Page 68

‘Yes ,’ Mal growled, her purple eyes gleaming like polished amethysts.

‘No, Alina. But I’d like a f-few hours with my w-wife.’

Alina’s spine went rigid, her jaw clenched. The words did not soothe her. Her golden slippers pivoted sharply against the stone floor, her fury tangible in the way she stalked towards the exit. She did not look back. The doors slammed behind her with a resounding crack.

Ash exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples. His sister had never reacted this way before. Why was she so angry? She had always known Mal would be there, by his side. Surely, she understood that he had been unconscious for days, that he needed this moment.

‘She doesn’t know how to share you.’

Ash pulled a face. ‘I do not like the di-direction that is taking.’

Mal rolled her eyes. ‘Your sister’s entire purpose in life has been to take care of you.

Now I’ve taken that away from her. It must not be easy, to spend your life having a purpose that is suddenly ripped out of your hands.

You are suddenly left standing in this unknown void, worried that perhaps you may never find purpose again. ’

‘But she…’

Mal smiled sweetly and leaned in, her breath warm against his lips. ‘I have asked you before, Ash Acheron, if you have ever asked your sister what she wants . Perhaps now she will finally find it.’

Ash’s heart squeezed at the thought. Was it true? Had his sister’s entire purpose in life been to take care of him? Had he ripped her of it by marrying? He knew he had, but a part of him thought that perhaps she would find something that would give her meaning.

‘I w-will help her f-find it,’ he said. ‘If she cannot find it her-herself.’

Mal brushed her thin lips against his own. ‘No, Ash. That is not for you to do. She must find her own purpose in life. It is a lonely road, but one we must all embrace by ourselves. For if not, how will we truly know it is ours?’

Ash let his hands trail up her thighs. He needed to feel her—to remind himself that she was real.

He sat up despite the protests of his ribs, ignoring the pain, ignoring everything but the woman straddling his lap.

Mal did not stop him, did not tell him to rest. Instead, she ran her fingers through his golden hair, combing it gently, as if she too needed to touch him to believe he was still there.

He could sit like this for eternity.

The entire world could end, and he would not care, as long as she remained here— like this .

‘You a-are beautiful, Mal Bla-Blackburn,’ he whispered, his voice rough with desire. Mal’s lips curved, but she did not speak. She did not have to. Ash could see it in her eyes, in the way she tilted her head ever so slightly, in the way her fingers skimmed over his skin like fire and ice combined.

He was drowning in her.

She leaned forward, brushing her lips against his, slow and teasing, until his patience snapped. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, losing himself in the taste of her, in the way she melted against him.

She moaned softly, a sound that sent heat surging through his veins like wildfire.

His grip tightened, his hands finding her waist, anchoring her to him.

And when she shifted against him, when he felt her warmth through the barrier of his trousers, he nearly lost his mind.

‘Ride me, Mal,’ he whispered against her mouth.

She tore his trousers away, casting them carelessly across the room, as if the mere presence of anything between them was an offense to the gods themselves.

A low, guttural moan escaped him when she sank onto him, taking him into her, enveloping him in a heat that unravelled every fiber of his being.

The damn woman would be his undoing.

And she knew it. Oh, she knew it—her wicked, knowing smile curling as she settled over him, unmoving, savoring the torment, making him wait, making him crave.

‘Please,’ he begged her, his grip on her tightening.

‘Beg me again, Fire Prince,’ she said, biting his earlobe.

‘I’m injured,’ he replied, chuckling.

‘Beg .’

‘Ride me, Mal. Please .’

She kissed him slowly—languid, torturous kisses that trailed from his lips to the sharp cut of his jaw, to the burning pulse at his throat. And Ash knew then, with a certainty deeper than marrow, that for her, he would fall to his knees and beg the Eight Kingdoms.

For her, he would walk away from everything.

Her hips rolled, a slow, deliberate motion that shattered his control, that sent lightning snapping through every nerve in his body. He tilted his head back, his jaw clenched tight as his fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady, trying desperately to stop himself from unraveling too soon.

But Mal was relentless. She picked up her rhythm, grinding down against him, riding him like she was claiming him.

A strangled cry of pleasure tore from her throat, and it broke him.

He ripped the dress from her shoulders, needing to feel her—all of her—beneath his touch. His hands roamed over the bare silk of her skin, memorising every inch, every curve, every tremor of her body as she moved over him.

Her scent consumed him.

The heat of her—the wildness—it destroyed him.

He had been with others before. Even Adara—once, long ago. And he had been foolish enough to believe nothing would ever compare.

How wrong he had been.

Nothing in the world compared to Mal Blackburn astride him, her wild black hair falling in tangled waves around them, her pale skin glowing against his own.

She was chaos and divinity woven together, a creature sculpted by the Sun God himself, made of midnight and flame.

Her voice captured him, her scent intoxicated him, her mere presence brought him to his knees.

And Ash knew that some part of this was lust—but another, deeper part knew it was something else entirely.

It had begun the moment they had fought in the Champions Battle. It had seeded itself within him, growing silently, unnoticed, until now—when he realised he could not imagine a life without her.

He could not imagine a world where she was not his.

His wife .

His Mal.

And he would spend the rest of his life learning her, unraveling her, falling more and more in love with her with every passing day.

She shattered against him, a cry breaking from her throat, her body trembling as waves of pleasure rolled through her. He followed her into oblivion, his release stealing the breath from his lungs.

Mal collapsed beside him, boneless and flushed, her eyes glistening with delight.

She rested her head gently against his uninjured side, and he exhaled, brushing his fingers through the endless black waves of her hair.

‘I’m s-sorry,’ he whispered, voice raw. ‘For Nyx.’

‘Me too.’

Ash hesitated.

He wanted to ask her about the witch he had seen with Kage and Wren. The one who looked so much like Adara.

But the thought of Adara—of that name—felt like a poison seeping into this moment, and he could not bring himself to stain it.

Not now.

‘What was she like?’

His body tensed. Had Mal read his thoughts? Had he spoken aloud without realising? Or… was it something else?

He had seen what she was capable of—her power, her magic. Had she somehow heard him?

He would have to question her soon—before anyone else in the castle pieced together what she was. Before his mother or father found out.

Before the world realised the full extent of the monster they had created .

‘She was not real,’ he admitted, voice laced with quiet grief. ‘The g-girl I f-fell in love with was not real.’

Adara had destroyed him. After her, he had sworn never to love again.

Never to allow someone to sink their claws into him—never to let someone in—only to be ripped apart from the inside.

That love had ruined him. Had turned everything inside him to rot.

‘Is she the only girl you have ever loved?’ Mal asked.

The question was simple. Innocent. There was no jealousy in it, only curiosity. But his stomach twisted regardless. Because if he lied, he could hurt her.

But if he told her the truth…

Perhaps it was too soon.

Perhaps they were not ready for the weight of those words.

And yet, when he spoke, the answer left him before he could stop it.

‘No.’

He felt the way her entire body stilled against him.

His heart thundered in his chest as he braced for her reaction.

‘I have lo-loved another since then,’ he murmured. His voice was a ghost of breath, soft but certain. ‘I love another.’