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I don’t move. I stay inside her, my body heavy over hers, her fingers still tangled in my hair like she’s afraid if she lets go, I’ll vanish. And I would’ve—before. Before this. Before her. I would’ve slipped away because that’s what I do. Lust burns fast and dies quicker, leaves nothing but wreckage in its wake. That’s what I used to be.

But not with her.

I drag my mouth down the slope of her throat, my lips finding the fluttering pulse at the base of it, and I stay there, breathing her in like a man starved.

And then I do it—something I’ve never let myself do.

I stop holding the bond back.

It splits open inside me, that thin cord I’ve kept cinched tight around my ribs, that thread I’ve kept strangled because I couldn’t handle how it felt—how much I felt. I let it go. I want her to drown in me.

She gasps under me, her nails tightening against my scalp, her legs flexing around my waist like she can feel it hit her all at once—the full weight of what I’ve been holding back. The want. The ruinous, hungry, desperate love I’ve been carrying in my chest like a sickness.

I press my forehead to hers, breathing her name like it hurts me to say it. "Luna."

Her eyes snap open, wild, wide, stunned. "What are you doing?" Her voice cracks on it, like she can feel the weight of it, the depth of me spilling into her.

My thumb drags over her cheekbone, soft, reverent. "You know what I’m doing."

Her throat works as she swallows, and I feel it—her heart slamming against mine, her breath shaking beneath me. The bond hums between us now like something alive, something no one else can touch.

"I’ve wanted you like this since the moment I touched you," I say, voice rough and low. "But this—this isn’t want. This is everything."

Her eyes shine like she doesn’t know what to do with the weight of it, and maybe she doesn’t, because she’s been so used to the others circling her, taking her apart, needing her too much, wanting her too fiercely. But this isn’t want. This is surrender. This is my love.

"You’re mine," I murmur, dragging my nose along her cheek. "And now you know how much."

Luna’s breath stutters, her hips shifting under me like she doesn’t know whether to run or pull me deeper. "You should’ve warned me," she whispers.

I laugh, the sound soft and wrecked. "I’m not in the habit of warning anyone, darling."

Her fingers trail over my jaw, over the curve of my throat, tentative like she’s learning me all over again. "It’s… a lot."

"It’s everything." I tilt my head, meeting her gaze without hiding from her, not this time. "And you’ll never get rid of it now."

Luna’s lips curve faintly, almost shy, almost sharp. "Good."

The bond stretches, thrums tighter, and I let it wrap her whole, let it soak into her skin and bones and blood. She’ll feel it now, long after this, every time she looks at me—how utterly, irrevocably she owns me.

I press a kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her mouth, slow and lingering. "It’s always been you."

And she smiles like it’s killing her, like it’s saving her.

Elias

It’s ridiculous, is what it is. I’m halfway up a crooked old ash tree, hammer in hand—yes, a hammer, because apparently Silas thinks we’re bloody carpenters now—while he’s below me, grinning like a lunatic and shouting measurements that don’t exist.

“No, no, Elias, it’s gotta be eight and a half arm spans long. That’s architectural law.”

I look down at him, sweat sticking my hair to my forehead, and deadpan, “Whose law, exactly? The council of deranged children?”

Silas doesn’t even blink. He’s dragging another rotted plank over his shoulder like it’s the most important thing in the world, twigs sticking out of his hair, dirt smeared across one cheek. “You don’t get it, Dain. This is legacy work. We’ll pass this down to our kids.”

“Our what now?” I arch a brow, snorting. “You and I are barely qualified to keep ourselves alive. Who’s letting us have children?”

Silas shrugs, already climbing the other side of the tree, boards strapped haphazardly to his back like some feral woodland beast. “You, me, Luna, five mini versions of us running around. Chaos incarnate.”

“Stars save us.” I sigh, driving the nail into the branch with more force than necessary. “You’re certifiably insane.”