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The yet is what makes me smile. Slow, deliberate, wolfish. I close the space between us, not enough to touch, but enough to make her breath catch. “That’s precisely why I should tell you,” I murmur, my voice a low, silken thing. “Because, little star, everything I say to you is foreplay.”

Her breath stutters, and I don’t let her look away.

“When I do bond you,” I continue, my voice soft but cutting, “you won’t just want me. You’ll crave me. You’ll ache for me in ways you haven’t even begun to imagine. And when you finally let me have you—” I lean forward slightly, my voice a whisper she feels more than hears, “—you’ll wonder how you ever thought you could survive without me.”

Her steps falter for half a second before she recovers, spinning back around, chin high, cheeks flushed like she’s been caught stealing. I don’t press. I let her run.

“My favorite part of this walk,” I say casually, letting my voice drop, slow and decadent, “is the view you’re giving me.”

Her steps falter, not enough to stumble but enough that I see the flush rise up the back of her neck. She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t grace me with a reply, but her pace quickens like distance will fix the way her pulse is thrumming in her throat.

I smirk and keep talking because I know her by now. I know she listens even when she pretends she doesn’t. “You don’t even know how lethal you look right now, do you?” I continue, voice like honey laced with something sharper. “The sway of those hips is enough to make a lesser man drop to his knees.”

Her chin lifts, shoulders rising like she’s holding her breath.

“But I’m not a lesser man,” I murmur, just loud enough for her to hear over the breeze. “Which is why I’ll keep walking behind you, little star, and memorize every step you take like it’s an offering.”

She glances back at me then, quick and sharp, cheeks flushed, mouth twitching like she’s fighting the smile threatening to bloom. I see her try to swallow it down, try to bite back whatever smart remark is burning her tongue. But she doesn’t say it.

Because I already know her—know that under all that stubbornness, she likes when I look at her like I do. Like I could devour her whole and still starve.

I lengthen my stride to fall beside her, matching her steps now. “You can keep pretending you don’t like it,” I murmur, voice dipping lower. “But we both know you’d miss me if I stopped.”

She finally looks at me fully, lips parting, and for a moment I think she’s about to argue. But she doesn’t.

She only shakes her head once, and keeps walking.

And I follow.

Always.

Lucien

I see them before they crest the ridge—Orin and Luna walking shoulder to shoulder, her hair loose and wild like she belongs out here, like she belongs anywhere but under my watch. She’s laughing at something Orin says, soft and warm in a way I haven't heard from her since the night I burned her down with words I can’t take back.

The others surge forward the moment they spot her. Silas practically vaults over a low wall, Elias close behind, pretending he doesn’t care when he looks like he might combust trying to get to her first. Riven’s jaw is locked like he’s barely holding it together, Caspian quiet but gravitating toward her like a man starved.

I hang back.

It’s not difficult to do. I’ve spent centuries perfecting the art of making myself invisible when I want to be, even when I’m the most dangerous thing in the room. Especially then.

She’s the sun in this moment—the axis they orbit. I know I ruined it. I know what I said to her wasn’t just cruel; it was calculated, precise, the way only I can be when I want to destroy something before it destroys me.

I didn’t mean to aim for her heart. I was aiming for mine.

And yet here she is, alive and breathing and still lighting them up like they’ve been starved for her. Like they’ve spent years waiting for her return instead of hours. I know Riven stayed the night at that godsdamned tavern. They all pretend I don’t know,but I do. I know every move they make. And still, none of them realize that if something had happened to her—if she hadn’t come back—I wouldn’t have survived it.

I fold my arms across my chest, the weight of my Dominion humming just beneath my skin. It wants me to close the distance, wants me to pull her back in like I do everything else. But she’s the only thing in this world I can’t compel.

And she’s smiling at them like she never smiled at me.

She doesn’t even glance in my direction.

Good. It’s safer that way.

The others crowd her, their voices a mess of laughter and relief. I catch her name on all of their lips. Silas says it like it’s a joke. Riven like a threat. Caspian like a prayer. Orin like a promise.

And I say nothing at all.