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He sighs into me—barely audible—but I drink it in like it’s sacred. Like I’ve earned it. The way his lips soften. The way he breathes me in. The way he doesn’t shove this down or shove me away.
When we finally break apart, my forehead rests against his, and he’s staring at me like I’ve just rewired something inside him.
And maybe I have.
Then, with zero warning, he lifts me.
I yelp—a startled, breathless sound that ends in a laugh—and instinctively lock my legs around his waist. His hands are strong beneath me, one gripping my thigh, the other splayed wide across my lower back like heneedsme there.
He doesn’t speak. His expression says everything—half disbelief, half reverence, all heat. Like he can’t stand the thoughtof not touching me but doesn’t know how to be gentle with anything, and he’s trying anyway.
The path back to the house is short, but it feels eternal.
Every step he takes, I feel the weight of this shift. The ache of it. The sweetness. Thehopebraided into a man like Riven who’s known only ruin.
I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in—stone and fire and something uniquely him. I don’t want to unravel him. I want to keep him whole.
When we reach the porch, he pauses. The wind stirs around us, lifting strands of my hair like a promise. His eyes flick up to mine again, still gray. Still open.
And when he finally pushes open the door with his shoulder, stepping inside with me wrapped around him, there’s nothing left of the man who only knew how to fight.
Only this.
Onlyus.
Silas
I stretch like a damn champion—arms overhead, back arched just enough to show off the goods. I make sure to groan obnoxiously as I roll my neck like I’m about to face off in a cage match with an actual god. Not that she’s looking.
Except she is.
Luna’s standing across the courtyard, hair pulled into some messy half-knot that’s unraveling from her morning sparring session with Riven, skin flushed, collarbone glistening like it’s been kissed by lightning. She’s all strength and soft chaos, and I’m tryingso hardnot to stare. I fail. Immediately. Spectacularly.
“What are you doing?” she asks, deadpan.
I point both fingers at her like twin loaded pistols. “Stretching to fight you. Obviously. Shadow-boxing is out. Finger-gunning is in.”
She lifts a single brow.
Just one.
It’s unfair how sexy judgment can be on her. And unfair how I want it.
“I’m warming up mymost lethalweapons,” I say, thrusting the finger guns forward again with a dramaticpew pew. “Highly advanced. Calibrated to maximum flirt.”
Still nothing.
My fingers hang in the air between us like awkward little idiots, and she just blinks once, then tilts her head. “That’s...that’s your opener?”
“Yes,” I say, grinning, “and also my closer. I’m a package deal, baby.”
Now she’s trying not to laugh. Her lips twitch. It’s beautiful. Evil. Irresistible.
She leans slightly to one side, arms crossing over her chest as she pretends to survey the scene like a bored instructor. “Silas.”
“Yes?”
“Did you stretchspecificallyfor a hypothetical battle with me…using finger guns?”