Page 39

“Why is this still so damn hard,” Aurora cursed, sweat beading on her forehead.

The stairs of the mountain path seemed to stretch before her while she panted, catching her breath. She was an over-packer by nature, but she’d outdone herself this time. The twenty-ton pack strapped to her back had near tipped her over twice already.

With a grunt and an inhale, she started climbing again, thighs burning with every unreasonably high stair step. “I really need to stop letting Rhaego carry me everywhere,” she wheezed. Any muscles she did have would wither from disuse in a month otherwise.

One hour of huffing and puffing later, and she was finally in the field of wildflowers.

She tipped her face to the sky, taking in the glow of the setting sun and enjoying the floral breeze ruffling her hair. Suddenly the climb felt worth it.

Humming as she walked, she took her time wading through tall grass, admiring the sea of colorful blooms as she approached the forest’s edge. It would be the perfect spot to spend the night.

The den had felt far too empty after Rhaego had left. Same as it had when he’d left the first time. Except this time memories of her frantic pacing and sleepless nights had assailed her in the silence. So she’d said fuck it . She could stay inside, sulking the night away until he returned, or she could take advantage of the downtime.

Full moons, new moons, blue moons. She’d practiced under them all. But how many witches could say they’d experienced two full moons? A bit of wonder returned to her at the thought of basking under such a miraculous thing.

Real and present dangers had distracted her from the reality of where she was and what an astonishing blessing it was that she was able to witness a new world. An alien planet.

What would the energy of these moons—the Goddess’s eyes, as Rhaego referred to them—feel like?

It didn’t hurt that spending the evening under the stars would bring her slightly closer to Rhaego, wherever he was.

As the sun set the field awash in burnished gold, Aurora chose a quiet spot near the trees. She’d be able to take in the full energy of the moons this way but also venture into the woods to explore.

Though her pack had been a bitch to haul up here, she was pleased she’d managed it. She unrolled her blanket and set up a little area for sleeping. She hoped the warmth of the day bled into the night so she could sleep uncovered. Whenever she got the chance and the privacy back home, she preferred being naked under the full moon. Her nan had been the same way.

Rhaego’s isolation hut was an hour south. That’s what he’d said. And an hour’s travel for him was likely double for her. He’d be miles away. And the denstead itself was protected on all sides. Still, she found herself scanning the area with narrowed eyes before finally undressing. She stood, naked as the day she was born and stretched in the sunlight.

A sense of contentment, happy and golden, flowed through her. One standing foam bath and a flimsy robe later and Aurora felt clean and ready to meet the moons. As she dug out all the items she’d brought with her to charge in the moonlight, she thought of Rhaego.

Despite the looming danger they faced and despite the pain and loss they’d both had to suffer, she couldn’t recall ever feeling this at ease. Rhaego was the cause of this happiness. It couldn’t be anything else.

He made her feel strong and supported and important.

Special.

And her desire to make him feel the same way had made her a braver person. She still didn’t care for confrontation, but if the fight had to do with Rhaego, she’d push horns at the largest Tuvastan to defend him.

The word love had drifted through her mind earlier that day, and her heart had latched onto it.

She wasn’t falling . She’d fallen. Hard.

It was so bad that she found her eyes welling at the corners when from her bag she extracted the ragged bloodstained horn he’d ripped off the young Tuvastan’s head during the chase.

He’d presented it to her as an offering. Those had been the first words he’d ever said to her.

And she’d been horrified.

But now she placed the horn on a flattened patch of grass like it were a fragile masterpiece. Sighing, she set out some other items to be charged alongside the horn. A jar of water, her favorite cooking tools, a few pieces of jewelry with stones she was particularly drawn to. She’d even gathered some of Rhaego’s things so they’d be charged with energy as well.

Settling back on her blanket, she soaked in the stunning sunset before her and sent her gratitude out into the universe. She’d miss it here, as strange as that sounded. Despite its flaws, Tuva was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen, and the people were just as captivating—though they’d taken longer to get used to.

She focused on the grief lingering inside her heart. Grief for her old life on Earth. Grief for Tuva. Empathetic grief for everything Rhaego was losing.

In a way, this was something they’d share. Earth still existed out in the universe but was unreachable to her the same way Tuva would be for Rhaego.

As the sun set and the silver light of the moons crept over the forest, Aurora released all the gloomy thoughts. She sent them away as they no longer served her, and opened her heart to the future. One she and Rhaego would build together, if he let her.

***

The grit of crushed stone bit into open wounds on Rhaego’s knuckles. He dug his fist in deeper, twisting until the bite of pain was enough to leash his fever.

The sun had barely set, and he was already miserable. Each pore of his body throbbed. Tender yet begging for touch. Even the breeze brushing against his shaft was enough to make him shudder.

She’s there, his mind hissed. Waiting.

Though he’d suffered through the heat twice yearly since hitting puberty, this experience was by far the worst. The female of his dreams, the one he was still convinced the Goddess would grant him as a mate, was so near it made him mindless.

And not only was she close, she was willing .

In the past, his fever had been easier to manage because he was armed with the knowledge that the female he desired was unwilling. The understanding was a glorious ever-refilling bucket of ice water he could douse his fever with whenever the urge to walk out the door rose.

But Aurora…

Would she slide down her covers and welcome him into her bed? Would she drag his mouth down to meet hers while parting her creamy thighs?

Cold air hit his face, and he blinked.

“Fuck,” he bellowed into the night. He was outside.

Before his fever could take over again, he bolted back into the hut and barricaded the door. It wouldn’t stop him if he really wanted out, but it would give him time.

Scrubbing a rough hand over his eyes, he willed all thoughts of Aurora to vanish from his mind.

A flash of her kneeling between his bent knees, smiling, formed instead.

His shoulders fell. He’d have an easier time extracting each bit of cartilage from between his bones than stripping her from his thoughts.

Crossing to the small sink, he splashed cold water on his face. “She is not yours yet,” he barked into the shattered mirror. He refocused on why he was here and forced himself to imagine hurting her. Shrieks and blood and tears. The images he conjured of the repulsive ways in which he might accidentally harm her were vile enough to turn his stomach, but they worked.

His fever dimmed, and he exhaled a breath of relief.

Squatting, he dug through a bag to find his deralja pipe, but something small, soft, and unfamiliar caught his attention. He grabbed the item, standing.

It was one of Aurora’s little cakes. His fever blazed, but a different kind of warmth invaded his chest as well. Like someone had poured a vat of sugar into him, the flames turning it into something viscous and sticky. She must have snuck the treat into his pack when he hadn’t been looking.

His cock bobbed, his thunderous purr rattling the wooden planks under his feet at the reminder of how sweet and caring she was. His thoughts turned dark. “Do you wish to dote on me, little doe?” he rumbled, unwrapping the fabric covering her confection.

Something bright and pink fluttered to the ground. He peered down at it. What met his eyes made his fever spit and crackle inside him. Was that…?

Setting the cake aside, he stooped and lifted the item with a claw. It was two small, stemmed blossoms no longer than his little finger. One was red, one yellow, and binding them together was her pink token.

Secretly, Rhaego had carried the little piece of fabric with him since plucking it off Aurora’s stand that first day at the Promenade. He’d been devastated to find he’d lost it after his journey back from the carriages, assuming the fjord had pulled it free from his shredded clothing.

But he hadn’t lost it. It lay in his palm, her scent clinging to the fibers.

Had she found it in one of his pockets after nursing him?

His heart felt like it was tearing from how much it swelled. He’d never been given a token before, had never been picked or wanted. Not like this.

Rhaego’s eyes burned from staring. He blinked and rubbed them.

The burn remained.

He glanced into the splintered mirror and time stopped.

Fevered crimson pulsed like a burning coal floating in two inky black voids.

Black.

His eyes were black .

A roar battered his ears, and it took him a moment to realize the sound was coming from him. His fever had faltered as well, just as shocked as him. But it rebounded now with an intensity he’d never felt.

Like the snuffing of a flame, his thoughts sizzled out one by one. The world blurred, coming to him in flashes.

Shattering furniture.

His foot connecting with a heavy door and ripping it off its hinges.

Bright moons, soft dirt, the smell of crushed leaves. And one word, repeating over and over.

Mine.