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“I’ve got a running list,” she says. “Emotionally constipated. Condescending. Pretty much a dick most days.”

“You forgot devastatingly attractive.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “You’re alright. If you like that ‘brooding immortal who looks like he might kill you or go down on you, depending on the mood’ kind of vibe.”

I grin. “Iamthat vibe.”

She steps closer, not pulling her hand away, not breaking the contact—just leaning in until her chest brushes mine, until I canfeel the shape of her mouth when she whispers, “And that’s the problem.”

“Why?”

“Because I kind of like it.”

My pulse punches behind my ribs. She tilts her face up to mine, and I don’t move. I want her to come to me. I want her tochooseit. Chooseme.

And she does. Her mouth touches mine—soft at first, teasing, just a ghost of pressure. A test. An invitation. I don’t make her ask twice. I kiss her like I’m claiming something I never thought I’d be allowed to touch. Like she’s not mine yet, but she could be. If I’m careful. If I’m brutal. If I let her see all the worst of me and still somehow make herwantit.

She moans into my mouth and it’s a fucking revelation. Her hands drag down my chest, slow and shameless, before sliding under my coat, gripping my hips like she’s been waitingtoo longto get here. And I don’t stop her. I let her take. I let herwant. Because for the first time since the bond snapped into place, I don’t want to control this. I just want her.

Riven

Caspian’s snoring again. Not the soft kind either. The full-bodied, sleep-drunk, mouth-wide-open kind that would be funny if his arm wasn’t flopped over Elias like a goddamn body pillow. Elias is too tired to fight it. His face is buried half into Cas’s shoulder, one leg thrown over a pack, and I swear if my phone had even two percent left, I’d be recording this for eternity. Maybe even blackmail.

Instead, I sit with my back against the damp wall of the shelter. Riven-made—my hands sunk into the earth hours ago and shaped it to hold her, to keepall of themwarm and dry and safe. It’s not magic. Not really. Just instinct. The bond made me something more than a weapon. It made me someone whobuildsinstead of breaks.

Only for her.

They’re all circled tight, bodies touching—like proximity will protect her. Like fate hasn’t already chosen how this ends.

Luna’s in the center.

Of course she is.

She always is.

Asleep, finally. One hand curled near her cheek, lips parted. Her brow isn’t furrowed anymore. I watch her chest rise and fall in a rhythm that slows mine down too, keeps the monster in me from pacing its cage.

Lucien sleeps closest to her.

I nearly put a blade through him when he chose that spot. But he didn’t argue. He just sat down like he was daring me to say something. I didn’t. Not because I accepted it—but because Luna didn’t push him away.

And now he’s turned toward her.

Has been for an hour.

I watch him—how he doesn’t blink, how his fingers ghost over her face once like he isn’t fully in control of them. He brushes a strand of hair off her temple, careful. Reverent.

And I hate him for it. Not because he feels it. But because he won’t admit it. Because he wants her and punishes her for it at the same time.

She stirs under his gaze. Doesn’t wake. Just shifts. Tucks herself closer to Silas’s side, which makes Lucien tense like he’s been cut open.

Good.

Maybe that’s what he needs.

A reminder that she won’t be his unless hechooses her back.

Ambrose sits next to me, arms draped over his knees, looking too smug for someone who just came back from a near breakdown. His eyes are on her too. But his aresoftin that unnerving Ambrose way—like he knows something the rest of us haven’t caught up to yet.