing his chest. My heart hammers in an uneven staccato, but I want this—no vow overshadowing, no prophecy looming, just him.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs against my mouth, pausing, illusions flickering as though he fears pushing me too far.

I let out a shaky breath. “Yes. We both deserve to be more than our scars.” There’s a slight quiver in my voice, but it’s overshadowed by certainty. I close the distance, capturing his mouth in a deeper kiss.This is our final bond, not forced by a vow, but chosen in the sunlight of a free morning.

The contact sparks a wave of heat that banishes the chill of night. His arms slide around my waist, mindful of my bruises, drawing me closer until our bodies press with a tenderness we never had in our frantic couplings before. My tail—no, I don’t have a tail. That’s him. He carefully folds his wings behind me, forming a protective shelter from the wind. A low growl rumbles in his throat, but it’s a growl of pleasure, not aggression.

I arch into him, letting my sword tumble from my grasp. My newly formed horns graze his collarbone, drawing a surprised hiss from him. We both freeze for an instant, exchanging a breathless laugh. “Sensitive,” I admit, cheeks coloring.

He smirks, magic sparking around his horns. “I’ll keep that in mind.” And his mouth captures mine again, more insistent this time, a lingering current of hunger that pulses between us. I let my hands roam the curve of his shoulders, feeling the carapace ridges and the smooth planes of ebon skin. Every inch of him is taut with coiled power. He shifts, sliding one clawed hand up my back, tangling in my hair. A hum of warmth drifts down my spine.

My breath hitches, a pang from my healing ribs reminding me that we’re both battered. The moment could break if we push too hard. But I sense the tension in him as well, and part of me can’t bear to wait any longer. We’re free. I want to celebrate that freedom in the most visceral way possible.

He senses my hesitation, illusions dimming slightly. “We don’t have to rush,” he mutters, voice thick. “I’d wait a lifetime if it means you’re not hurting.”

My chest constricts with affection. “I know,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. “But I don’t want to wait. Not for this. I want to feel alive, truly alive, with you.”

His magic brighten at that, a swirl of shimmering ribbons reminiscent of dawn. He tilts his head, pressing his forehead to mine, horns brushing in a light caress. “Then let’s be alive,” he says, husky.

Gently, he shifts me around so I straddle his lap, mindful of my bruised leg. The log is damp and not the most comfortable seat, but I’m consumed by the closeness. Our hearts pound in tandem, breath mingling in shallow gasps. He grips my waist with his claws, but there’s no cruelty in his hold—only reverence. I brace my hands on his broad shoulders, hair falling around my horns.

He lowers his mouth to my neck, and the sensation is electric—hot breath against sensitive skin. My demon side responds, runes flickering across my arms. A pulse of dark energy surges, but it’s not violent or lethal. It’s part of me, channeling desire and power in equal measure. I exhale, letting a soft moan slip free. Tension churns low in my belly, drawing me further into the moment.

Malphas rumbles in approval, illusions swirling around us, creating a subtle cocoon of shimmering air. His lips trail along my jaw, each kiss igniting sparks beneath my skin. The connection is different now—no desperation, but a fiercetenderness. His horns brush my temple, and I shiver, half-laughing at the odd, exhilarating sensation.

He pauses, eyes searching mine, a hint of concern. “Tell me if anything hurts.”

My throat tightens with emotion. He once pinned me as a savage demon, but now caution threads his every move. “I will,” I promise softly, then lean in to claim his mouth again, tasting the renewed warmth in his growl. There’s no vow forcing us, no prophecy overshadowing. It’s our choice—our bond.

Time blurs as we lose ourselves in that union.

The tower disappears. The storm outside vanishes into silence. Only the fire of his mouth, the slide of his hands, the slow press of his body into mine remains.

My battered body protests, aching in old, deep places, but the electric thrill of his touch smothers the pain. Every part of me responds—my skin humming, runes flickering with violet and obsidian light. He moves slowly, reverently, his hips brushing mine in a rhythm that feels sacred. His illusions rise around us in glimmers—soft petals one second, crackling embers the next. And I know without question: they’re shaped by his emotions.

He sees me. Every bruise. Every scar. Every memory. And he still wants me.

His hand slips under my knee, lifting my leg over his hip as he pushes deeper. I moan, the stretch sweet and sharp as his cock fills me inch by inch. A hiss escapes him when my walls clench around him, and he leans down, pressing his forehead to mine. I can feel his breath—uneven, strained.

“Fuck, Valentina,” he whispers, voice barely controlled. “You feel… godsdamn perfect.”

My horns graze his cheek as I shift, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He shudders, his illusions responding with a flash of light and heat that dances along my skin. I burymy face in his neck, drinking in his scent—sweat, pine needles, and that distinct, dark musk that’s always been him.